Barrow Fields Carry Me Home

He kept to himself. Not because he wanted to, but because he didn't know how not to. His entire being was built on independence. Physically, he had forfeited that, but mentally would take time. He struggled with names, scents, faces. Nothing new--he'd always struggled with them, but it mattered here. 

So that's why he was here. To hunt. Food was nameless, food's face didn't need to be remembered. Food wouldn't ask him about his day. 

The wolf, now equipped with a limp, had long ago picked up a scent, but was nearly to the point of giving up. The scent seemed to vanish altogether. 

"Fuck me," he groaned under his breath, lifting his head to figure out what could've happened. No clue. It just..stopped. Nothing at the end. The wolf on the hill caught his eye. Not the culprit. Pepper would've smelled them. There would've been signs of a struggle.  But they might've seen something, depending on how long they'd been there. 

He moved toward them.