Shy Deer Steppes vezhof

he had been released from his captivity.

his time spent serving as the dog of akashingo and muat-riya was at an end; and now the boy had to weigh his options. how much did his freedom cost? what was it worth? he could be fed and entertained if he stayed; he could go wherever he pleased if he left, and drusk could not decide.

he stayed mostly to the steppe. he roamed and hunted, chasing the runner-birds or watching for vultures; he picked clean what he could find for meals, and slowly, slowly did he acclimate to his true self again.

but the question remained, and he did not move on.

Wulfwynn had no destination in mind, just where ever her paws decided she needed to go. She was on a quest with no time limit, merely to discover herself and truly unleash the wolf locked within her small, Pomeranian self. This was her destiny, where she belonged, under the sprawling skies and the earth that her feet treaded. 

Her spirit light, the wildling journeyed with only the wind as her companion. Now that she tasted true freedom, she refused to let the memories of the mill ruin these moments that made up her new life here in the wild.

the sky above was darkening. an approaching autumn was on the horizon, but drusk was oblivious to the passage of the seasons in this place.

a foul stench catches in his nose—a patch of disturbed earth draws his eye as he investigates, suggesting that something or someone was here before him, but his nose is full of rot to the point he could not discern specifics.

he takes notice of flies buzzing in a cloud above yellow grass. as he approaches this next, he finds the bloated carcass of an antelope. its eyes are sunken, its hide is torn, revealing slick bones.

the wind shifts, carrying the stench further across the lonely steppe.

Wulfwynn soon found her paws had become sore from all the traveling she'd done and she stopped to investigate the little cracks in the padding. Some blood oozed between her toes and she gave it a tender lick to soothe the ache. From a life of being trapped in a cage with no real means of exercise, her body was still adjusting to this non-sedentary life. She wasn't complaining though, she'd take bloody paws over being confined.

Stomach rumbling, Wulfwynn wondered if there was anything to eat around this steppe. She wasn't a picky eater and the call she followed had kept her fed so far, leading her to small prey she could hunt or leftover carcasses for scavenging. So, using her nose, she took in a long, deep whiff of the air. The wind carried the scent of rot but it was definitely food of some kind. 

She began to follow the scent and as she crested over the hill, a new scent met her flaring nostrils. A wolf! Wulfwynn thought, feeling excited at the prospect of company, perhaps even a new friend! 

Wulfwynn hurried, ignoring the sting in her paws. Her light blue eyes found the source of the rotted scent, a very dead antelope and nearby it she saw the dark brown shape of a wolf.

his interest was as utilitarian as any wolf: he needed something in his belly whether it was fresh or it was rotted, it only needed to be consumed. as the wolf sought the antelope's curved belly and his teeth went for the opening through the haze of flies, he caught sight of something else.

a small shape. canine, maybe. his mind went immediately to the coyotes of the lower desert; the number of times drusk had harassed the families of the Mountain, and seen their children scatter, brought to mind such small, easily targeted things.

what was that opinion about fresh vs fallen? scratch that. fresh was better.

he moved to lunge around the carcass after the small thing, pushing off of the soil and making a straight-line charge towards what he thought could've been a child, or a coyote, but either way it was going to be his lunch.