Marry the Night (Crimson)

A bright white snout poked over the edge of the crate. It waved back and forth, disappeared, then popped back up again, all the while making hungry little snuffing noises. This happened several times before two gray-violet eyes appeared behind the muzzle, followed by twitching whiskers and upright ears swiveling from side to side as if listening for something. There was a sudden movement as the wearer of the features leaped out from the wooden box and landed with such grace and precision that you'd think she'd done it all her life, taken up the profession of crate-jumping and practiced it daily. It was a ridiculous notion, of course, but one that almost seemed likely.

The canine was a female, one with snow-white fur that covered her body completely and long, lean legs that went with her slender figure quite nicely. Her face was narrower than the average dog's, and her muzzle longer, with pointed ears and eyes swirling with the color that resembled the delicate petals of late meadow rues. Oh, no, this was no average breed of street mutt, but a more wild kind. The kind that howled at the moon and ran through forests. The kind that hunted elk and caribou instead of rats and trash. The kind that drank from fresh rivers and streams instead of dirty puddles and toilets.

The kind that crossed oceans in boxes.

She would never set paw in one of those horrible crates again, if she could, but in this case, she had no choice. There could be food leftover in these human boxes. She simply wasn't used to scouring city streets for a bite to eat, and with winter setting in, her and her brother had probably chosen the worst time to travel here. Oh, well, no need to look at it in such a negative light. They still had each other, and as long as they stuck together, everything would be just fine.

The beautiful white wolf was just about to set out to climb in and scavenge in another crate when, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted movement. A large gray-and-white dog was sitting on the edge of the pier, gazing out across the waters.

Her first thought: Go say hello.

Her second thought: Run, it could be dangerous.

She and Vince hadn't encountered any dogs here yet, and in her eyes, this one was lonely. So, probably foolishly, she trusted her first instinct and trotted toward the large shepard, claws clicking on the wooden boards softly as she approached from behind him, tail waving in a friendly gesture that she hoped he'd take in the right way when he turned around to greet her.

Ah, assuming he greeted her at all.

"Hello there," she called in a clear, song-like voice. Its accent was different from most voices you'd hear around these parts, clearly identifying her as a foreigner. It was British, of course, but dogs couldn't know anything of regional tendencies across oceans unless they'd originated there themselves. "Are you alright?"

For once, she seemed to have judged correctly. He didn't snap at her or raise his hackles, he just looked at her, rumbled a greeting, and returned his gaze to the water after asking her what she was doing out here.

The slender white wolf sat down next to him with a cheerful smile, not really thinking to consider whether he wanted her there or not before doing so. "I was looking for something to eat, actually. I suppose I wouldn't be sniffing around here if I had a choice, but I guess that I'm just not used to having to find my food instead of hunting it myself."

"What's your name, miss?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh, I'm sorry! How rude of me," she apologized, dipping her head. "My name is Cara." Cara raised her head to look at him, taking in his broad shoulders and gray-and-white coat. She couldn't put a name to his breed if she tried. How was she supposed to know anything about dogs when she hadn't ever even met one before? Back at the Isles, she had seen dogs sometimes, straining on their leashes as humans walked them along the trails or alongside the road. Most of them were much smaller and louder than her, but her brother had always told her never to go near them, so she kept her distance. Vince always knew what was best.

"What's yours?" This particular kind of canine she'd seen before, but never dared to speak to. She like the way his voice sounded. It was different from theirs.

Dangerous for females? Cara tilted her head. How so? she wanted to ask, but decided that doing so would be considered rude. In the forest, it was true that females were thought of as the weaker sex, but no wolf treated them like it. It was clear that they could take care of themselves just fine. It seemed to Cara, however, that things were different here. She wasn't particularly bright, or particularly strong, or particularly swift. Was her inability to cope without Vince something she should be worrying about?

The slender British female watched in awe as he rose to his full height. Skies, he was tall. She'd never seen a canine equal to his height, save for her brother. Carlson could easily compare himself to Vince size-wise, but Cara wasn't completely certain which of the two muscular males would win in a contest of that sort.

"Oh, I don't have one," she quickly replied, standing and blinking up at him. She wasn't short, no, but then again, she wasn't particularly tall either. He still stood at least half a head over her. "My brother is with me, though. I mean, not literally here, but..." she paused. "He's, um, looking for food, too." Cara was a bad liar. A very bad liar. Her gray-violet eyes darted to the side, avoiding his gaze, and her ears twitched nervously. She hated lying (as poorly as she did it), but something was telling her not to give away what Vince was really occupying himself with at the moment. It wasn't that she didn't trust Carlson (if she had any sense of caution, she wouldn't, since they'd only just met a couple of minutes ago), but some sense of rationality in the back of her head was telling her that she shouldn't let anyone know, enemy or stranger or other, that her only companion and means of survival was lying bleeding out in a crumbling alleyway while she wandered out alone to find him something to eat.

She swallowed.

"B-But sure, I'd love that!" she said, trying to smile, and wagged her tail gratefully. "It's true that we're not from around here. We sailed across the ocean in boxes," she said cheerfully, only realizing how ridiculous it sounded after it'd left her mouth. Her gray-violet eyes widened. "I-I mean, crates, we hid in crates. On a boat. And the humans. Then the ocean," she stammered, at a loss of describing words to connect her own sentences. Ahh, what am I doing? I sound like such an idiot! She scolded herself, giving up and closing her mouth as she stared up at Carlson, waiting for his response.