— there had been wolves here once. a great gathering of them, scents interwoven into the expanse of the river. the ice-melt was great, chunks of polar ice still floating in the turbulent river.
clay walks with shadows biting at his heels. when he does not walk, he speeds into a long gait, covering long stretches of the river. careful to not slip and fall into the lethal plunge that would take him under and not spit him back out.
he has narrowly avoided whatever intentions were held for him by the one he'd encountered first. great, towering black beast with crimson pelage; he could imagine him now in his head and clay squeezes those emeralds closed, tightly, as he takes a long stretch of terrain.
the caribou that meander nearby enrapture him. he denies. deny, deny, deny! the pull to them. as they graze, as they bellow, singing music into the setting sun above. the spillage of pinks, purples, in the bleakening sky.
he tilts his head back and gives his own song, a long and sorrowful lament.
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