Dawnlark Plains Belly to the Rubble

His father had spoken of these lands. Unforgiving. Unrelenting. He had used many more words, of course, in the true language of a chronicler and of an aged man beginning to slip into those final throes of life and it’s inevitable end. And yet he had returned here. Before Boaz had been born, of course. But mother said he had made amends with these Wilds. Settled the grief that had taken his heart for so many long and remorseful years. That he had died a man at peace and at rest in the quiet forgiveness of his God.

The day gave way to darkness by the time Boaz reached the open plain. A great expanse of white stained grey with the the dull glow of the setting sun. Tracks crisscrossed here and there, larger prey he couldn’t hunt alone, interspersed with rabbit and wolf. Boaz paused mid stride. Head bowed, nose filled with that knowledge that this one was near.

The tall wolf raised his head and saw the stranger upon the distant field. His eyes caught the rabbit a moment later. Amusement danced as a tight smile across his lips, and Boaz slipped forward. Watching the giant’s concentrated efforts and intending to grab after the rabbit himself if it slipped from the other man’s paws.