The Storm Wolf: Gathering Clouds - chapter 7 Lovers - 7.14
Imported from SF2 with no description.
The plants in greenhouse displayed a variety of vivid and peculiar structures, exuding a complex blend of scents that filled the air. Together, these elements created an atmosphere brimming with vitality.
“Do you think it’s possible to get along peacefully with the Phantom?” I posed a question I had long been pondering, cautiously sipping tea that glowed faintly with a greenish luminescence.
“If their goals consistent—or at least don’t conflict—and that Phantom retains a reasonable degree of clarity, then it’s possible,” Dawn replied, placing her teacup back onto its saucer with a crisp clink of porcelain.
“Oh…” I murmured, staring at my reflection in the cup.
“What’s wrong? Are you starting to consider maintaining the Sol’s blockade?” Dawn asked casually, though I thought I caught a fleeting hint of tension from the normally composed gray wolf.
“No, I don’t see how that benefits anyone.” I refrained from making any gestures, not wanting act like I’m appease her. “Speaking of which, why would anyone want to maintain a blockade on their star system?”
“There are typically two reasons,” Dawn replied with a shrug, glancing sideways at the plants in the greenhouse. “The first is to preserve the status quo when it benefits them, preventing interference from other forces. In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king—they wouldn’t want someone with two eyes barging in.” The master offered me more tea, which I politely declined. “The second reason is more complex. It often involves a significant degree of self-loathing, compounded by a kind of despair born from complete understanding.” As she poured herself another cup, a wisp of steam curled upward. “Put simply, it’s about recognizing just how awful their kind is and not wanting them to go out and pollute the rest of the universe.”
“So, that’s the motivation…” I set my empty teacup on its saucer and leaned back in my chair. “But doesn’t choosing a blockade mean cutting off all possibilities and denying our chance, as a whole, to improve? The clear rules we’ve been given make it clear—there’s no second chance at the final reckoning.”
“People don’t change,” Dawn said, holding her teacup in front of her muzzle. “The sooner you accept that, the better off we’ll all be.”
“Hm…” I murmured in response, though my mind was quickly flooded with questions—do people really never change? If that’s true, doesn’t it render all effort meaningless?
“Enough of that,” Dawn said as she tidied up the tea set and motioned for me to follow her. “I think we should keep practicing vacuum blood collection; you just can’t seem to get it right.” The master turned to look at me, winking playfully.
“Do we have to?” I sighed, not bothering to hide my reluctance. “Most reagents nowadays only need a few drops of blood. A lancet would suffice.”
“Yes, most reagents,” Dawn replied, waving a hand dismissively without turning around. “But for something like comprehensive blood biochemistry analysis, you need a sufficient sample. So stop complaining and practice properly!”
“Yes, Master,” I said, lowering my gaze as I stepped over a tangled vine. While navigating the rough terrain of the greenhouse, I decided to voice a question that had been bothering me for a while. “I have a possibly silly question.”
“Go ahead,” Dawn chuckled. “There are no silly questions, only silly people.”
“Does sexual orientation influence brain structure or thought patterns? I mean, from a biological perspective?” I asked cautiously, hoping that if I were silly, it wouldn’t be too obvious.
“Neural connection patterns are shaped by both innate genetic structures and environmental factors, so that question isn’t entirely accurate,” Dawn replied, glancing at me over her shoulder. “You might as well just speak plainly—I don’t want to waste time going in circles over something you already know but are too shy to say.”
“I just don’t get why so many male wolves act strange around females—unable even to listen properly—but interact perfectly normally with other males.” At least, by male standards of “normal.” “Is it due to a lack of practice?” I felt my ears burn as they flattened against my head, trying to block out the memory of Piqsirpoq’s confused expression. I admitted that I was clueless in this area too, but at least I didn’t make things overly awkward or do blatantly foolish things. Other than an initial adjustment period, I had no trouble maintaining a neutral demeanor—though my idea of neutrality involved being treated as invisible. Still, the point stands.
“Ha! Growing up together doesn’t help much. It’s not just about practice; there are significant cultural factors involved, not purely biological determinants,” Dawn said with a laugh. “When you see yourself as a hunter, you start seeing everything else as prey.”
“Prey?” Images of ancient humans hunting each other for survival flickered through my mind.
“Take that idiot as an example,” Dawn said, tilting her head and clapping her right fist into her left palm. “I remember how, at first, he…”
The unexpected mention of a taboo topic left me lowering my head as Dawn began recounting stories about my father, striving to be a good listener.