The Storm Wolf: Gathering Clouds - chapter 7 Lovers - 7.19
Imported from SF2 with no description.
The air was thick with the distracting smell of sweat. Otherwise, I might have spared a few more glances at the canine lifting dumbbells in the corner or the one training on the pec deck machine.
The sound of two bells chiming caught my attention. Piqsirpoq approached the corner where I stood, spitting out his mouthguard and tearing off the wraps around his wrists with his fangs before removing his red gloves.
His upper body fur was drenched in sweat, highlighting the sharp contours of his muscles. At this rate, it wouldn’t take more than a few years for him to match Snow’s physique—the standard build of every male gray wolf with pristine white fur except for me.
Not that I cared enough to dwell on it. I simply shrugged, flicked my tail to the side, and refocused on the reason I came here in the first place.
"That Snow asked me to send his regards," I said, glancing at the saliva-stained mouthguard on the ring floor, suppressing the avalanche of hygiene-related thoughts rushing through my head. "He says he misses the feel of your cheeks."
"I won’t go against the council." Piqsirpoq growled impatiently, pulling a face. "Besides, I’m not a masochist."
"Really? Then what do you get out of participating in such a violent activity?" I gestured with my chin toward the yellow-furred dog behind him, who had just managed to stagger to his feet. Judging by his unsteady gait, I was fairly certain he’d sustained some form of permanent brain damage.
I knew the real reason Piqsirpoq didn’t want to see that Snow again, but I just wanted to spout some nonsense to distract him.
"A clash of skill and physicality is the best kind of dialogue," Piqsirpoq replied seriously, making me wonder if he was mocking me.
Before I could come up with a suitably lewd retort, his attention shifted to the yellow dog. They bumped fists, exchanged a few words, and patted each other on the shoulder before parting ways.
"This activity requires suppressing psychic abilities to proceed. Doesn’t that say something?" I asked, watching as Piqsirpoq removed his collar and stowed it in a pale blue drawstring bag.
"It ensures fairness. Otherwise, it would indirectly exclude fighters who are high-level psychics," he said as he vaulted off the ring with a grace and balance only a psychic could achieve.
Since I had no interest in the game itself, I didn’t press the discussion. When I noticed his destination was the locker room, I stopped at the doorway, not intending to follow him in.
"You didn’t come all this way just to deliver greetings, did you?" Piqsirpoq halted, turned to face me, and set his bag aside.
"I…" Under the pressure of limited time, I couldn’t afford to keep stalling with small talk. "…I’m a little nervous."
"Ah, is it today?" He tilted his head, as if trying to recall.
"Yes. To be precise, it’s in thirty-six minutes." I tried to sound casual, though my hands couldn’t help rubbing against my pants.
"I thought you had everything under control," he said, folding down his right ear. "When we discussed it in the Tower, you sounded so organized."
"I was just repeating what others had said. I have no idea what I’m doing." I sighed, resigning myself to explaining something I thought was obvious.
"So, you’re looking for a pep talk from me?" Piqsirpoq raised a brow.
"Probably?" I sighed again, feeling my ears droop helplessly. "That should tell you how desperate things are."
"Well…" He tilted his head, tapping his chin with a claw. "Let’s set aside whether that’s true. From my perspective, you’ve always challenged what ‘normal people’ consider common sense." His tone grew emphatic. "A master swordsman who stands out, the most powerful psychic in history, a penchant for herbivores—and now, you’re venturing into polyamory, one of the most complicated relationship dynamics, as if your life wasn’t already messy enough." Piqsirpoq glanced at the bag at his feet, giving it a light kick. "It’s like you’re effortlessly doing one groundbreaking thing after another, as if to show everyone how easy it is to break rules and boundaries." His ears drooped slightly at the tips, and he gave the bag another petulant nudge.
I’d never considered that others might see me that way, nor had I ever truly reflected on whether these things were simple or not. Maybe I’d just been… going with the flow? Realizing I shouldn’t waste time on internal conflicts had, perhaps, left me with more time and energy for myself.
"I think it’s inspiring," Piqsirpoq said, lifting his gaze to meet mine. "If you don’t know something’s possible, you won’t have the motivation to strive for it. Seeing that you’re also troubled by these situations somehow makes it feel… more real." He chuckled and gave my shoulder a light punch. "What are you afraid of? You’ve been through worse."
"Oh, thanks…" I felt the heat rush to my ears. "That actually helps."
"Glad to hear it. I have no idea what I was saying. Rationalism knows, maybe this is how things like this actually work," Piqsirpoq scoffed, grabbing his drawstring bag and heading into the locker room.
Watching his tail sway to the right as he disappeared, I felt a small sense of reassurance settle within me.
We live in a society grounded in Rationalism, but I’m starting to see that more and more subtle phenomena undeniably weave their way into our lives. It’s not that they’re inexplicable—just that we haven’t yet found a way to explain them.