Blackfoot Forest Step by Step

He whined, but she held her ground, staring him down until he rose to his paws. Andalusia knew what was best for them both, and that wasn't staying here. The sandy woman skirted around Sebastian and drew up along his side. If he stumbled, she'd still try to catch him. He wasn't the smallest of wolves, but neither was she, and while he towered over her, Andalusia was willing to bet she could at least ease him to the ground if his quaking legs should fail.

They walked together until Sebastian's roaming gaze locked onto a point nearby. Before she could stop him, the boy shifted from her side and hobbled away to the shrubbery at their right. It was her turn to sigh, and she watched as he inspected for less than a heartbeat before calling her over to join him there. Andalusia covered the ground much quicker than he, and arrived in time to see his tail vanish beneath the low lying branches of a hulking a tree. Doubtful, she ducked her head and peered into the darkness. His grey fur melted with the shadows, and in the twilight she could barely make him out. She pulled her head up and jumped back a few paces. He was nearly invisible, and a light smile touched her lips. Perfect.

For a moment Andalusia considered staying outside the makeshift den. One pass of the space told her Sebastian already made claim to most of the room beneath the draping boughs. But the night was nippy, and would only grow colder the longer the moon reigned over the sky. Left with little else, Andalusia hunkered down and squeezed into the den's remaining space, contorting herself to fit best. In the end her paws jutted out, and she rested the tip of her nose just beyond the branches' confines, but all things considered, they'd done well with what they'd found. As long as the boy was warm. She would be fine, but Sebastian needed to spend all of his energy on healing.

Andalusia let tension fall from her shoulders and peered from the shadows to the world beyond. There had been many nights like this in her youth. Of course, she'd shared her den with more than one. For the first few months, nights had consisted of many others, with each wolf kicking their paws and vying for space. But soon they'd all grown too big to share and settled somewhere on their own, often under the stars, but often still close to each other. The memory stirred in her a sickness for home and the siblings both she and her kin had left behind. "Haven't shared quarters like this in a while," she mused, and let her words settle, entirely prepared to be met by silence.