Sleepy Fox Hollow Last long enough to go extinct,

At some point, Anselm noticed most of @Etienne’s scents seemed days old.

It was unlike the healer boy to just up and leave. Anselm’s throat constricted with unbidden emotion, something jagged pressed up against his lungs.

Maybe Etienne had gone for a walk. Anselm told himself he was being ridiculous, sensitive even. Overly emotional. Who cared if Etienne had left him? Certainly not Anselm, who was steady and dependent, and not prone to sissy worrying at all.

This is what he told himself as he stalked the borders, using the excuse they needed fresh markings to search for a boy he refused to acknowledge had somehow wedged his way into Anselm’s heart.

Etienne was never far. Though he didn't stick as close as he used too. Ranging further than before for herbs, hunting, and just general peace.

He and Anselm had developed an easy peace or zoning he supposed where they largely avoided each other. He was always fearful the mountain boy would find out his secret. And cahse him away or worse.

It was with gentle steps he moved back into the pack lands. In his maw two rabbits and across browned shoulders a squirrel. He rather hated hunting, but it needed done.

Anselm tended the borders, leaving a fresh deposit by a mound of ledge. A scent on the wind prevailed; first blood, but then a more familiar one. 

He scraped the earth with his paws, trailing after the source until he caught sight of Etienne’s form between a palisade of sun dappled trees. 

Relief — unbidden — flooded his senses. Anselm kept such emotions buried from his face, but there was an absence of hardness to his gaze as he furtively watched the boy and his tow of kills thread through the copse.

He felt wyes upon him, but it didn't prickle him in unease so he deduced it must be wither raindrop or Anselm.

Title of head just to glance and he noted white pelage and then continued forward.

Upon the drop of kills to the cache. As he dug he sang a sea shanty. Voice mingling into the paw movements as he worked.

Once he was done. He found the nearest water source andcthough it was cold he plowed in. Head beneath for a moment and then he bowed to his elbows to try and splash water along ahoulders and neck where sticky blood and nastiness clung to the sandy fur there.

These days, it was hard to know where Anselm stood.

He wanted greatly for Paleo to rise again, and his family to return. But then he drove away prospective joiners. His moods were mercurial and at times irrational -- spurred mostly by a foreboding sense that he was growing smaller and smaller.

Etienne sang through the gilded forest. Anselm kept his distance, an ear turned to the sound of soft splashes.

The song slinger was bathing. Anselm found himself coming closer, wanting to expel his sense of abandonment by seeing Etienne for himself.

He was not prepared for the rough flare of heat in his belly when he saw the boy, fur slicked down by water so every muscle was defined against a shimmering and gleaming pelt.

Etienne knew that Anselm was not handling any of this well. It was clear in the mood swings and the absolutely swlf-loathong that he pushed upon everyone. It made Eti want to help, but he wasn't sure how. He couldn't tell Anselm of hia own desires the other would probably either kill him or laugh and find something else to pick at him for.

Etienne had filled out during his travels, he was no longer a pudgy pup. Where his sister was stocky, Eti was grace and streamlined
Body built for hunting and roaming now. Not the sea. Though he'd always have a swimmers ilk.

He couldn't get the spot in his shoulders and grumbled a bit.

So 'ard to reac' dese s'oulders.

He was not paying attention to any company when he tried to sling water onto his shoulders. He stared at the river for a moment debating turning back into it. But the thought of belly to air bothered him.

Finally he slid to his knees, twisted so that back was in river and floated for a minute. Golden eyes closed only briefly.

Something in Anselm felt wretched as he watched Etienne bathe. He knew it was wrong to be witness to something so private — rude, even — yet he could not tear his gaze away. 

Something mumbled from Etienne’s mouth about his shoulders. Even if it had been audible to Anselm, he wouldn’t dream of offering help. 

Anselm started as Etienne bent over, stepping behind an ash tree bough so he would be concealed better. 

He felt a pulse knit into his stomach, stretching down along his belly and thighs with each rebounding pulse.

The water rippled as Etienne surfed along his back. For one long boyish moment, Anselm wanted to join him — but the feeling withered to ash in his mouth as he remembered everything he’d lost.

Truth be told. Eti probably wouldn't have cared had he known Anselm was watching. Perhaps even a small part of him would have reveled in it. Found it a win, but to what he couldn't or perhaps wouldn't put to words.


Finally the sticky nasty that had been in his golden fur was out and Etienne smiled as he twisted around to his feet. A jump to the borders and he shook the water free. Licking fur that set up in places. A small hum in his throat.

He found his paws walking towards a long rock that protruded over the river, but directly near the sun. He felt it then a small chill along neck and shoulders. He looked around unsure, but continued his steps to this boulder. Scrambling to the top, he lay draped atop it.

When Etienne turned from the water, Anslem had already carefully retreated. 

When he glanced at the water’s edge again, Etienne was gone. 

A dark score of water on the ground betrayed the direction Etienne had gone in. 

Part of Anselm wanted to find something else to do - to stifle the garden growing gently in his heart. But a better part of him wanted to follow — as if by being in Etienne’s orbit, he might somehow find happiness again. 

As Etienne draped across the stone with water trickling around him, Anselm drew close. His gaze was wary, a scowl already on his face. 

Must be nice to sleep all day.

A snap of golden eye wide open as Anselm spoke. But he didn't move. A small sniff in thr males general direction.

A soft shrug of shoulders. I wouldn't be knowin' first time today i be layin' down. 'Unted, border patrol, bath, 'ere.

Eti shifted, W'at you be doin' Anselm? Do you need me?

A gentle turn of kind ryes to the male. Did Anselm need his help with birders or hunting? Why else would he seek him out?

Why was his first instinct to be unkind? The words left Anselm's lips - words he'd authored - and he pulled back.

Etienne's gaze was kind, his answer patient. Anselm was already retracting back into his shelf. That brief glimpse of interest was eclipsed again, this time by an uglier emotion.

Do you need me? Anselm's lips worked in a thin line, curling. He was not yet arrived at a place where he could be vulnerable.

No. He turned his angled shoulders, their edges hard with self-contempt. This time Anselm began to walk away, though a small part of him hoped Etienne would call him back.

Etienne wondered at hia sanity most days. When had Anselm ever been kind to him. Why did he stay? He felt a sense of something to heal the boy, but of what ailment even he didn't know.

Anselm grew amgry again. His face turning dark and ugly. Etienne felt himself involuntraily flinch, but it wasn't severe. And Anselm didn't reach out to hurt him this time instead he began to walk away.

Etienne warred between calling him back and letting him leave
It was peaceful without
the dark glowering looks, but the peace felt hollow. He cursed himself inside for being two kinds a fool, but he called out.

Anselm. You want to be joinin' me or we can go 'untin'. he hated hunting, but it was life or death.

Hope was a small candle nestled in the wind's claws. Some days it flickered so low one thought it was extinguished; other days, it roared to life in blazing orange.

Anselm ignored the little light of hope in his heart, making show of turning slowly around. He apprised his sodden counterpart. Hunting.

It was a small gesture, but it was a start.

Etienne almost regretted the words. And as Anselm turned he waited for scorn and derision, but was surprised to get neither.

Though he hated hunting. He had offered and so with the grace of a sea born he leapt from the rock in a swift movement.

Okay. He steppwd closer nose twitching and bent to task.

Much like Etienne, Anselm expected some rebuff. He rounded his shoulders, prepared for a rebuke that never came.

His walls were still spiked, but his arsenal was aimed elsewhere now.

Etienne slipped from the stone in a pantherine gesture, prowling towards the deepwood.

Anselm followed him silently, nose to the ground as he parsed from the forest floor the millions of little lives and scent molecules; where every soul and its passing was imprinted, leaving its indelible mark on beads of dew and the coarse edges of fallen sienna leaves.

Where once Etienne had smelled of salt and brine and sand and open air. He now smelled of loam and leaves and the musky scent of forest and glade. He missed the sea salt on the air and on his wolf. he briefly thought of returning to the sea, just for the scents to roll in sand and ocean. To be one with where he had been born, but he kept that small secret to himself. He would return of course.

There were weasels and small scent of hares. There was the scent of deer, but Etienne was unsure they would be able to hunt such as that. He even smelled the musky scent of fox. A fox pelt would be nice he had to admit, but the thought of killing something that resembled his brethren except for defense, felt wrong. But he would let Anselm decide.

Though at his small glance to the male beside him his heart squeezed painfully at the sight that met him. Sunset eyes in grey face. The afternoon sun peppering his pristine coat in dappled light. The shine reflecting there. Etienne had to swiftly turn away and take a deep shaky breath. How could such a man be alive and exist. Beauty incarnate. Almost as beautiful as his mother, the prettiest wolf in the teekon wilds in his opinion.

He made a decision and began to follow the deer scent. It was a limper, that much he could tell by the blood that lay against the grass and plants it had disturbed. Anything to keep his mind off the mountain boy that he'd move mountains for. Even though he didn't deserve it and it filled Etienne with such shame to have such a one sided something. He pointedly refused to exam the longing and the thoughts and focused on the task at hand.

Anselm noticed none of the turbulence that waged its war behind Etienne's eyes. Even if he had been aware of such stormy seas, would he brave them?

After all -- was he not the stone, while Etienne was the ocean? What use does a rock have for water, what use does the sea have thrashing against boulder?

A thousand scents met his nose as he walked past Etienne, unaware that for a moment he was studied. Anselm's mind delved to the task at hand much the same as Etienne's had, though his mind was so singular it entirely ignored the obvious.

Deer. A splatter of blood here and there told of its struggle.

Anselm's ears pricked as he wordlessly set off in a jaunty trot.

Anselm as always was oblivious and for once a quaking anger grew in Etienne, but not at the cruel boy. No it was within himself. Hating and loathing warring in equal measure. Damaged. He was damaged.

There was nothing he could give that Anselm would allow. And he couldn't make him nice and good and kind. But he knew he'd probably waste his last breath trying and it was infuriating.

Sea longed to be on land, but they broke each other trying to touch did they not. The sea taking pieces of the sands. The sands pulling the ocean into its craggy places. But still they danced and longed.

Eti followed nose sniffing. He turned over plants looking for tracks. Ears forward. Golden gaze on the ground. Knowing if he looked forward. If he traced the contours of hard angles and gentle plains he'd be lost again.

Behind Anselm, Etienne's face changed as a storm within him surfaced. If he ever spoke such things aloud, would Anselm be kind?

Did he even have it within himself to be tender?

The boy continued after the scent of deer. Its tracks grew fresher. He could tell from the way vegetation leaned, that the deer had rested here for some time.

Ahead, he heard a soft rustle. Hooves on a dry and cold forest floor.

Anselm's eyes met Etienne's for a second, before he burst into a flat run after the deer.

Etienne held his secrets, his longing tight within the recesses of gentle hesrt. Hesrt that broke easy over and over. For those in pain and wouldn't it be the same for love.

Etienne knew his longings, his hidden desires and wants and needs would never see the ligjt of day. Unless he was pushed, forced one day to speak aloud that which he shouldn't or perhaps couldn't.

Those sunset eyes met his in blazing glory and Anselm was off. Etienne took a gulping breath and followed. Lith lean breaking vegetation. Keeping up well and moving into position to flank the other side. The sun blazing on fur of sand, he raced the wind and now kept his gaze on the beast that ran in front of them.

Three steps forward and the deer was aware of them.

Her slender neck raised, a tuft of winter-dried grass in her jaws. Her long ears flicked, brown eyes round with surprise. She wheeled upon her hind end, stumbling as weight was pressed on her left hind. In bounding strides she cleared the copse while two wolves thundered behind her.

Anselm kept his gaze on the fleeting figure, marking her tawny pelt as it darted between tall saplings and bare bushes.

He lunged for a hind but fell short. She managed a surprisingly athletic leap out of his fangs.

But she was wounded; he could smell the blood and the sick and the fear upon her --

just a few more minutes, maybe. Anselm eased into a comfortable lope behind her. Somewhere he heard Etienne to his left; his ears flicked in his direction, wondering if he would make a move or like him, chase at a distance.

She was beautiful in her glory
The doe of tawny and white. Gentle eyes and she was gonw. Eti hated this, but knew it was the way of things. So he chased. Eager to end it quickly and not draw it out.

Etienne growled and as he was taught the day he hunted bison. He leapt and snapped at her aide. Then left off, only to maneuver and try again. Tire her out. Bloody her. So that one could take her down.

Despite their differences and conflicts, they worked well as a hunting team together. Where Etienne was kind and merciful, Anselm was the opposite: he drove forward with a rough show of fangs, snaring her good hind in criss-crossed teeth.

Now she limped on both hinds, her left dragging in the snow.

Little bouquets of bright red droplets scattering in the white.

Anselm did not observe beauty. He was not built for it. His eyes trained on the bounding pulse of her neck. When Etienne swerved in, Anselm sprung to life in a sudden show of speed. His teeth snapped at her neck, and with all his weight swung into the blow, he toppled her.

Holding her kicking against the ground, Anselm closed his eyes as a wet spray of blood splattered his face.

Anselm was rougher, harder than Eti. He knew that and despite it. For the first time he enjoyed hunting just a little.

She was flagging, failing and Etienne wanted it over. His breath shallow.

The crimson on the fur of mountain white and Etienne sucked in a breath.

bèl ak mòtèl a whisper and a soft chuckle as he shook his head.

He limped away to remove the stick he had caught in soft foot pad. It was just a matter of pulling and cobwebs.

He held her until her struggling ceased and she fell limp against the ground. His breath came ragged. The snow around them was trampled in a garland of red. 

Etienne strode forward, removing a thin stick from his paw. As he did so Anselm began to eat: warm blood in his mouth and hot meat in his belly. 

When he ate his fill he moved away from the carcass. Settling in the snow, Anselm began to kick the blood from his paws and chest. He would remain there until Etienne ate his fill, and then cache the rest deep in the hollow in preparation for the upcoming winter.