Sleepy Fox Hollow live our lives like we're ready to die

The somber growl was met with silence, observing the way a scar played along strong, feminine face. Not much had changed, it seemed, since the spider's brief departure. Every silver-tinged guard hair along hackles was bristled and neatly aligned, a plush warmth to coat that prepped for the coming months. Winter was coming, and while the stringy spider still grappled with gaining advances, the beta remained solidly well put, healthy, and vibrant. 

There was a pang of loss at the dissipation of her scent. Once heavily entwined within the coat of the spider, it had all been washed away. No comfort of her aroma lulled the creature to sleep, nor did the sound of breathing during quiet traipses through the middle of the mountain. Though she chose not to sleep amidst the rest, as the spider did not dare as well, the lanky wolf still tended to her trails. It was obnoxious. There was little care there for that obnoxiousness. The wolf was a presence now, only removed if the bear-wolf punted his bony hide off the side of the mountain. 

The voice, once lost for several nights, coerced the neighboring insects back into silence. It rang out in a soothing tone. Warming. It sizzled inside ears and steadied the rapid breathing as though the little sojourn had brought the inky wolf feral. "Hello," he piped up bemusedly. An involuntary shiver ran down the length of spine, lack of movement causing the leaded weight of water in coat to suck out any warmth or insulation downy fur provided. There was a sudden desire to say more, heart thrumming in rib cage as thoughts — once devoid of thinking — overpowered any semblance of sense left over. It took graveled willpower to keep mouth shut, a click of teeth prompting heavy breath through clenched fangs.