Fox's Glade headlights flicker at me like a star

The snowfall piled as early evening painted the sky in shades of blushes and bruises. It felt warmer than it had earlier in the day, but he believed that had something to do with getting out of the shadow of the mountains now behind him to the west. Dirge stole away to the glade, taking temporary refuge beneath its thinning canopies, intending to settle in for the night. All things considered he had made good time in stealing away from the western mountains to here. The weather may not have been favorable to travel, but it was far from the first time he had covering distances in snow, and thankfully it had not deepened enough to slow him.

Within the confines of the glade, he had happened upon a warren of hares nestled together by chance, and short work was made of them. With the lot of them scattered and one firmly seized between his jaws, the question of whether or not he would go hungry tonight was not particularly high on his list. Getting to keep that tasty morsel to himself was another—he was not foolish enough to ignore the distant chatter of his ilk nearby. It was enough to drive him to seek the northernmost edges of the glade, perhaps, hopefully, to tuck him well out of harm's way should roving patrols and hunting parties come through.

Satisfied that there was nothing left to trouble him in the present, he settled along the roots of a towering, stubborn maple unwilling to let go of her autumn foliage, and tore into the hare. This was a messy affair, stripping and tearing hide from muscle, then muscle from bone, but the bloodied arrangement was tantamount to necessity; he intended to leave the carnage behind rather than cache it—let the beggers come for their table scraps—but for now, he savored the tender meat, and the crack of delicate bones.

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Foxes could fuck off. He hated the little assholes, their screeches, the ungodly smell of them. But he had scented other prey in this glade, and so he ventured into the belly of the beast, bicolored eyes glancing around for the chance to smite one of the fiends. Instead, he stumbled upon another wolf--thank god--and gave him a smile, though not missing the fact that he was currently occupied with a meal.

Vercingetorix settled a short distance away, sitting back on his haunches and idly taking in the scenery, the sky poking through the trees, the snow. . . Anything to keep his gaze off the man, so as not to seem intrusive. For all he was ungodly annoying, he knew better than to distract a wolf from their food. That was tantamount to suicide.

He was, however, overly curious, and so while others might have passed on by without a word, Verx was interested in making a friend.

Out in the open he knew to make quick work of his tasks, and it was in a trance that he almost moved. Yet for the absenteeism his actions suggested, it belied that he remained aware of his surroundings. His back was not left open to the wilderness, his ears shifted with the change of sounds, and the only thing that lent him a moment of pause was when something seemed out of the ordinary to a familiar threshold.

A dark figure slipped between damp cover and instantly, Dirge tracked him through the timber. It was a short assessment before he knew he had drawn attention to himself and a certain possessiveness overcame him as the other lingered; a stray bone snapped between his teeth as he resumed listening to his surroundings, but he did not take his gaze from the idling wolf. He saw no reason to warn him, the distance between them as much reasonable as it was out of courtesy.

A waiting beggar then, he thought, and spitefully pondered picking his quarry as clean as he could. It wouldn't have been a very nice gesture by any means but it appealed to him for the briefest of moments before he discarded the worst option for the middle ground. The remains were discarded shortly thereafter by a simply flick of his head to send it off into the brush—if his mealtime watcher wanted them, he'd have to go and find them.

With a shake of his coat to free lingering snow, his eyes rested on the stranger again, questioning.

He shook his head as the stranger eyed him, staying right where he was even as the male finished up. I'm not gonna take your food, Vercingetorix said. Not hungry. Once the other was licking his chops, the brute padded closer, chin lifted in casual greeting.

What's up? Haven't seen you before, he remarked. Vercingetorix. Call me Verx. You look in pretty good shape if you're out here all alone. It was true--the man was not only handsome but in fine flesh. It was no secret that Verx preferred the chicks, but given the opportunity, he wouldn't kick this guy out of bed. Perhaps the stranger felt the same way.

No, he wouldn't be taking his food, even if he had been hungry—the sour note of thought that crossed his mind was soon carried away as the other joined him. Of course his interest was piqued at the parting statement; it was rare that he heard he looked good from another, at least someone of the same gender. Must have been a recruitment effort, that was the next thought, but at least he had decided by then that he would hear him out.

”I prefer to be on my own,” he said, though truly a statement false at best. They were social creatures and even Dirge, for all he was presently dealing with on a mental battlefield, was not immune to wanting company. ”What of you? Out scouting for your home?” He wasted no time in getting to the point he perceived coming, forgoing introductions. Perhaps whatever was about to come would offer the distractions he sought, though inevitably the world had much more in store for him.

He nodded, looking impressed, you know--that Obama look. When he just looks so goddamn proud. A look that would be a smirk on anyone else's face but he's genuine AF so you love it. I feel you, Verx responded truthfully. Solitude was preferable, except when he was draped over a beautiful woman or kicking the other dude's ass. Then company was fine.

Nah, no home yet, he answered, tail sweeping slowly behind him. We're on our way back from a trip. It's my first time here. Maybe he'd said too much, but whatever; if this dude was gonna take advantage of a traveler, he was a scumbag anyway. The brute was reasonably certain he could handle him.

You got a name, man? Vercingetorix asked, raising his brows.

The usage of we're definitely implied more than one, though he made no check to see if he was really still one-on-one. It wouldn't have surprised him if someone else lurked in the background, such was his luck and seemingly the way of the world. He had been fortunate in his encounters in such a vast place, at least in the sense that none of them had ever gone all that wrong. Yet with the change of the season and the way his mood seemed in a state of semi-permanent sourness, it would do him well to keep his wits about him, and his choice of words careful.

”It's Dirge,” he replied, ”where are you on a trip from?” Maybe it was somewhere interesting, maybe somewhere with a better run of luck to keep things in check. After all, wanderlust lingered deep within him; a change of pace was definitely in order. All Dirge really had left to consider paying respects to were his loose ends, if he wanted to be technical.

Dirge, he responded. Pleasure. Kind of a depressing, dull name; didn't fit the handsome man before him. He supposed he didn't have the full story, though. Perhaps this Dirge really was a dullard, and he was merely putting up a front. But with that face. . . Verx was slightly smitten, and he didn't hide it.

Up north. Big war, Vercingetorix explained, lifting his chin in illustration. See that scar along my jaw? Someone wanted to take my throat home with them as a trophy. They made a pretty good effort, all things considered. He shrugged, licking his chops. I made kind of a mess of them, so I've got nothing but this to show for it.

He raised his brows, giving Dirge a gimlet stare. So you've got no home? What're your plans for winter?