Twisted Slough II. Caught in the burning glow.

Revui was injured, but he had grown up under harsh conditions and was adapted to the strenuous activities one might find upon the mountain slopes. He was tired, he ached all over, and he was soggy from the silt-laden bog, but that would not stop him for long. He was laying there gathering his wits (great clouds of breath huffing out of him like the smoke trail of a dragon) when he noticed a pile of snow drifting curiously closer and closer, until he could not help but smell wolf — and alongside that scent, Blackfeather.

Like a creature possessed—crocodilian and primal—he pulled himself up chest-first and faced her with a grimace of fangs. She was in the shallows, her pelt streaked with putrid green-brown stains thanks to the slough, but there was no way he would ever forget the smell of a Blackfeather wolf. The stranger was young—like him, he might've thought if he had a cooler head—and close enough to his position that he could easily lunge after her if he'd wanted to. He pivoted and tried to close the distance, but Revui's paws sank in to the muddy earth, and he had to scramble backwards to stop from falling in to another deep segment.

He was on his feet now, though. His tail raised with the confidence he typically held upon the mountain, dripping though it was. He rumbled a low sound and watched her keenly, eager for a chance to tear her to pieces.