Out of the Hinterlands they came, though Wednesday ranged ahead when Gristle moved more slowly than she would have liked. It was not the first time she had left him behind, but the tawny man found her again eventually. She never questioned how; the she wolf did not hide her activity, so it was doubtless that she was easy to trail. Gristle was the last of the wolves she had been with before the famine took them. She was an assisting nudge. Wednesday killed when necessary, such as when she was challenged and her very important pride was on the line... and also, when there was no other food to eat.
Not many would agree with her cannibalistic way that fatal day, but she hadn't heard Gristle complaining as she picked at their bones. Since that day things had astoundingly looked up for the duo. In passing they had scavenged across many a large carcass. Wednesday did not fear for the karmic forces of life; she had lived long enough to know that death was inevitable, and she did not really care how. Any who had come against her had been put off, and any who didn't would die if their death served her. She was a survivalist, and that alone.
The Canyon bitch began to ascend the rocky landscape ahead. Up and up she went until she came to an area where the world at large could be viewed, her harsh yellow eyes devouring the horizon as she wondered where she would go to next.
She went, and he followed. It wasn't uncommon for the man to lag behind, distracted by a peculiar scent or stopping to rest. He always caught up with her, however, and was thankful she made no effort to cover her tracks. They weren't stealthy thieves that slunk through the night, no. They simply took what they could and made do with what life presented them with. Whether it was fresh meat, carrion or...other bodies...Gristle really didn't mind. As long as it kept his stomach full.
But food was becoming ever more scarce. They were lucky since leaving the canyon that famine hadn't reached as far as the hinterlands beyond. The winter was still bearing down upon them, though, and who knew what prey was like here.
Gristle came up beside the beastly female he had been following as she stood and surveyed the lands that spread before them. He glanced southwards, towards the ocean, before staring straight at the distant mountain range. He gave a low chuff at the sight, as if displeased.
He had returned to her quicker than expected. The crunching of snow betrayed his approach, and Wednesday turned to look over her shoulder at him. While she hungered then and there, it was not to the extent that she thought of pushing him over the ledge to eat him. Gristle she had known for the longest of any that roamed the earth with her, but if that instilled any loyalties toward him one might never know. Her self-perseverance was most important to her; it so happened that Gristle and his assistance had proven more valuable to her than anything else. Wednesday was patient, to a certain extent. The only fuse on her had to do with her pride. If any challenged her, she fought to kill them. It would be the last damn thing they ever did.
The displeased sound caused her to look away from him and back to what lay ahead of them. For the most part, it was covered in white. It did look pretty dismal, but the bleakness of the world could be attributed to the clouds overhead. Her reaction was equally as pessimistic as his own, but her patience remained with her. There was potential here, she must remember that.
Wednesday remained silent as her eyes traced the path downward. She took some steps backward in case he felt the urge to send her downward. The moral code of Gristle was questionable, but never did it seem as terrible as her own. She, after all, set the bloody battle of the Red Canyon to motion. He helped see it through to completion, though she had always been the strongest within the pack (of the she-wolves, as surely Gristle and her looked to be well matched), her late fathers daughter in every sense of the word though a far looser canon.
Perhaps Gristle kept with her because he knew of her potential, her strength, her survivalist ambition and her cruel leadership. Fear was her weapon, the blood-stained teeth she wielded ammunition that never missed. She had the marksmanship of a professional sniper, and Wednesday's kill count did plenty of favors to her fearsome reputation.
Here she was an unknown. Here she could be who she wished to be. But then, Wednesday was not much of a pretender, and had not a single regret.
If she was surprised by his appearance, she did not show it. Gristle hadn't the forethought to even announce his presence to her, too used to simply showing up whenever he pleased — or was needed. It wasn't like he could exactly sneak up on Wednesday, anyway...or any other wolf for that matter. His approach to most things was to use brute force and hoped the odds were in his favour. Siding with his notorious pack mate had been one such example. So far, it had turned out alright. She hadn't eaten him, for a start.
When his snort of indifference was met with only silence, Gristle cast back his gaze to the woman, noting her eyes following a trail that led down the ledge they stood upon. He didn't think of sending her tumbling cliffside and honestly wouldn't even try to if the thought did enter his mind. Wednesday was a valuable (if slightly morally chaotic) companion, and he knew the importance of safety in numbers.
As she stood back, Gristle moved forward, planning his move for only a second before he skidded down the rocky slope. He stumbled a few lengths but his sturdy legs easily caught his hefty body and he remained upright. He glanced back up at Wednesday with a quirk of his head. Coming?