Imperium Lupi by Adam Browne

Author:Adam Browne [Browne, Adam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dayfly Publications
Published: 2017-07-16T22:00:00+00:00

~Blick vi~

The bubbling hiss of waves percolating through pebbles soothed Meryl’s ears as she strolled along New Tharona’s seafront. Rafe walked sedately beside her – one of his strides made two of hers. Otters, rats and other seafaring types plied their trades from market stalls lining the cobbled street. Draped with colourful, stripy awnings they offered goods aplenty; fish, crabs, pearls, souvenirs carved from driftwood, it was all to be had for a haggled price. Were Rafe in uniform he might’ve been able to pass off his ‘Howler’ privileges to get a free meal, but Meryl had decided they shouldn’t stand out. So black breeches and tunic it was for him, simple blue dress for her, the high collar discarded for once, though the cravat remained, as did Rafe’s silk ribbon of a tail. Most assumed they were a holidaying couple, no doubt.

Many a wolf passed by; New Tharona was Eisbrand property after all. Some must have even been Eisbrand Howlers on leave. Afflicted or not they all threw the towering Rafe a second look; at least Meryl assumed they weren’t looking at her. Passing a group of well-to-do wolfesses seated around a café table, all of whom stared at Rafe as a collective, the Eisenwolf said in his airy baritone, “All right, ladies?”

They nodded and made niceties, then once Rafe and Meryl had gone tittered at one another over their afternoon tea.

They probably think we make an silly-looking couple, Meryl thought. Awful bitches.

Rafe didn’t seem to notice, even less care.

A rather big and obvious Eisbrand Howler was smouldering over a beer at the next, much cheaper-looking seafront eatery, along with a portly hog. The handsome Eisbrand stared at Rafe and Meryl with duotone blue and green eyes. The hog also looked up from his meal, all but dropping his cutlery as he ran his beady eyes slowly up Rafe’s muscled frame.

“Meryl?” said the wolf, addressing Meryl but staring at Rafe.

“Tristan,” Meryl replied, stopping with her ward. “How are you?” she asked, with forced amiability.

“Fine, fine. You?”

A nod. “Well enough.” At length, Meryl remembered her manners. “This is Rafe, Rafe Stenton; Rafe, this is Tristan Donskoy, an… old friend.”

“All right, mate?” Rafe chirped, big paw extending.

Tristan nodded and stood up to shake, ember smouldering on his lips. “Pleasure.”

Rafe looked to the gob-smacked hog, “Have… we met before?”

“Don’t think so, lad,” the pig snorted at length, getting back to his dinner.

Rafe stared, vacant, struggling.

“Business,” Tristan volunteered to Meryl, excusing the rude hog. He turned to Rafe, “Meryl and I used to fish for tiddlers in the rock pools together,” he explained, if only to break the unbearable silence, “back when we were cubs.”

Rafe snapped from his trance, “Oh yeah?”

Meryl waved a paw, “Seems a lifetime ago.”

“For a Howler it is,” Tristan claimed soberly, adding, “Well, I’ll let you get back to your stroll.”

“And you your leave,” Meryl assumed. “Look after yourself, Tristan. Tell Ivan I said hello.”

“I will.”

The pairs parted company, Rafe giving the hog and Howler a last over-the-shoulder glance. “Nice fella.

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