Moonspear stage 1: denial

At her call, the figure collapsed in a maelstrom of fur and limbs, and she pulled up short, chin raised in alarm. She approached slowly, warily—and why? There was no danger to herself; she was already dead—and upon getting a closer look at the wolf, she gasped.

Mou, Maegi breathed, and bent to examine him more thoroughly.

He was old—well, older, anyway. Old and broken, his bleached pelt even whiter than she remembered, his once sinewy muscles withered away.

But it was him, and a whine escaped her muzzle; she wanted so badly to embrace him, and yet she still was haunted by the last time they had met. His madness, her insistence. She doubted much had changed since that moment.