Gleefully Growling
Another QUICK BYTE From A Special Black Chevy...
Wasn’t planning on continuing the plotline this soon, but I am having way too much fun with Cam and Corre from A Small Salvation, hence the vignette via QUICK BYTES. We’ll be back to your regularly scheduled badassery soon, but sometimes, you just gotta write something cute and fluffy.
This is one of those times.
It had all gone so well, that she could feel the poor youngster shivering again.
They had found a decent watering hole, pretty safe based on the old Geiger counter’s readings, and it afforded both mother and son a much-needed bath. After toweling off, getting dressed, and tearing back down the road, the black wolven mother Camionera felt as fresh as fresh could be. She had even traded out the tight old crop-top for the cozy loose fit of a T-shirt from the suitcase, one which brought the hardened road warrior close to her long-lost love.
For the tan-furred youngster Corre, his shirts, jeans, and sandalias now clean, he woke up to a sound he couldn’t understand; Camionera growling. Slight was the smile upon her sharp black muzzle, her eyes veiled by silver shades, and her sandaled paw pressed firm against the gas pedal. Between her growl and the truck’s haste, it could only mean one thing: danger. When the shivering Indian pup snapped to her side, she finally took notice.
“¿Qué pasa, chico?” she asked innocently, thumbing the tufts of his cheeks.
“Why are you angry?” he asked in kind, “You’re growling.”
Camionera snorted out a laugh before pulling the Chevy off to the side of the road. She picked little Corre up and plopped him in her lap. “If you ever catch me growling,” she soothed, scritching beneath his little muzzle, “It’s ‘cause someone’s trying to hurt you, and I ain’t gonna let ‘em, or I’m happy behind the wheel. Right now, it’s happy growls. That’s what Mister Chevy does too!”
She gave the pedal a few taps, and sure enough, the deep vrooms of the pickup’s engine sounded like growls too.
To seal the deal, however, Camionera turned him around to face the road, and buckled him up with the seatbelt across her waist. The scruffy kid could just see over the steering wheel, so the effect wouldn’t be lost. “Hang on, chico!”
The beast’s tires spat desert dust into the air as the pickup hurtled down the road. Corre was thrown back against Camionera’s stomach, herself thrown back against the seat. Mother and son roared laughing as the truck thundered away, and once both had calmed down, Corre soon heard his mother’s warm, friendly growls, and he looked up to see the black wolf’s grin.
When she caught a flash of herself in the rearview, her smile was no longer her own; it was his, that beautiful hound from long ago. But before the flood of memories could take hold, she felt a rumbling at her stomach, for Corre now growled just as gleefully.
“I think I’m making a driver out of you,” she teased, landing a quick nip on his forehead before flattening the pedal to the floor.