Who is it that decided women would be the healers? There are so many animal kingdoms where the women hunt, fight, and protect their land while the male animal roams around and populates as he pleases. Instead of letting animalistic roles infiltrate human lives, someone...somewhere, decided that women would maintain a strange, domesticated role while the men protected them, hunted for them, and then waited with the idea they deserved servitude for their innate behavior. Women, though, always struck me as better fighters than men. Men have tempers, quick to snap and quick to spark a forest fire that ignites a flame far greater than ever intended. They show their muscle, flash their tails and hope that their peacock feathers are bigger and brighter than their opponents. Women spend their lives being groomed for a role. They learn to cook, clean, sew, mend, fix, and create anything and everything. How is it that they hold each and every role, while their animal counterparts roam the world with an independence and freedom that human women generally cannot boast? Elenore liked to cook, she liked to take care of people and things and mend them. And Alexis?

The fox was curled up in front of me in order to get better access at my hands. She states, quite plainly, that she used to help with all kinds of injuries. The injuries were on a spectrum far from unlike my own personal injuries spanned, and my lips tinged into a smile in response. Gun shots , missing limbs? It starts to sound, from her words, that becoming a were-animal might just be the bee's knees. But then again, as I let her tend to my fingers and knuckles, it becomes apparent that she too knows what she is doing, just like any other woman I've let try and help.

What is it with genetics or nature or nurture... or whatever it is?

She softens, but at the same time buries her nose into what she's doing as if to focus on my hands instead of the body and person behind them. What is it about me that is so disconcerting? I sigh, relaxing some to try and help her understand that I am not going to haul off and transform into MegaTron or something, but I refrain from using the metaphor lest she not understand human humor like most of the were-animals I've now come to meet. It doesn't take long to finish her task, but I've gotten comfortable and when she remarks that they're finished, I simply tilt my head to get a better look at her.

"Actually, I do."

Who do I have waiting for me? Ha- ... His royal Highness, King Church. The black mutt of a cat would be waiting for me on the top of the refrigerator for my arrival, crouched in wait of his prey. Besides the cat, I had nothing waiting for me and I was in absolutely no hurry. The girl looked as if company was helping, potentially keeping her mind off of the men who had come looking for her earlier.

As if they'd come back.

"But, it's his fault if he thinks he's hungry because I left dinner out on the floor for him. Cats; never satisfied."

With a slow look to the fire, feeling my sight getting lost in it, I sighed and leaned against the couch to inspect my knuckles once I was able to pull my gaze from the flames. "I have enough scars, I'm sure adding more to the collection won't hurt. But tell me; what kind of scars do you have?" My words were soft and innocent enough, simply curious about what kind of scars might leave such an insecure, untrusting wound .