Frogspawn Swamp a lonely cry

It's getting harder to see the prey he's hunting, and that could be because it's just so tiny, or because the sun is going down, but he knows it's something else. He blinks furiously as he loses track of the big, fat toad once again, but it doesn't help him find it. If anything, his vision blurs even more, and Gray's forced to fall back on his haunches as a wave of dizzy hunger sweeps over him. Exhaustion is pulling him down like an increase in gravity, and he hates it.

I'm not old, he thinks to himself, dragging himself back onto his paws. Not yet.

But he's still tired, still hungry, still finding it hard to do the things he used to be able to do. He never should've left the pack.

Gray raised his muzzle in a mournful cry, praying something other than frogsong would answer.

After so many failed attempts to socialize, Doe was understandably nervous about answering the call. It was another male wolf, which meant he was most probably bigger and stronger than she could handle, if things went south. Aside from that, she just didn't want to face more disappointment. She'd caught herself talking to a pinecone the day before, and she hadn't even stopped herself. It'd been such a relief to have a conversation, even if the pinecone hadn't answered back. Still, there was no way she could ease the tightness in her chest all on her own. She ached to hear another wolf's friendly voice, directed at her. She was a social creature, damn it, and it'd been so long since she'd been in the warm fold of her family. She needed the safety and assurances of another wolf, if not a pack.

So she tipped her head and howled back, unable to keep the pleading out of her tone. It was a weak howl - one that said keep me, I'm yours and I will do anything not to be alone anymore. She knew better than anyone that weakness got you nowhere - and fast.

But still. Still. She couldn't keep going like this. She needed.

Doe edged carefully to where the call had originated from, sattellite-dish ears swivelling in every direction. When she caught sight of the mottled grey wolf - stiff-tailed and thick-furred and definitely bigger than her - she almost, almost turned back around. But she didn't. She stood before the unfamiliar male and did her best to look both confident and unasuming.

Grayday felt unaccountable pity rise in his chest when he caught sight of the answering she-wolf. She appeared to be holding up well despite the famine and her admittedly small frame, but he couldn't really be sure with eyesight like his.

"Hi there," he said gently, making no move toward the smaller wolf. If she wanted to interact, she could come to him. In the meantime, he saw no reason not to continue his 'hunt'. It wasn't as though she could do him much harm, even if she did decide to attack him from behind. With a decisive swish of his tail, he got back to work, hoping the she-wolf would stick around even as he attempted to push her from his mind.

She struggled to formulate a response, unused to the strange way wolves greeted one another, here. In the plains where she'd been born and raised, all animals greeted each other with a peaceable "Hail" when they didn't have a reason not to. Did this wolf mean her harm, or was he just ignorant of the custom she'd grown up with?

"Hi there," she called back, attempting to assimilate to his conventions. She'd do well to be gracious and accepting, if she wanted to make friends. But the male was already ignoring her, sniffing around in the mud and new-growth grass. He's hunting frogs, she realized, her tail wagging faintly as she watched him stalk the tiny creatures. He seemed to have some trouble seeing them - and indeed, she noticed a telltale milkyness in his dull, orange-tinted eyes.

A plan forming in her mind, Doe put her nose to the ground and sniffed out her quarry, hoping a peace offering might help endear her to the stranger. She dove after the biggest frog she could find - which still wasn't much - and then carefully approach the bigger wolf with the sad little prize held carefully in her jaw.

He'd been watching her instinctively out of the corner of his eye, so he was prepared when she began her approach. What he wasn't prepared for was the frog in her mouth, clearly a gift for himself. The selfless gesture softened his heart toward her exponentially, and he found his pity rising even in the face of her compassion.

"You should eat it yourself, little one," he said wryly, giving her a moment to take his advice. He didn't want to take from her.

Little one. Doe's ears flickered at the words, and her tail swished thoughtfully as she rolled them around in her head. There was once a part of her that would have rankled at the dimunitive term, but the Great Beyonds had humbled her; changed her beyond all recognition. She was as big as she would ever grow, but she was little. And she'd come to realize that she would never be big enough to take care of herself - not only because of who she was as an individual, but also because of the very nature of the wolf. They were not built to be alone.

I am little, she thought, moving forward and placing her kill at the male's paws. And I will take care of you now in hopes that you will take care of me later. But she couldn't say that to the wolf. She simply stayed silent and lowered herself in deference, and she sent up a fervent prayer to Alai that she wouldn't have to be alone again.

He gazed helplessly at the strange she-wolf, wondering at her offer, her silence, her skittish ways. There still something about her that called to his very spirit, demanding that he help her any way he could. He realized that he was more than pitying - he found himself feeling rather empathetic toward the wolf, depite knowing very little about her. He knew enough to sense the great loneliness in them both.

"You've been alone for a long time, haven't you?" he asked shrewdly, picking up the frog and swallowing it in one swift snap of his jaws.

Her tail wagged furiously in response, although she could not bring herself to tell him exactly how long it had been - she knew that if she only opened her mouth, all her desperation and fear and saddness would come pouring out of her, and that was not the way to make friends.

Doe's stomach was growling audibly, though she couldn't bring herself to regret giving her meal away. The day had been kinder to her than it seemed to have been to the male, and she'd eaten several dry, crunchy crickets on the way to the swamp. They hadn't been filling at all, and she'd expended about as much energy catching them as she had gained from them, but it was something to have in her belly. Doe wondered how the male had been fairing, and whether he'd survive on his own for very much longer - blindess was death, in times like these.

But again, she did not speak.

Grayday looked a moment longer at the little she-wolf, torn between sadness and amusement.

"Come on," he sighed, lifting his nose and testing the breeze. His head swung in his desired direction, and be plodded forward with a commanding swish of his tail. Maybe he'd gained a companion after all.

The end?

With nothing left to lose, Doe followed.