@Shaara backdated a day or two if that's ok?
The winter-kissed woods are still and peaceful — a welcome contrast from the heated buzzing of his thoughts. His paws fall softly against the snow as he walks, leaving the barest imprints in their wake, though the softly-falling snow quickly covers his tracks. He shivers, suppressing a cough despite the nagging tickle deep in his throat. There's a heaviness in his chest that feels familiar somehow, a more physical feeling than the anxiety that plagues him. His lungs feel constricted and there's a feverish heat spreading up through his face, permeating his nose and his mouth. He's certain he must be sick.
Fear of infecting his packmates keeps him far from the territory; he's opted to wander instead, even to his own detriment. He hardly finds it a burden anyway. The combination of newness and distant familiarity of the land is a strangely addicting feeling to the wolf who has always been plagued by wanderlust. He hears a soft rustling sound and slows, glancing up just as a clump of fresh snow falls from one of the barren branches above and nails him right in the face. His head drops immediately, nose and eyes stinging with cold snow and tree grodies. He snorts and splutters, shaking his head wildly and pawing at his face to clear the snow away.
Ugh. Maybe he should have stayed home.
He doesn't notice the girl at first; he's too busy wiping at his stinging eyes, irritated and, as usual, caught up in his own melodramatics. He recovers a few moments later, shaking out his coat with a huff and glancing around. He spots her then, a tiny girl with a strangely familiar salt-and-pepper coat. Very familiar, actually.
He starts toward her without a second thought, struck hard by the inexplicable feeling that he knows her somehow. Well, maybe not so inexplicable — maybe he does know her. He just doesn't remember her. Probably. He really hopes he does know her, or this whole thing will be very awkward. Hey,
He calls, prepared to follow up with some kind of question. It immediately occurs to him that he has no idea what question would be appropriate for this situation. You seem familiar.
He finds himself saying instead, halting when he's a few feet from her and studying her intently.
He blinks, uncertain at first that he'd heard her correctly — but no, she'd really said that. What — no, what the hell?
He says, a little disbelieving. Get to know her? No, nope, no thank you. I just thought — nevermind. Obviously we've never met.
And maybe he doesn't really want to meet her; he'd been a little excited at the prospect of meeting someone he'd known before his amnesia, and now he's just irritated. Though, he can't deny the aching familiarity of her orange eyes. They remind him of something — someone. The thought inexplicably sends a bolt of muted grief through him as he turns away, and he can't shake the sudden feeling of loss.