Honeyed Pasture no land for a lone wolf

The pasture was wide and inviting, when he stood tall and straight. He could hear the lazy buzz of some tiny insect, sometimes as if from far away, and sometimes whispering right into his ear. There was a fog across the land, this early in the morning, and Grayday could taste the tinge of saltwater in the air.

Where am I? he wondered, lowing himself to a slink and stepping out into the open. When he crouched in the grass, the whole meadow seemed to change. Suddenly, he was no longer in an open field, but in a forest. The grass had grown back in full force, here, and he knew the herds would follow before too much longer - it was the way of things - but it meant next to nothing, to him. All alone, how could he take down what he needed to survive? He'd surprisingly well in the past few years, but this famine had shown him the true way of the world. He needed a pack - a people to survive.

Suddenly, he understood the strange she-wolf's desperation. He'd promised to help find her a pack, but he hadn't really understood her fears, her needs. Things were different, now. He wished he hadn't lost her, and that they could at least be alone together, if not find or found a pack of their own. She wasn't alpha female material, but that would hardly bother him, now. He was just so damn lonely. He wondered if he could ever go back to being the same wolf he'd been before all this.

The tiny snap of a twig made Grayday turn his head. He couldn't see anything, but when he took a deep breath, the scent of fieldmice rode high on the air. (Also coyote, and the faint but recognizable scent of bear.)

Grayday shook off his worries and prepared to give chase.