Deepwood Weald i kissed a frog at midnight so he sang me a lullaby

Marruz stood and stonily pinned his gaze toward the heavens, where the moon had shifted only slightly in its journey across the sky. His tail swayed ambiently in that odd way seen in small streams occluded by rocks, in which motion and quiescence aligned. For such a runner as he, the boy opted for little movement when in the presence of an audience. It was better that way...

When the wolf spoke, he stood especially still. And even when the man closed the distance, little by little, between them, he only blinked the indigo and moved the black eye. That was all he was willing to do. This wolf was scaring him, and he hated anything that frightened him; for there was little in the world that could do it anymore. 

The stranger spoke those final words and Marruz's heart was beating twice as fast as ever a run had cost him. He wanted to turn and face this foreigner - face this man that so reminded him of things he had lost. But to do so would be to lift the sky from his shoulders. 

The boy only lowered his head when he heard retreating pawsteps; exhaling in one, leaden sigh the air of the frightened. He sat panting in the moonlight, bewildered and full of rage at his own insolence. This was betrayal by any definition. And yet he remained in the clearing for quite some time after, staring at his paws. And when the sunlight poked its way through the towering trees, he wondered whether he might ever see the wolf again.

The world liked satire, it seemed, for Marruz. For when he finally stood, his ears perked at the rustle of foliage a few paces away. To his dismay, the hare emerged. And this time, it was not so fortunate.