The Heartwood I don't feel the rain or the sun

Fighting the urge to be tired — something he’s not doing so well at — he knows he won’t be able to sleep once he finally rests his head. Though not paying enough attention in the middle of the night in stranger territory is sketchy and straight up idiotic of the Saint. 

Tonight though he would’ve never thought that he’d be meeting Simmik again. Or at least not today. He wanted to meet her again, but when? I couldn’t be sure. 

Slam! A bite — teeth sinking into the thickening barrier of his fur and raking along skin. Obviously, his reaction is instant. He’s spinning to try and meet his attacker head on. His eyes catch stark white fur, a gleam of glowing eyes, and a familiar scent. 

A familiar scent. Who is that? Who is that? Who is that? 

He’s going in for a bite, attempting to rear up on hind legs and shaking himself from the eager grasp of this wolf. Then all at once, his eyes freeze on this strangers face. This is no stranger, but a long lost friend — maybe even more than that. Simmik. He almost freezes up (actually he does) and he’s dropping to the ground. Rolling onto his brindled back, cream belly facing the moon dangerously to the violent onslaught of the females teeth. 

He doesn’t dare speak, but his eyes do. Practically glowing, his coingold orbs flick nervously up to her own (if she has stopped munching on him). He almost feels guilty. So many emotions all at once and most of them being bad. Yet no matter how much he doesn’t like submitting, he’ll allow her this once.