Shy Deer Steppes ♣ positive thinking and a metric flip-tonne of good luck

The terrible twosome were two bulbs short of a light show, but the Wild had plenty of wandering souls to offer. Vlad had moved north from the mire, reluctantly abandoning the reserve of fat, slimy morsels to scout for another couple of bodies with which to share the winter. Fish were all well and good, but they didn't have much to offer by way of conversation.

He rather liked the look of the flat, dry steppes, and lingered there much longer than he had in any of the other fields connecting the mire to the flatlands. It was a wholly uninviting territory, but something told him this was a year-round deal - and that was a good thing. Whatever prey lived here was unlikely to desert the place when winter rolled around.

The scrappy male put his nose to the ground and had a good sniff around, tail swaying lazily behind him.

Set before the Rosalyn/Njal thread.

God, Fisher’s feet were tired.  All she did is walk walk walk.  She doesn’t even rest.  She can’t. 

 You best keep running, girl.

Even weeks later, Fisher rolls her eyes at the thought.  Kick her out without even a chance to explain herself.  Whatever.  She is better off without them.  Which is exactly why she kept going.  Get as far away from them as she possibly could.  Except now her feet ached and her legs were sore.  She’d put off resting every time it crossed her mind, telling herself she could have just a few days here and give herself a break but that’s what they wanted, wasn’t it?  Just so they could catch up to her when she leasts expects it.

For now, she gives herself an extra day—two days longer than she’d originally wanted.  Fisher doesn’t have long to think about it before she spots another wolf that looks a little worse for wear.

“Who are you?” Fisher snaps.  “And what’s wrong with your face?”

She can’t go down without swinging.

A distinctly unfriendly face lumbered into view. Vlad raised his head to look at her, responding to her angry questions with a wide, ugly grin. "I heving gud face!" he insisted, ears cupping forward to frame the face she claimed was so wrong. Vlad wasn't entirely sure what he looked like these days, but he knew himself to be in possession of two eyes and a vaguely centred nose. Perhaps some of Rat's fleas had set up shop in the fans of his cheeks, but he didn't feel particularly itchy.

Feeling in the mood to tease, Vlad batted an indentical insult right back at the plain-faced female."You face ees the wrong face."

The wolf objects about his face and doesn’t introduce himself.  Fisher’s shoulders tense up and she pushes them back to broaden her chest.  Her already stocky frame didn’t have a hard time making herself look bigger.  

“There’s nothing wrong with my face,” Fisher demands.  “Is there?”

She shakes her head, trying to shake the voice in the back of her head.  He is the one in the wrong.  And he hadn’t introduced himself like she’d asked.  Should she already know who he is?  She narrows her eyes a little harder, looking him over just in case she’d not been paying attention.

When she’s 100% sure she doesn’t know him, she says once more:  “Who are you?”

Whoever this was, she was flustered and wound tight as a spring. Her sentences were short and sharp, and every inch of her radiated stress and discomfort. Vlad, meanwhile, was quite content - happy, even, now that he might not only survive the winter, but thrive. "Mebbe," he shrugged, eyeing her as though there were indeed something wrong with her face. "I Vlad. End who ees wrong-face lady-wolf?"

“Stop calling me that,” Fisher insists with a growl.  Her head dips and she bares her teeth.  He introduced himself, though, so her threat didn’t last long.  There isn’t anything wrong with her face.  “It’s Fisher.” she finally says, taking a step back and looking over her shoulder.  

“Do you have anything to eat?” she blurts out a moment later.  Maybe he had a stash somewhere he’d be willing to share.  A long shot but Fisher needed any short cut she could get.

Due to her impending death, do you want to wrap this up with your reply?

Yah!

"Vlad looking like has skeen beg?" He me meant pouch, and laughed uproariously at his own joke. With a sharp shake of his head, the Russian cut their meeting short - if this wolf was expecting food without offering anything in return, she was bound to be a burden. "Hev no fud," he told her, and didn't even bother suggesting they cooperate to catch any. This was not a survivor, and Vlad silently wished the girl a quick and sudden death as he turned tail and departed her company.