Barrow Fields the streets all built on ancient bones

@Reighn

caw weaves through the fields like a ghost.
 
the sun is slowly sinking behind the horizon, but there is no place yet to sleep. he still itches at the very idea of digging a den into the ground, even though there are great mounds of earth piled all around him – he is a wolf, and the dirt is for worms, for beasts not worthy of his time or his teeth. there is no fallen tree yet, no dead to claw apart and make a home inside. crows are scavengers, and so is caw, but today has been devoid of luck.
 
avis circles above him, and every so often, her harsh croaking caw makes him straighten, glance around, ears twitching this way and that as he sniffs curiously at the base of the mounds. the air is thick with the smell of the sea, with the faint overlay of oncoming storms, but though caw does not necessarily enjoy being wet he does enjoy the thunder, and he is in no hurry.
 
the plain is quiet but for the whistle of wind and the distant, barely-there crash of waves on shore. how ever far away he is, he does not much care – the sea, like the dirt, is not his, is not a wolf’s.
 
it is still a new place. this is not his home, and there is enough curiosity behind the ever-present veil of nothing that he removes his muzzle and replaces it with his claws. after a few scoops, scattering dirt every which way, there is still not much to see. but there is nothing about him either, nothing but endless grass and patchy snow, so he keeps digging. maybe if he goes far enough, this trip will have been worth something but trees and quiet.
 
avis lands atop the mound in a flutter of wings and watches him; he glances up to see her head cocked to the side, but there is no real bemusement in her eyes. they have done odder things before, together.

Reighn was content watching the strange pair together, staring at them until, miraculously, her curiosity got the better of her. She trotted towards the two strangers, her head cocked to the side curiously as she walked the last few steps to stand in front of the wolf.

caw’s curiosity runs short very quickly. of course he knows this about himself; it is nonetheless as irritating as it has always been. he does not have the capacity to be truly mad, especially not over this – but there is an itch in his skin, now, ever-present and growing stronger, that wants some sensation. some emotion that is not bland nothing, but today does not seem like a day in which he will find it.
 
he wrinkles his nose and shakes dirt off his paws one at a time, fastidious, running his tongue over the pads and the dull curves of his claws. he does not like the feeling – he is not one to groom his coat until it shines, it is often crusted with blood and rotting wood dust at the best of times, but it is dirt he cannot stand. he would have remained there, scraping fragments of it free, except for avis’ trilling caw.
 
caw picks his head up, unhurried and languid, and turns, his eyes gleaming the color of raw blood in the light. the light bristle of his fur shows off the feathers threaded into the nape of his neck, a glossy black even darker than his own pelt, and he cocks his head, a faint thread of thrilled excitement stirring briefly in his belly as it always does when there is a potential fight – potential feeling – in front of him.
 
it is a woman who stands before him; she is smaller than he is, perhaps younger, and instantly the carnivore in him stirs, excitedly, to life.  
 
“hi there,” caw says, his voice cheerful as he slinks forwards, shadow-like, predatory, ears forward and tail raised slightly above his back legs. he leaves her no personal space, nostrils flaring as he draws close, noting the absence of pack-scent, the absence of other-wolf scent at all. he is close enough to touch as he circles her, eyes flaring with something like curiosity. the smile is bright on his face, but there is perhaps more tooth than necessary in the expression.