Flycatcher Downs the wolf shook his coat and it snowed for days

the pair took their turns hunting. small game were their lot for now — both venextos and garait were too travelworn and weak from the wounds they had sustained to even consider larger prey. it would only exhaust them further. and so, for now, garait lay at the edge of the wood and watched the snow fall softly to the earth. it was lovely, he decided, but altogether worthless. and yet the druids spoke of rebirth and slumber, so garait had accepted it.
boredom soon fell across his large body and the creature limped out into the open. it was a foolish decision, but the height and breadth of the gaul made any imminent attack less likely; garait was secure in his bulk. he wandered, always keeping the edge of the treeline within his peripherals, seeking venextos' returning tread with his swiveling ears.
the sight of the first wolf garait had seen since entering this new land set him immediately on edge; the large brennus' muscles tensed beneath his thick pelt and he stifled a growl, eyes trained pointedly on the stranger. while his body did not threaten a fight, garait demanded it be known he would defend himself savagely — he refused to take risks with amicability, not in the face of what had occurred and not without venextos alongside him.