Sun Mote Copse the bent-neck lady

Maybe @Aklark ??

He turned south, although Tulimaq had decided he hated the idea of going further south rather than returning north to his kin - to where the wolves were stronger and more attuned to his familiar way of life - and soon found himself crossing through forested tangles, over irregular hills, even briefly becoming exposed in the center of the hinterlands and spying a distant plateau. The man only stopped when he knew he had reached some kind of limit, and bedded for the night in the copse. Shafts of moonlight illuminated swaths of the forest floor, turning wilted ferns silver and showing him the best place to roost until morning.

And, in the morning, Tulimaq felt a little better. A fresh layer of light snow had fallen overnight; it made everything look a little more familiar. But the man was still disgruntled, for he knew he would have to find something to eat, and he wondered if he'd encounter any passive creatures here -- as he had in the valley, and in the wilderness creeping between the mountains. He shook the snow from his pelt and sullenly got to work, stalking through the forest in search of something to fill his gut and warm him up.

HELLO FRIEND. I MISSED YOU.

When weaker creatures faltered and fell prey to winter's ills, Aklark thrived. Scarsity starved the prey. Bodies weakened and bogged down in the snow, death was abound, and where there was death, there was food. A doe had succumb to some unknown ailment, falling still and freezing in the late autumn slip. Aklark unearthed her cold and frozen body with an exploratory muzzle. Sniffing. Smelling. He pulled her by the neck and freshly fallen snow slid from the corpse like water rolling off a duck's back. He stepped over the body and tore into the flesh -- ripping into the doe's sunken abdomen.

The old Tartok addage still rang true in the bear-wolf's wild heart, despite leaving the life behind him in the cruel, uncaring north. The strong surive -- and so they did, doing whatever it took to forge a path into tomorrow, bleak as it was. If he had to scavenge, so be it; one could not hunt alone. Yet, Aklark suffered this indignity with pride. No more would he mill about, following "leaders" who could hold no stable claim over the south. 

Something had changed. Be it he or Tartok, Aklark did not think to ask himself. However, one thing was certain. His home was no longer among them. Their ideals were no longer his own.

Muzzle smeared with blood and bile, Aklark raised his head and rolled his ears forward. A sound. A scent. Protective of his corpse, Aklark stood above the body, claiming it with a settled paw and bared teeth.

WELCOME HOME

Gradually the beast became aware of the scent in the air - it was pungent, but dulled by the frost. It made his belly rumble even before he recognized it. And as he came upon the scene of a disemboweled carcass topped by a voracious wolf (likely hungrier than Tulimaq), the wolf paused. This was something he hadn't seen in the grasslands of the east, at least not as often as he was accustomed. There seemed to be ample prey in the summerland which led to the wolves therein becoming passive creatures, and the more he studied the volatile beast that lay claim to the rotting dead thing, the bolder Tulimaq felt. This was what he was used to. Fighting tooth and claw for every scrap, demanding the world bow to your will rather than letting everything go to waste. Food, land, time — Tulimaq wasn't going to let himself grow complacent in a place like that. No wonder he had become so bitter in his travels.

The creature that claimed the corpse was formidable in stature, but Tulimaq couldn't tell if it was the stranger's natural bulk or merely his attitude that impressed him. He wasn't dissuaded by the show of fangs and posturing. To test this stranger's abilities Tulimaq got closer and closer, tail raising like a banner as he puffed himself up in competition with the grey-clad beast. In truth he was not hungry enough to pry this carcass away from its current visitor, but he was always itching for a fight.