Wapun Meadow Don't you dare forget the sun

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It had been months, no luck.

Have faith. God, just have faith. Verax could tell himself whatever he wanted, reality was, there were no gods and if there ever were than they certainly did not care for the woes of the little guys down here, fucking up their earth. No, they were free to carve whatever festering indents they wanted into the world, free to kill and fuck and shit and die as if any of it meant anything at all.

Wretch could be resourceful. She'd be fine, she'd be fine. He didn't even know if he went in the right direction, didn't even know if he was chasing a ghost that'd be cold and decayed by now. God he'd never felt anxiety like this, clawing away at his innards, a hurt worse than any fangs could ever inflict. He was giving up.

Dog off his chain, he wanted to destroy this world and everyone in it. Serves every one of you fuckers right.

Now to find something to sink his teeth or his dick into. Take his mind off the clusterfuck that was his life.

Leaving one of the new initiates behind at the sentry stone for a shift, Ameline trotted out into the frosty meadow in hopes of finding something to quell the rumbling in her stomach. Something small, not something troublesome- though she would search for fresh deer droppings and rally the troops for a larger hunt later, she thought. It made her happy to think she had able hands to call upon; able hands now, and a happy pack come winter. 

Babies, perhaps, in the Spring. 

Gaining new members to the pack only served to whet her apetite for more, though. So when she spotted a loner in the meadows, her ears flicked forward, and she licked her lips so she might assess his scent better. He was a good size, and did not smell of disease. From a distance, she could not see his scars or the pale, opalescent quality of his eye- but she began to approach anyhow, optimistically believing that perhaps he might be of some use.

Much as his senses had taken a beating after every misadventure he'd put himself thorugh, he was quick to taste a new scent on the wind, and lazily turned his head once the sound of disturbed grass got closer- closer. Half-cocked, he regarded this stranger—goldburned and wicked pretty, that sort of beauty a man like him worshipped, the sort that was scarred and battle-tasted.

Not the prettiest of faces—his, of course, was primed to greet her. Walking zombie turned into something resembling a man as he'd fix his posture and meet icy eyes with his own half dead.

Oh hello. Can I help you with something? He slipped on his best charm. Lord knows looks weren't enough to pull her in.

When he turned toward her, she saw the scars he bore. One of his eyes was as pale as hers- including the pupil, where it ought be dark. From the look of it, he'd been involved in fights- more than a couple, from what she could guess, unless he'd somehow managed to recover from a particularly brutal attack. She found it difficult to guess his age- he might be weathered, or he might simply have been through unfortunate circumstances. Remove the scars, though, she she thought they might be similar in age. 

Maybe, She said, with a casual shrug. You really the kind of wolf who goeth around offerin' help to random thtrangerth, though? She asked. Appearances weren't everything- but she knew not to overlook it when a wolf had that much scarring. She gave him a grin, and flicked her tail. I'm jutht teathin' ya. No- I live jutht that way, She said, gesturing back toward the treeline in the distance, where the valley sank out of sight. I jutht hunt in the meadow. You? She asked.

He snickered at her tease, and followed her gesture to the place where the sun drowned behind the hills. A pack, probably. Most lone women didn't give away their addresses so readily. She had confidence and it spoke to him in words unspoken. He matched her demeanour with his own, kept himself open and inviting; gnarled jaws parted briefly to yawn and his tongue traced his teeth as they closed.

Hn. Looking for a good place to keel over and die, honestly. His tone sounded like a joke, he made sure to put it that way; but honestly? That sounded nice right about now. Oh, warm embrace of oblivion. But he was not meant for quiet passage in some soft plush bed of furs. He was meant for the indignant kind, marked the day he came into this world. 

What are you hunting today?

Her brow raised. That tho? She intoned. He was funnier than she’d expected. There’th a river jutht that way, She said, pointing with her muzzle. Yer deathbed could be a waterbed, imagine that. The wolves of Swiftcurrent Creek wouldn’t likely be pleased to find a dead, bloated wolf in their water supply but she found Akavir to be stiffer than a corpse, anyway. 

Regardless, she sniffed the air again, cautiously. He didn’t smell sick; perhaps he just had a very dark sense of humour.  Maybe it was what he led with, so he could get a better impression of who he was talking to.

Thomethin’ thmall for now. Check for deer droppingth tho I can bring the pack out at dawn for a bigger hunt.

She was right before, though it was only a tease.

He wasn't the sort that went around offering help to strangers. He was the sort that only cared about himself, now that anything worth caring about was wrenched away. What would he do? 

whatwouldhedowhatwouldhedowhatwouldhedo. God it drove him mad. Not as mad as some, but madmadmad. He wanted to hurt or be hurt; it was the only thing he knew how to do. Maybe helping a nice lady catch some vermin in the fields was just the thing he needed to do. Shred some poor fucking rabbit into eenie little diced bits and get a kick out of it.

..D'you want company? He found himself asking, for whatever reason, maybe to curb the ache, fill the time with something less mind-numbing than searching endlessly for something non-existant. Maybe just to see if she'd allow it.

 It had been a while since he'd indulged in anything, and boredom wasn't good for a mind like his.

Did she want company? 

Nah, She said, and she turned abruptly- but not before swinging back toward him with a cackle. Ah I'm jutht fuckin' with ya. Sure; tag along, She said, since he'd made the offer. She began to stride forth into the meadow, head down and tail lightly curled, but swaying, as she sought out scents. Now that she had an accomplice, she might not need to search for something small; she'd probably feel obliged to share, and something that small was hardly a snack split between two wolves. 

You got any eckthperienthe huntin' with a pack? She asked, then, as her thoughts roved toward the idea of searching for deer tracks.

For a moment, the gears in his head stopped turning, a metaphorical loading icon above his pearly, dented noggin. And then she laughed, just fucking with him. He was not smart enough for things like that! She kept him on his toes and his enjoyment only festered.

Oh yes- I'm a good bait dog. I have a knack for pissin' things off. Can't ya tell? He grins, well aware of his own ugly mug.

What a sob story! Poor boy! 

Nah, he didn't mind bein' used. See, now he just wanted to choose who got to use him.

...And good at most other aspects of it. An' I don't mind takin' an antler, if y' want a bigger meal for your pack. Challenge stirred in the rumble of his voice, he fell into a little half-jog to follow up alongside the sun-slicked woman. Now they were tracking, and he flicked on that little switch in his brain that dropped him into habit and instinct.