Blood Orange

Fellway had found his way to the very same river. An eastward trek had carried him through all manner of foreign landscapes - the winter wolf left forests, mountains, and plains in his wake before arriving at the edge of bone-dry mesa. Red earth turned to green, and September wore on - soon, he would face winter; a cruel mistress at best.

Fellway was offsetting a recent meal when he spotted her - a red smear against the subtle blue-green of fading summer. She was drinking her fill of the river, lapping at the chilly water with a mild hint of desperation. The arctic wolf stepped out out of his hiding place behind a cluster of stones, throwing caution to the wind - what did he have to fear? "O-hayyy-oo," he greeted softly, grinning at the lone female on the other side of the narrow river.