Fairspell Meadow Gin and kerosene

The frostkissed meadow was, as far as Dionysus could tell, undisturbed. At this late hour his nose told him more than his eyes, so he'd spent time sniffing around to be certain he wouldn't run across any other wolves. He'd found nothing.

Now he stretched out in the spot he'd claimed for himself, belly pressed against the cold ground. His ears twitched and flicked even as he settled, catching every little sound of the night. Occasionally the clouds would shift and the moonlight brightened the world around him — and when that happened, Dionysus was eager to watch whatever he could in the shadowy meadow. But each time the clouds took the light away again, he closed his eyes, nearly seeming asleep in his stillness.

He came to a stop where the moonlight threaded weakly through the clouds. There, across the meadow, lay the figure he’d been tracking.

Stretched out like a creature at peace, but Samir knew better.

No wolf in their right mind would lounge so openly without an ear turned toward danger. This one was playing at ease, but the flick of his ears and the rise and fall of his breathing betrayed a readiness.

Samir was more than willing to feed into his paranoia. His complex.

A figure, one of ebony and gold, peeled from the shadows that lingered around the very edges of the peaceful meadow. There, his chin tilted ever so lightly upward, eyes washing across the lounging form of the wolf. The stranger's snipy nose and tall ears were a dead giveaway that he was no ordinary wolf.

A smirk curled it's way onto the Prince's face as he stepped closer. The moonlight dimmed again as the clouds rolled over, casting the meadow into shadow. Samir let out a soft breath.

One does hope you aren't afraid of a little company.