Mid-afternoon found Coquelicot perched upon a log across a gentle area of the creek, watching the eddying currents swirl past various obstructions. It was an unusually warm sun that shone in the cloudless sky that day and the tri-colored male languidly dangled one paw into the swirling water. Numerous streams and rivers had run in the vicinity of his birthplace but he always did his best to avoid the water. His brother had pushed him in more times than he could count. With that Coquelicot had become quite the accomplished swimmer, but at the cost of being subjected to amused, slightly mocking stares of his pack members when he came in sight bedraggled and dripping.

Lulled by the warmth of the golden rays, Coquelicot closed his eyes and drowsily considered the current whereabouts and doings of his family. Jonquil, he prognosticated, probably still remained with the pack for a chance to vie for the throne. For all his diminutive size, his brother was given to airy, arrogant ways and a constant competitive attitude. His two sisters were likely together with the eldest at the lead, Aster trailing behind demurely her confident and assured sibling. As for his father . . . well, who knew what he was up to, or whether he was still alive.

Coquelicot had been too young to recall memories of him, the only knowledge of his father was passed on by his mother, who, depending on her mood, either dreamily exalted the redeeming qualities (mostly physical) of her ex-lover or cursed with a long stream of shocking, albeit unique expletives and insults.

Within minutes of closing his eyes, Coquelicot had drifted off into a light slumber. It wasn't a particularly good idea to fall asleep perched on a log over water, but he had already fallen under the drowsy lull of the sun's warmth to logically conclude that fact. That is, until a nudge and a voice in his ear stirred him to consciousness in an abrupt manner as he attempted to rise, forgetting the fact that he was on a relatively thin log. His paws scrambled for a foothold on the rough bark to no avail.

Coquelicot slipped and fell ungracefully into the shallow water, the coldness of the stream bringing him instantly awake. The rough rocks lying at the bottom of the creek jarred his sides and he winced before springing up to crawl back onto the bank, fur half-drenched and dripping. Residual water ran rivelets down his face as Coquelicot shook himself, splattering tiny droplets in various directions. Why was he wet again? Still slightly stunned by the whole ordeal, Coquelicot began to backtrack.

One, he was sleeping. Two, someone (or something) woke him up. Three, he attempted to stand and fell into the water. Blinking, he cast his gaze about his surroundings before he found the presumed perpetrator that had gotten him wet in the first place. It was a young, cream-colored female with striking silver eyes. His mind vaguely concluded that she was pretty, but then his logical mindset kicked in. That wasn't the point here.

"You got me wet," he stated flatly, his eyes mournful and his tone blank and matter-of-fact.

At words, Coquelicot merely stared at her, the silence stretching uncomfortably for several moments. Did he really look like he was dead in his sleep? Well it was a good thing he hadn't been dead. Coquelicot doubted that other inhabitants in the area would appreciate his mouldering body polluting the water of the creek. "I see," he finally stated, expressionless save for the spark of a wry gleam in his gray eyes. But his slight amusement at his previous thought faded as his side throbbed in tandem with her inquiry.

"I guess," he finally said despite the mild pain in his side, an almost child-like, sulky look on his face. It was probably bruised from his fall on the rocks, but nothing serious. Still, his slight injury put a damper on his situation once again. But that was life. As unpredictable (and unhospitable) as usual. Fate did seem to take great pains to spatchcock misfortune into his daily schedule. Coquelicot then glanced at his reflection in the water and flushed with embarassment as he took in his wet, bedraggled state.

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Studying her closely with narrowed eyes, Coquelicot found some vague sense of sadistic pleasure at her uncomfortableness. He considered it somewhat of a payback for his fall in the water early but he gave a curt nod at her apology with a small huff of air. "It's fine," he said distantly, shrugging nonchalantly. What was past was past. And it probably wasn't a good idea to insist on making enemies with everyone that annoyed him. Although she didn't appear to be the antagonistic type.


When she stated her name, Coquelicot briefly considered whether or not to tell her his. She was probably expecting it though (since usually when one introduces oneself the other does the same) so the tri-colored male obliged her. "Coquelicot." But then he blinked in surprise at her compliment. Nobody had ever bothered to comment (positively) on his appearance except his mother who often raved about how much he resembled his father. The rest of the pack members merely sent disapproving glances whenever she did that. Slightly flattered but also a bit embarrassed he looked away. "Oh. Uh, thanks."


And then he trailed off dumbly and stammered out a question in an attempt to erase his self-consciousness. "Uh, what did the wolves in your pack look like?"

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Coquelicot had been blessed with being rather sensitive to the emotional state of others, but this wasn't to say he was emotionally invested. Quite on the contrary he merely sought to analyze feelings displayed by their expressions with cool eyes and clear judgment. Estella appeared to be a bit relieved at his apology, yet still uneasy by her trailed-off reply and the aversion of her eyes to her paws instead.

To be very honest, the tri-colored male found himself slightly creeped out when Estella said he liked his name. It wasn't like it was everyday that he got compliments on his name or his appearance for that manner. Usually his pack members had just left him alone to brood about the mysteries of life, interacting with him only for the sake of importance or to annoy him (namely his immediate family). "Ok . . ." he murmured, a bit unsure what to do in this situation.

Luckily Estella returned to more normal subject matter, allowing Coquelicot to relax a bit as he listened to her talk about the wolves in his pack. Coquelicot always did prefer to listen to others. It saved him the trouble of coming up with things to talk about. His silver eyes became slightly guarded at her question. He paused for a second, then replied, "Not really, except for my father. Most of the wolves were light brown or cream-colored."[/dohtml]