Ifyla had never been someone that was inclined to enjoy water. She didn't like being wet, finding the sensation of her fur being slicked to her slight frame an uncomfortable one. So, when it began to rain, Ifyla was not a happy girl. She grumbled under her breath, cursing nature as she did so. Raising her rust-colored head, the Ethiopian wolf looked around for any means of shelter. She was in a relatively open area, one with scarcely any brush or trees nearby. "Just my luck," she muttered, picking up her pace so she could find somewhere to hide from the darkening clouds above her.

The landscape barely changed as she walked along, but when a hint of a bush peeked up from beyond a hill, she bolted for it. She had no interest in staying out in the storm, especially if it began thundering. She didn't like to admit it, but the loud, rolling booms that could shake one's bones often gave her frights. She crawled under the shrubbery and for once in her life, she was thankful for her small size. The shrub wasn't very big, but it left her some space. While it wasn't the best shelter one could have but at least it was something to hide her from the wrath of the torrent raining down on the land before her.

Ignoring the rhythmic beat of droplets pounding on the leaves above her and sometimes dripping on her, Ifyla looked through the rain into the  area beyond her shelter's boundaries. As she did, a flash of lightning ripped through the darkness, invoking a thunderous roar from the clouds above in response. She yelped loudly, worming back into the shrub. The storm was ruthless, and as the pound of the rain grew monotonous to her ears, she hoped no one was caught in the storm without any shelter to shield them from the rains above.

its been raining a lot where i live so you know what wHY NOT

Ifyla yelped when something bumped into her, whipping her sodden head to look at what had touched her. Her eyes widened at the sight of a light-colored... child. A sopping wet child that shivered as he apologized to her without meeting her gaze. The mop of dark fur on his head was soaked, his fur dripping. Ifyla opened her mouth to soothe him in his shocked state but closed it quickly, realizing she shouldn't let her emotions so easily dictate her. She didn't know who this child was, who his parents were, nor anything else about him.

Have a heart, some part of her said, urging her to lay down and invite the child to sit next to her. She huffed at her own indecisiveness, opting for retaining her sitting posture and eyeing the little pup carefully. "It's fine. No need to apologize so much, I forgive you," she reassured him softly. She then slid fully to the ground so that she looked less threatening, although she knew her small stature wasn't very frightening to begin with. Still, she wanted to do what she could to make the poor kid feel somewhat comfortable.

She nudged him lightly with her tail, tipping her head so her eyes weren't so shrouded in shadow. "Well, you're fine to stay under this bush with me if you'd like," she offered. She wasn't heartless and she wasn't going to force the shaking boy into the storm. She thought back to his final comment, her curiosity piquing. "I'm Ifyla, by the way. Now, who's sad? And why does them being sad cause it to rain?" she asked, genuinely curious as to what he had to say. She didn't bother asking his name, assuring herself that if he wanted to give it to her he would.

Ifyla almost frowned at the boy's behavior. Saying sorry so frequently almost reminded her of... herself. She wondered why. She didn't comment about him apologizing for apologizing so frequently, afraid of making the boy feel more bashful than he already was. She winced just the slightest bit when he flinched, afraid she had gone too far. However, the mood lightened when the youth thanked her for letting him stay in the bush. As if she was some sour old toot. She smiled when he shook his pelt out, although she didn't quite appreciate the spray of water on her, although she didn't let the displeasure show.

She grinned when he started telling her a story. Good, if she kept him talking he would be distracted from the storming and his bashfulness. Perhaps he could, in turn, distract her from the thunder beyond their small bit of shelter from the rain. She listened to him babble on about the lion in the sky, looking for his missing family by jumping and roaring about. Personally, Ifyla found the jumping around an impractical waste of energy that could be used for searching, unless the lion could jump quite far. His telling of the myth brought a semblance of a story to the forefront of her thoughts, demanding attention.

Before she could address it, however, Ahi made a comment. "I'd be afraid if I lost my family too." Ifyla blinked. Did she have a family? A silly question, everyone had a family, didn't they? Had she lost hers? Lost them to her amnesia and physically too? She struggled to catch her breath for a moment as she pondered a question that blazed like the sun hidden behind the clouds: if she had lost her family, why wasn't she even remotely worried about them? Some part of her felt relieved she was separated from them, for reasons Ifyla could not remember. Why? What had she done? What might her family had done?

Too many questions that she didn't want to think about considering they only made the headache thrumming in the back of her mind pound even louder. She shoved them aside, instead retrieving the thought that had plagued her when Ahi had told her his tale of lions in the sky. "The way I was told, Ahi, it was the clouds taking pity on the arid lands below them and giving them water from streams and rivers and oceans too far to walk to. Sometimes, when floods occur, the clouds had made a mistake by giving too much water," she explained, unaware of who told her this. She didn't remember, but by the raging clouds above, she wished she did.

@waka

Ifyla smiled at the young boy, happy she had fully distracted him from his previous shyness. A success, if she had ever had one. As Ahi went on to talk of how he was scared of the noise and now wasn't, Ifyla could feel her ears redden. She couldn't say the same, often wincing whenever a loud noise spooked her. Recently, the loud noise had most often been thunder rumbling above. She knew the fear was something childish she should have gotten over a long time ago, but now she didn't know. She hated being scared of something as simple as thunder, at least she knew that.

Then he asked who Ifyla had her own story from and she stiffened. That was a problem. She didn't know who she had gotten the story from, or if it was something she had heard on her own. "Neither, it was a myth where I came from that everyone knew," she lied. Or perhaps she was telling the truth and she had simply forgotten it. Dammit, she didn't know! For all she knew, she could have pulled it out of her ass and mistaken it as some sort of dumb memory. She hoped the lie came across convincingly thanks to her soft smile, but she knew that if the child was attentive enough he would be able to catch the slight waver in her voice.

And then the child continued talking about his family. He talked of how his siblings were brave and fearless, and Ifyla almost scoffed at that. Bravery, stupidity, they could practically be called synonyms. Bravely stupid, maybe. "Sometimes fear is good," she explained, feeling as if she were trying to rationalize her own constant fears. "Fear can keep you from doing foolish things. A fear of something dangerous, a fear of jumping off a cliff. Fear is not always bad, Ahi. You'll overcome your fear if it's smart to do so, I assure you," she said to him, smiling gently in reassurance.

And then he went on to ask about her family. At that moment, she almost regretted letting Ahi stay under the bush with her. Almost. However, she did nearly wince at the question. "A few," she lied, "but most of my family was too busy to play with me. They were still good family, though." The last lie tasted bitter on her tongue as she voiced it as if it were a true and proper lie in regard to her forgotten past. She hoped not.

this is shit oh my g o d