an abstract interwoven archive

Would the winters really be that bad? Mordecai couldn't help but spare a passing thought about the subject. Certain their pooled resources would dwindle, but he wondered if it would truly end with them all fighting over who ate what. The previous winter had not been the most kind to him, but he had prevailed in the end. Barely, he was willing to wager, and the following spring had been more than generous to him. He wondered, and would wonder later, just how harsh their coastal winters were. But the question was not asked. He would find out sooner or later and made note to be well prepared all the same.

Instead, he drew his focus to the smile that came across her broad muzzle. He felt one of his own coming to his, however absent the action may have been. Despite all her stone-faced stoicism, the approving change in her expression suited her. As she approached, he couldn't help but meet her eyes — not in a challenging way, but one that reflected a wordless gratitude. One that was ready and able to listen, learn, and cooperate. This washed away as she drew close, and he licked passively at her passing chin in camaraderie. It was hard to push the rest of fleeting tension from his body as she brushed past, having been so long since he found himself in that very position. Beneath someone, submissive, but belonging. For at least a little while, he would not deny he could miss being the literal captain of his own ship. But no wolf could survive alone.

As her pass came to an end, he turned after her passing form with a wave in his tail. “It might be helpful if I at least give you my name too,” came his wry commentary. “And that's Mordecai.” At least now she wouldn't have to ask him for it, or turn around and try and beat it out of him. If she felt like it, anyway. At that point, they were going from stranger and recruiter to subordinate and alpha, and Mordecai still did not know what to expect from what had begun their acquaintanceship.