Great Bear Wilderness I made it all look painless,

Stark’s eyes flickered open, the world around him blurry and strange, as if painted in washed-out shades he didn’t recognize. The air was thick, carrying scents he couldn’t place—damp moss, cold stone, hints of pine and something else unknown lurking beneath. For a moment, he lay still, breaths ragged as his senses came slowly to life, his body stiff and aching as though it bore the weight of battles fought across lifetimes.

He tried to summon a memory, any memory, but all he found were fragments: the flash of teeth, snarls in the night, a glimpse of a face that slipped away the moment he reached for it. There was only the ache—deep and unforgiving, a silent reminder of something... cold. He couldn't recall what it was, but the hole it left behind was hollow and unyielding. It was no good.

With a low, frustrated huff, he pushed himself to his paws, his muscles protesting the movement, the pain lancing through his limbs sharp enough to pull his lips back in a silent snarl. The unfamiliar earth beneath his paws was cold, and he gave himself a brisk shake, wincing as another bolt of pain shot through his form. He took a steadying breath, feeling the rawness in his chest, a pulse of soreness that reminded him he was alive, if nothing else.

Keep going, he told himself, jaw set, his gaze steeling as he glanced around at this unknown land. There was no sense in staying put, no comfort in wallowing in the emptiness left where his memories should be. Perhaps something out there -- in the vast forest staring back at him -- could remind him of what was lost.

What’s wrong with you?

Though unmistakably young, the voice was cold. And the accompanying stare was just as fierce. Such things hardly seemed capable of coming from such a small-statured wolf. A mere starveling to the untrained eye.

She stood at a distance, dwarfed between the evergreens that loomed over them like gods, yet the girl’s posture easily mirrored their mighty rigidness. Her pelt, gunmetal in the shade, appeared clean and otter-sleek, however, a closer examination would reveal tufts of her fur that lay raised in places where a burr or three had taken root.

Needle regarded him with thinly-veiled disdain.

Strangers no longer frightened her.

Especially not ones who looked unsteady on their feet.

His pawsteps were loud, the earth beneath him crunching underfoot. He moved with the grace of a wolf who cared not where he tread, or who he might come across. Such was reflected in the lack of surprise from the pale brute when a young, scrappy voice fell upon his two perked ears. It didn't take long to pinpoint her location; his own body swiveled, sore muscles bending beneath a pale pelt.

Stark’s gaze drifted over the youngling, unblinking, noting the subtle defiance in her posture. A scrawny thing, barely grown, yet there was a fierceness in her gaze, a bite that belied her size. His lip curled in a faint smirk, just enough to unveil the toothy grin he'd been cursed with from birth. It was not intimidating, but then again -- Stark wasn't trying to be.

“What’s wrong with me?” he rasped, voice low and rough, each word emphasized by the lump of gravel in his throat. His throat was sore from misuse. Stark let the question hang there, a hint of amusement embellished in his good eye.

“Bold words from a pup still tangled in brambles,” he muttered, snout jerking in gesture towards the burrs disturbing the sleekness of her silver pelt. His voice softened then, barely above a murmur, though the steel remained. “I’ve lived through worse than this, pup. Pain is an old friend of mine.”

He'd never admit it, but the presence of another did well to soothe his nerves. Even if she was small, and arguably puny.

His features were unmistakable. Embattled, hard-muscled. A great gray watchtower. An immortal kingsguard. And when he turned to look at her, Needle saw the missing eye. She frowned deeper, if only to hide her surprise.

She couldn’t allow the pale-washed veteran to intimidate her. She dared not show an inkling of doubt.

He made it easier on her. Rather than taking issue with her ill manners, the stranger seemed amused, which only served to embolden this little silver quickhatch.

So she bristled at being infantilized. I’m not a pup! Her thoughts seethed, her eyes narrowed, and when he said it a second time, her tongue lashed. I am not a pup, she insisted with ironic childishness. No wonder you’re all beat up.

Her sudden outburst was predictable. In response came a low, humorless chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. Behind the cage of his teeth, his tongue clicked in a small tsk. Her defiance was amusing, a spark of fire in that small, sharp frame, and she snarled with youthful arrogance. Ah yes, Stark remembered when he was the very same as this whelp.

He took sudden steps, though they were notably leisure as not to spook her. When just a few feet separated the two, he leaned down, his one good eye glinting with something between amusement and warning. "Not a pup, are you?" His voice was quiet, rough. His teeth clicked again. "Then you should know better than to pick a fight with someone bigger than you.” Stark wasn't in the business of threatening yearlings, even if it could be misconstrued as one. No, no, it was just a simple reminder.

He both enjoyed, and welcomed, the distraction from his new daunting reality. His memories were shattered, fragments that he struggled to piece together. He remembered who he was, and everything else... it was a dark fog.

Stark gave her a hard, assessing look, the faintest smirk touching his muzzle. "Keep that fire. You’ll need it, one day.” With that, he turned away. He had every intention to conclude the discussion and continue on his way, then again, a nuisance would be a nuisance. From the looks of the wilderness around him, he had more ground to cover. Nothing was familiar yet, and so he could only assume he must keep going.

Go, go, go, until something sparked.

Needle tensed as he approached, her pelt rippling in alarm. Involuntarily, she took a single step backwards, then steeled herself into this back-footed posture as the stonewolf hovered over her with a patronizing lean.

The grate of his voice set her teeth on edge and her spine aquiver. The implication of his words stoked further defiance within her, which rose up to spray like venom as she growled back at him. I can bite just as hard as you can. She was quieter this time but just as steady, hissing through grit teeth and continuing to glare up at him recklessly.

Be brave. Don’t make your move until they lunge.

She knew what the rogues had taught her, but the rules of engagement were harder to recall in the heat of the moment, something she had not anticipated.

The one rule she could think of repeated in her thoughts as the ravaged wolf talked down to her; she prepared for the lunge, her eyes flickering wildly across his face to take in every twitch of muscle of whisker. Ay dios mío! She couldn’t remember exactly where to steady-train her eyes…

But, fortunately, no lunge came.

He simply turned to leave.

Needle snorted, a sound as contemptuous as it was relieved. His parting advice, his dismissiveness, left a bad taste in her mouth. Yeah, well, maybe you oughta learn not to underestimate an opponent because they’re small, she shouted after him. Maybe then you will keep your last eye!

She huffed, expelling what remained of her anxiety from the encounter. A part of her wanted to follow – the part of her that had bidden her to speak to him in the first place; the part of her that didn’t want to be alone again – but (whether he’d meant to or not) he had frightened her.

And though she may not have known well enough to mind her tongue or to back down, it was instinct that told her not to pursue after him.

At least not too closely.