Blacktail Deer Plateau From Under the Floorboards

Several months running stag hadn't done Svalinn any favors, but these particularly hellish last few weeks had left him both physically diminished and socially traumatized. It made him react unkindly to the sudden presence of another; his face contorting into a compulsory snarl as he turned in the silent she-wolf's direction. Her stark white coat and deep, deep, deep eyes did not stir any immediate recollection within the wild vagrant, but his clambering aggression was staved by the scent of Rusalka—

... Home.

The tarnished wolf withdrew his teeth and suppressed an incipient thunder, yet neglected to lessen the grip of his fiery gaze on her. He was moodily standoffish for a beat, perhaps trapped between knowing he should apologize and the knowledge that he would never. Then after such a pause he frowned suddenly, as if trying to puzzle out something about her face, which all became diverted at the soft, nearly unfamiliar sound of his name.

His entire body shivered, and he turned with breakneck haste to meet Raleska— Raleska!— full-on and with the unbridled joy of a dog who hasn't seen its favorite person for a very long time. Svalinn threw himself at the pithy darkling, and hoped desperately not to let go.