Deepwood Weald with your sick head

His fur isn’t built for this type of weather. It’s much too cold and he doesn’t have enough fat on him to compensate. Sure, his daunting form is swollen with muscle and he has a fair amount of loose skin but it does nothing against the biting cold the season brings.

He traveled west for miles and miles after he’d visited his old home of Ursus. He doesn’t feel safe enough to be around them. He doesn’t want to do something he might regret. The possibilities with such an outcome horribly strong with how atrocious his mental has been. He sees red a lot of the time and many creatures have been subject to his strong jaws and pressing strength. He wants to kill everything in site. Luckily, he hasn’t come across any wolves since his meet up with Merrick. 

Today is different though. The smell of food draws him close to another. Though his sense of smell has been unreliable recently, it doesn’t hurt to try. It seems whatever has gotten a hold of his mind is trying to get him killed, despite its apparent mercy by saving him from his near death only months ago.

So he stumbles through the Weald, the heavy fog makes his vision go in and out often causing him to squint pale eyes to see much of anything. What he does see is a dark form that moves low to the ground. Another animal. Food perhaps? He moves himself into a trot, muscles shifting beneath his mottled pelt, access skin flopping about, collar jingling. He’s not secretive or sneaky, he’s bold as he moves through the fog with purpose in his eyes and stride.

Or he was. Until he notices that it’s another wolf. A dark pleated woman with a pelt darker than the depths of space. She holds a leg on her maw. That smell was her food, not his. A nagging voice in the back of his head tells him that anything can be food — even her if he’s brave enough. He doesn’t know if he is. Allowing himself to stop a couple meters from the midnight shewolf. He just stares as if he’s been caught red handed even though he hasn’t done anything wrong he feels like he has. 

His cropped ears flit back and he licks his lips nervously. He’s so lonely, but he can’t be around anyone lest the curse he holds within him triggers and he’s speaking with teeth and not words. So he doesn’t move, he’d wait for her to acknowledge him first.