lasher was not a commonplace wolf. simple enough in coloration, even unto the glint of his eyes, but his mind was not the breeding ground for the driven, harried pursuit of sustenance and sex that seemed to beset so many of his fellows. no; lasher served his witch — he was given over to her in body, word, and soul. had she ordered him to kill suckling pups for her, taltos would have obliged; had she ordered him into the wilderness, to die, he would have gladly laid down his life for her wild whim.
they had not settled here formally, but to lasher, this was his land. his memories of the mountain crags siku had claimed as her own were hazy; here was hearth and home, filled with the shadows of potential and overlaid with the sweet perfume of the witch's daughter.
but there was one another, and 'twas she lasher went in search of this day. the sun had not yet reached its zenith in the sky, and a soft bloom of clouds in the pale blue of the heavens promised rain at a later time. he trekked onward, alternately dashing with all the reckless abandon of a child, and falling into carefully modulated step, until he had reached his destination.
it was a veritable oasis set within these chosen lands; a thick carpet of wildflowers danced and dreamed in the stream of eldritch light from the verdant canopy. lasher turned his face toward the sun, and the beams plucked out the green of his own gaze, and drew it up, up, up though the usual navy murkwater of his eyes. overwhelmed with the loveliness of it all, taltos lay down, stretching himself prone in the soft spring grasses, and breathing a delicate sigh of wonderment and content.