Comprehend (1) - Ino [WIP]
Imported from SF2 with no description.
Time and time again I have asked for Roc to sleep in another room, his snoring could be easily compared to a dinghy scraping across a gravel shoreline. Although I'll admit this time, it's not as loud as I remember it to be...
Letting out a painful and raspy groan, I do my best to stretch my limbs and straighten my whiskers, the latter bent uncomfortably close to my left nostril. After some more protests from my bones and joints, I sit up in my cot. It might not be much better than sleeping on the floor, but it does the trick after working so hard yesterday. Complaining about my work has never made things easier, but I have to admit that over the years it's started to wear me out; I can see how run down I am by just surveying my fur, ruffled spots of burgundy-brown fibers dot pretty much my entire surface. Do I have some lousy self-care habits? Absolutely. But I feel the stress of fishing, for far more than just my share, is having an adverse effect on me.
Other otters in the village are able to handle the task of fishing much better than I. They're either stronger, faster, or have straight-up better senses and intuition when it comes to handling our local aquatic prey. I can feel the shame start to well up in my chest, threatening to burst at any moment. Is there something wrong with me? Why can't I handle such a simple task? What kind of otter gets worn out from fishing?
I feel my focus pull back to the present, a loud snore permeating the walls of my one-room dwelling. It was rather disorienting at first, I was so caught up in my thoughts that I might have stayed like that for hours. I'm suddenly more aware, kind of like how light is brighter when your eyes have been closed. I was so inwardly focused that everything suddenly caught up to me. The sound of rain against the roof mixed with the snores of my neighbor and the painfully obvious smell of my BO after my brief panic and unrestful sleep.
Wallowing in self-pity sounded like the least enticing way to spend my day off, and considering how I was looking worse for wear, I think a good start to the day would be some perhaps-deserved grooming. I get up, straighten out what little bedding I have, and make my way to the front exit.
My living quarters aren't the largest, but the building they're a part of is definitely on the bigger side of things. The single room I call home resides on the far side of the generously sized shack. This put me a few paces away from one of the three places of service in the town, functioning as an Inn, Tavern, Bath, Trade-Stop, really anything that wasn't fishing. Currently, the baths were my main focus. It's one thing to be diving down into deep waters, but to give yourself a good scrub could do wonders for the body and mind, and gods know I'm long overdue for one. Stepping out into the rain, the lazy side of myself rears its ugly head. Perhaps the rain was good enough to dull my particularly pungent odor...
No, standing out in the rain doesn't count as bathing, Ino.
I could almost hear the words of my older sister, and I chuckle quietly to myself. She was damn right about that, especially on these lighter days when the rain isn't as oppressive. Ani and Roc were always getting on my case about taking care of myself. Although Ani is a workaholic and Roc has needed a better bed to help his snoring for years now. I'm surprised he hasn't moved out of his closet-sized living space in the attic of the Tavern by this point. As if on queue, I hear another snore emit from...
The alleyway?
I stop dead in my tracks, the alleyway just behind me on my left. Having paid it the usual amount of attention, which is zero, the thought of looking down the alley hadn't even crossed my mind. Another snore. I could definitely tell it wasn't Roc, as it had a clear growl to its abrasive tone. Now that I thought about it, Roc worked on Fefth's day, and we would always complain that our two days off never lined up for more than a single day of overlap. Slowly I crept over to the alley, worried I would stumble in on someone's drunken mistake and be forced to deal with an awkward situation. The thought of such a confrontation almost made me turn around and leave it be.
But for some reason, I put one paw in front of the other and kept going.
. . .
I'm not quite sure what I'm looking at.
In possibly the most uncomfortable position I have ever seen, there stood a large canine; at least, from the features I could make out, they appeared to be canine. Their face is smooshed up against the outer wall of my room, which clearly explained the heavy resonance of the snoring throughout the chamber. With a wide-open muzzle, drool slowly dribbled out sporadically between the gravelly snores. I imagine the hunched nature of their back isn't healthy in the long term, but should I really be concerned about that right now? Were they the size of an otter this probably wouldn't have been possible, as I personally find traversing deeper into the alleyway to be an easy task. The way they were poised forced me to imagine myself smushed into a similar situation, and my knees creaked in response to such thoughts.
Details started to further reveal themselves as I drew closer to the stranger, as did some questions and answers. Charcoal-colored fur with flecks of white and lighter grays spattered unevenly across it made up the pelt of this individual. Most of their body is concealed by a worn-out, gray cloak and jerkin. One of the ears poking out of the holes in the hood had a piece of it missing. Who are they? What happened to their ear? Most importantly, why are they snoozing just outside my walls? I had to stop myself as I realized I was inches away from this canine, the uncanny and primal fear of a large predator started to make itself apparent in the trembling of my legs. Surely I should leave them alone, but curiosity overpowered my being far more than fear. Clutched in their paws was some kind of pack made from a woven material. Maybe canvas? It has one large pouch with a large flap covering it, buckled shut by what appeared to be an insignia depicting a half-moon.
Well, that's one question answered. If the features and build weren't enough to give it away, the iconography of the moon was a clear indication that this canine was of wolven descent. I had met a couple of half and mixed breeds of wolves in my life, but the encounters were few and far between. In fact, 'encounter' was a generous word for watching as they passed through town with dozens of sets of eyes set on them. Bear-wolves, Stag-wolves, wolves mixed with all sorts of felines, and further combinations had passed through town at one point or another. These encounters were all rare, with long stretches of time in between, but I remembered them all. As to why everyone refused to get within spitting distance of them is beyond me. The only reasonings I could ever gather were largely based on rumors and the occasional bedtime story meant to scare pups into staying indoors at night.
Something didn't add up. I have had my fair share of encounters with individuals of lupine origin. but the wolf in front of me bears no obvious characteristics of other half-breeds. Fewolves always had whiskers, Ursa'Lupae commonly had broad shoulders and thick paws, and the cross between Stags and Wolves commonly had antlers. Crossing features off of my imaginary checklist isn't making this situation any less strange. Should I wake them and ask? That seemed like a one-way ticket to getting my muzzle clocked.
An irregular snort in the pattern of snoring causes me to freeze in place, but the regularly scheduled snoring seems to continue for the time being.
Pressing on with my investigation, I return my attention to the bag they're carrying. Even in their slumber, the bag was clutched rather tightly