"Well, some days I go two or three miles a day because I'm just chasing squirrels, and some days I go sixty miles because I feel like a good long run," you say. "So it's actually hard to say. I'm not in a hurry, I suppose, I'd just hate to double back for someone, or poke around slowly when I wanted to run, or— whatever." You wave a hand.
"You're used to being alone," you observe. "Well, Nome in February if you don't like my pace, right?" And that's a good reminder not to get too attached to him. On the topic of which: "Have you ever dated anyone or, or been in a relationship?"
"Well, I like being alone," you smile. "Though yes, I've run around with a number of ladies and gentlemen. Had a girlfriend for awhile, it was lovely, but she went off to college. I've been invited into a few families, too, if you can believe it, but—" you shrug. "I don't think I'm really the, the marrying type, the settling type. Don't take it personally, though, I'm sure we're liable to have a grand time together. Unless you get tired of me tomorrow." There is pie. You apply yourself very happily to the pie. "How about you?" you ask, after a few bites. "You'd start a damn fine family, I'm sure, I'm surprised you've only been hit up for it once so far. Hell, you could found a fucking bloodline, if you felt like it. They'd be lining up for you on the sidewalk."
You sigh mournfully. "Yeah, that's the impression I got. I'm totally the settling type, but I'll try not to be a jackass about it. I was warned!" A few bites of pie cheer you up considerably. "Funny thing is, I like being alone a lot of the time too. Which caused problems with the people I've dated. It's like, if you care about someone, you're supposed to want to be with them 24/7. You're not supposed to want to go camping by yourself, even if her parents won't let her go with you."
"Nome in February!" you say cheerfully. "I've never had to deal with strictly human partners but it does get obnoxious, being followed around, or, hm, every last little thing becomes a negotiation. It's exhausting. The girlfriend I had was excellent, she would say 'fuck off, come back in spring' and I would. Then it was 'sorry, I'm fucking off to college, see you around,' and no hard feelings. After that there was this chap who did literally put me in a cage, but I don't know if it counts as a relationship when he's sort of, 'oh, we're soulbonded for life, wolves do that,' and you're going, 'I am literally going to bite your head off, wolves do that'. That was a fun month." You scratch your nose. "Actually no that wasn't a fun month. But it was funny how surprised he was when he finally opened the cage and I did actually maul him."
"Holy shit," you say vehemently. "Did you kill him? If not, I propose we truck up there and see who's in his cage right now, and finish the job. It sounds like you had a close shave with a serial killer."
You laugh at him, though you're pleased by his outrage on your behalf. "No, I just gave him a good trouncing and hopped the fence to go get a lunch that didn't involve dry kibble, I was fucking starving. Someone else put the knife in him, as I understand it-- I wasn't going to call out a hit on the chap but I did nose some warnings about, and there's always a few people in every community who like playing vigilante. Your stabby bar friend was probably one of that lot."
"Huh. I wonder why he went after me? Ever since, I've been toying with the idea of going back and asking. But he might've come up with silver bullets since then."
You shrug and finish your pie. Shame you can't lick plates, as a human. One of the sillier rules. "Well, either he thought you were a bad sort, or he was a bad sort. Or both, I suppose. Could have been trying to get rid of you while you were still young. I'd hate to cross you ten years down the road, that's for damn sure."
"Well, yeah, but why would he think I'm a bad sort? I was perfectly polite. I guess I'm wondering if there's some wolf thing that would explain it. Like, with the guy who invited me home, at the time I thought it was a weird fetishy thing. From a human perspective, that's just a really pervy and shallow thing to do. I hadn't even met the lady, did he have a kink for forcing her to fuck strangers? Eww, that's nasty. But from things you've said since, I'm starting to think he wanted my genes, and his wife would've been on board because I'm big and healthy. Right?"
"And because he would know her type," you agree. "Big and fit isn't always what everyone goes for, there's an old line in the, mm, the Alps? They breed for empathy, perception, that sort of thing. Trying to turn up psychics. From what I've seen it seems to be working, they're a fucking spooky lot. More of a hive than a pack. Brr."
"I'm fascinated. Honestly more interested in meeting those than the Chernobyl guys, except I've always wanted to see Chernobyl." You think back on the guy who wanted your genes, wondering if you'd have gone for it if you'd understood. Probably not. "I expect that guy would've changed his mind if he knew I'm autistic. People are panicky about that."
You blink at him. "Artistic? Never bothered my family much, you can't drag one of my aunts away from her loom unless you're waving dinner right under her nose."
You stare, trying to figure out if he's being a smartass. Apparently not. "No, autistic. Sensory processing disorder, executive dysfunction, prone to fixations, don't like my routine disrupted? Faceblind? Can't read body language worth a damn?"
"That does sound like a lot to have wrong with you, though from where I'm sitting you seem to have done well on it. And you say it's hereditary? did you get it from your mother's side or the father's? Has your new condition changed anything?"
"Nothing's changed, no. It seems to be probably hereditary, but there's a lot of prejudice against it, so the research is mostly on how to get rid of us." You grimace. "Anyway, probably from my mom's side, Dad says I'm a lot like her, but she died when I was little. She was a nature photographer. She drowned in a flash flood while photographing Denali Park. Which is, you know, part of why I've always wanted to go to Alaska. See what she saw."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I mean, about your mother. But that sounds like a lovely reason for a trip. It's so important to have that connection to, hmm, the past. Your family's history." You shrug. "Florida's not so bad, as ancestral stomping grounds go. But Alaska should be gorgeous whenever it is we get there."
"Don't think I'd want to find her last location this late in the season, not without a lot more wolf lessons. I'm trained in cold weather and high altitude survival, but even with good equipment it's risky. This year I think I'd rather stick to the Iditarod trail or thereabouts. Anchorage to Nome, cleared and marked, right? Ever worked with sled dogs before?"
"N0, never," you say thoughtfully. "Thought now I wonder how it'd go. I'm pretty good at dogs, if I had an experienced sled...man? sledsman? dog manager? along to ease my way into the group, I don't see why I shouldn't be able to integrate well enough to get along. I shouldn't like to participate in any races, though. Too much fuss and noise."
"Musher. The driver's called a musher, I know that much. Heh, I'm starting to get kind of excited to get up there, see what's what. But not so excited that I want to skip Devil's Lake. There's a really pretty spire above the lake that I have just got to climb." You drain the last of your juice and pick up the check. "I propose we get our errands done and hit the road."
