Northstar Vale pale widows

the howl sends the herd into a panic. he knows this because he lingers in the snow-kissed brush nearby, pale eyes waiting for an opportunity. stani has been cloaked here for quite some time, and to see his hours wasted—to feel his stomach still empty—is an affront, nothing less than a brutal tragedy.

but then, he has always trended toward the melodramatic.

still, he bursts from the evergreens much like the storm above, of many grays and blacks and clearly on the rampage. his ears swivel rapidly, trying to pin down the source of the noise. stanislav is doggedly traveling against the echo when a dark shape against the snow catches his eye, clearly lupine in form and following the herd.

with a snort, stani breaks into a gallop and charges toward the wolf, his weathered but still-handsome face creased in irritation.

you are the man who scared away my dinner? he demands, his accent, like always, placing emphasis on all the wrong syllables. clipping each word like teeth against tiny bones. he falls into step beside the stranger without question, chin thrust out stubbornly. well, then you will help me hunt it down. i will not starve this week.

he surges ahead, tail lashing in a silent command for the other to follow.