Blackfeather Woods I am that technology allowed.

Prompt: A recent bout of rain has washed away a massive skeleton - what is it?

Rain beat down across the plains. Anselm watched from his stoop as sheets of water swept away everything not deeply rooted. Torrents of rainwater created momentary rivers clouded a muddy red -- they too escaped south.

When the rain abated Anselm rose from the granite slabs that had shielded him. There was an eerie quiet to the world as nothing but water rushed by. He thought he'd might continue scouting the woods, but the going was treacherous and his nose little use to him today.

He set down what he thought was an underwater deer-path. There was a freshly dislodged boulder up ahead, with water still trickling down its face.

Back to the forest, where Kinloch found that he felt most at home. The dark shadows that were cast by the trees were a godsend on a hot day. The silver wolf had not prepared for the torrential rain that had ridden in on looming black clouds.

The water had fallen until the ground rejected it and it rushed toward some southern destination - a larger body, perhaps. When the worst of the rainfall had subsided, Kinloch ventured out of his hiding place and into the dripping woodland. His large paws slapped at the wetted earth.

A familiar figure lifted his head.

Anselm, the man called out.

Anselm barely heard the wading of Kinloch over the torrent-water; he lifted his head with surprise, fixing on the bronze-bitten gaze of Kinloch. His tail swayed easily, but he stood his ground. Hi.

There was still a fair bit of running water between the two of them. Anselm's gaze was on the freshly split bedrock. Water snarled around it, and he could see new river formations left in its wake. It must have been a powerful current to loosen this ledge from its rest, and an even more powerful collision with the dirt to split it open how it now stood. What do you think that is?

The rushing water was impressive. It felt strange to witness it in that state.

Anselm asked what Kinloch thought of it. The silver man gazed thoughtfully at the bedrock, split and raw. He was not sure how he might answer the young man's query. He hadn't quite gathered his thoughts well enough for formulating opinions.

A few steps toward it and Kinloch was wading in the rushing water. He could feel a good force behind it, pushing it toward its new destination. The ground sunk beneath his pawsteps while he sloshed toward the boy.

You know, I'm not sure. Think it's the makings of a new river?

Bronze eyes squinted, unable to pull away from it.

Much like Kinloch, Anselm had not seen enough of what stood before them to formulate much of an opinion. In truth, he did not have the life experience to draw from at all, and did not know that stones housed thousands of secrets many years older than his very species' bloodline. Little did Anselm know this stone held a secret older than even the mammalian epoch.

He followed after Kinloch, noting the tug of water underfoot. The boulder loomed closer. Anselm drew himself alongside the impossible berth, noting something dark enscrypted on the rock's face. Maybe. It does seem like it - I think that is the old riverbed. He pointed to the left, where reeds grew and the water trickled. What's that thing, up there? Anselm motioned to the freshly split face, where something dark stood in perpetuity, its frame alien and unknown to the boy.

Anselm had a good eye, pointing out the old river that had once washed through the land.

Perhaps this was how riverbeds died and new ones were born. It seemed to be a surprising act of nature, though such things were largely unpredictable and more often than not they were dangerous. From where the two wolves stood, it didn't seem that this discovery would result in harm to either of them.

Peering closer at the thing inside, Kinloch felt his stomach twist with uncertainty. He'd never seen anything like it. He couldn't think of anything similar, anything that might give him a sense of confidence.

Does it have bones? he asked in a dazed tone. No, it couldn't. The face of it was dark and lifeless.

Like Kinloch, Val wrestled with the impetuous side of nature. To him, his home seemed permanent. It would stun him to learn that the ecology that seemed eternal here was but an ever-evolving face; the characters and cast ever changing in the endless stream of life and its exploitation of niches.

I don't think so. I don't know. He peered closer. There were darker marks in the middle, their lines blurring into the sediment around them. Anselm did not know it, but these darker streaks were deposits of biologically rich minerals where bone, fat, and tissue once laid. It looks weird. I don't think I've seen anything like it.

It's quite big, he added to the boy's assessment.

Sloshing steps carried him in a half circle, trying to get a better view of their discovery. The stretching, inky shadows did not assist in forming a mental image of what it could be. Kinloch swore that he could see bones in there - a skeletal outline of something long gone. The foreignness of it had squirmed in his belly and shifted his feet with unease.

Kinloch braved a tentative sniff where one of the shadows stretched. His nose came to life with surprise. Even its scent was unlike anything that walked their mortal earth.

It smells… like earth and old dirt. And something more.

Anselm hung behind, letting Kinloch get the first glance and sniff. A belated pang of something akin to professional envy washed over him momentarily as Kinloch's nose got the first draught -- if he hadn't been such a weenie, maybe that should have been him.

His eyes snapped back to the portrait in the stone. The edges were blurred, barely registering a shade or two darker than the matrix it sat in. The composite was dark; centuries of mineral deposits had washed away anything biological, leaving a dark stain in an otherwise crisp canvas.

Whatever it was did not speak to Anselm. He felt a pounding in his ears and a sudden spike of anxiety. The figure stared back at him, but Anselm couldn't tell where its eyes were. Instead, he felt as if it were a predator looming from the rock, somehow trapped between bedrock and sandstone for millennia.

His nose twitched as he recognized scent particles around it. Stone, earth, dirt, and minerals he could not name. That other scent floated by his peripherals and left. It's definitely dead, right? He was ready to sprint away at a moments notice.

Absolutely.

Kinloch's voice was far more confident than he felt. In truth, he didn't know how safe it was to approach this mysterious stone-bound creature. One tentative sniff had given him more than his fill of satisfaction. But he did not want to look cowardly in front of the young boy. It felt wrong to set such an example.

The silver wolf regarded the boy - stiff and ready to spring away from their discovery, if it should prove to be dangerous. It was a rational mindset to take toward something new. Caution would spare Anselm a great deal of pain, if he heeded those gut feelings.

Give it a sniff. Didn't hurt me, did it?

Kinloch's tail swayed. He gestured toward the stone.

Kinloch set a good example for the Paleo boy, who still regarded the figurine in the stoneware as a monster that might leap from the canvas at a moment’s notice. 

Encouraged to whet his nose on the aromas cut from the matrix, Anselm tentatively approached. He inhaled and found himself surprised his eyes had closed in a moment of meditation. 

It smells of earth, and stone. He spoke, gaze fluttering open to gaze upon the livid red scar of a former creature. There’s something else I can’t place. It’s old. I don’t recognize it. He hoped for both their sake whatever this creature was, it was no longer among the order of the living.

Good nose, the silver wolf complimented.

The mysterious creature was older than anything Kinloch had smelled. It was from an era that had died a long time ago, perhaps. The man sniffed at it again, afraid that he might forget the way it smelled.

It didn't seem right to find such a thing and then to leave it. Their stone-bound discovery did not even have a name by which they could call it. Kinloch circled it, pausing to stare at the shifting colors in the bedrock, the bleeding of red from the creature's body.

Well, Anselm, he began with a thoughtful crease above his eyes, what will you name it?

Anselm hid the beam of gratitude by sternly looking away. He hadn’t realized how good it felt to be recognized; it was lonely in some ways in the life of a tracker, and he had no one to affirm his work or guide him if he was wrong. 

Categorizing that Kinloch had confirmed that strange scent was of oldness, Anselm stepped back and reviewed the stone as a whole. 

It was red; a knotted scar of Merlot set against a black matrix. 

What about the Kinselm stone?

Warmth rushed to the pale man's cheeks.

Ah… you honor me, Kinloch pulled the words from his chest. The knight bowed his head, gracious and humbled. Most boys would not think to extend the same offer. Anselm was cut from a different cloth, Kinloch decided. It would suit him well to build a friendship with the younger wolf.

Kinselm it is, then. I'm sure your parents will think it's a fine discovery, you know.

Kinloch knew nothing about the boy's parents. He assumed that a bright and curious young man could not have sprouted from roots of opposing traits.

An easy grin graced the typically somber lines of Anselm’s features. He liked that portmanteau — from the sounds of it, Kinloch did too. 

Turning back to the newly minted Kinselm stone, Anselm pondered after Kinloch’s remark. It made him truly wonder if either of his parents would appreciate the discovery at all. 

I think I want to keep it to myself. It is more special that way. I can visit this place and know it was something we discovered ourselves — something special.