Mercy 2nd Journal for Application
Jun. 16th, 2008 03:18 pmSo once again she found herself caught in a very awkward, yet familiar, position. Mercy crept forward, lowering her belly to the ground, getting as low as she possibly could to approach Adam, making sure the level of her head was below his. The dominance games in coyote form always felt far more dangerous than they did in human form. Her 32 pounds could never take on one of the huge wolves and while she could run faster than them... where would she go afterwards?
She'd had to learn to play the game better than anyone else - be submissive, yet still find ways to be herself - or she never would have survived growing up. Not with her sense of self intact. She wasn't pack and as much as a part of her was grateful for that - for being able to get out of the violence and claustrophobia that pack entailed for her - another part had always yearned to belong. And she never would.
Adam's powerful jaws clamped lightly over her muzzle and it took everything she had not to whimper or worse, to look up at him with the defiance she felt clear in her eyes. In his wolf form especially he'd never let that sort of insolence go unanswered.
She hated this. Hated it, hated it, hated it. Why did they think she fought so hard to keep at least a nominal distance from pack business?
Finally he let her go and she backed away, shivering despite the warmth her fur provided. She watched as he signaled to the others, collecting them to head back home. She hesitated until he growled softly then followed, careful to stay off to the side of the pack.
She wanted to go home. To her home, not Adam's. She wanted to make herself a cup of hot chocolate, the good kind, not the instant, curl up in bed with her cat, and lick her metaphorical wounds. She might be alone there, but at least no one hated her.
She'd had to learn to play the game better than anyone else - be submissive, yet still find ways to be herself - or she never would have survived growing up. Not with her sense of self intact. She wasn't pack and as much as a part of her was grateful for that - for being able to get out of the violence and claustrophobia that pack entailed for her - another part had always yearned to belong. And she never would.
Adam's powerful jaws clamped lightly over her muzzle and it took everything she had not to whimper or worse, to look up at him with the defiance she felt clear in her eyes. In his wolf form especially he'd never let that sort of insolence go unanswered.
She hated this. Hated it, hated it, hated it. Why did they think she fought so hard to keep at least a nominal distance from pack business?
Finally he let her go and she backed away, shivering despite the warmth her fur provided. She watched as he signaled to the others, collecting them to head back home. She hesitated until he growled softly then followed, careful to stay off to the side of the pack.
She wanted to go home. To her home, not Adam's. She wanted to make herself a cup of hot chocolate, the good kind, not the instant, curl up in bed with her cat, and lick her metaphorical wounds. She might be alone there, but at least no one hated her.