Meadowlark Prairie staring down the blind man

Two does stood beneath a hawthorn tree, their necks arched, as together they plucked at the low awnings of the branches. They paid little mind to the man as he walked the meadow; certain they had seen him coming, Riddle was perplexed at their lassitude.

Several long moments passed as the two casually snacked. A few metres away stood another, so there were three by Riddle's count, and this last one was just as fearless. He thought about chasing them—maybe he'd catch one, maybe he'd butcher it and fill his belly—but he thought better of it.

Didn't want to waste the time, energy, or meat when he wasn't keen on lingering.

Maybe they saw that flicker of decision in him. Maybe they sensed he could be dangerous by virtue of those sharp teeth he possessed. More'n likely the does were a little fuzzy in the head after eating an abundance of good fruits.

Best be moving on, he figures.

Sam was tired.

So far, not a single wolf had taken his warnings seriously. He had been dismissed, physically pushed, and stared at as though he were someone to pity, but he had not been believed. The Huldra was plucking creatures from existence – this was a fact, and if the population at large refused to believe it.. well, to hell with them, Sam thought for the first time since embarking on his campaign. To hell with them all.

The young wolf took his frustration out on the tall prarie grass, shouldering his way noisily through a neighborhood of gently waving blades. By the time he reached the edge and the wolf observing its potential lunch loitering beneath a tree, there was a stinging cut on his nose and his ears were ringing with the protests of a thousand birds. 

The red-brown male was close enough to have heard him coming, and definitely within range of his bitterly delivered warning: "Not that you're going to believe me, but stay away from the forests if you don't want to be skinned alive. Just a friendly warning. You do you, though. "

The moment Riddle decided to mosey on his way, he saw that the does had stopped their grazing and were staring straight ahead. Not a himself, mind you—but something near, which come to think of it was moving haphazardly through the grass. There was the click-snap of hooves maybe, or teeth? Teeth, most definitely. The grass gave way to a white shape with a fulvous glower upon its face.

The stranger's arrival was heralded by an eruption of tits; they spasmed in the air, with some landing among the branches of the hawthorn. When the pale face spoke, it was with a mien of defeat, and a warning.

Fine with me. Riddle replied. Rather like my skin, personally.

The quiet returned, but if Riddle had looked for the does he would've realized they'd fled with the arrival of this second wolf. Oh, well. He'd cotton on to that eventually. The stranger was much more interesting.

You the local spirit-minder? You look like you've seen—somethin', at any rate.

Sam had not expected a civil response - any response, and certainly not kindness and a follow-up question. The scowl melted from his face, revealing a mix of hope and confusion.

Spirit-minder. Sam took a tentative step in the stranger’s direction, ears rotating as if trying to connect to a more powerful second brain. He appeared to have trouble with the word. Was it a more literal version of a shaman, or a witch? 

”… I… not by choice,” he stuttered, then narrowed his eyes a little. Too many had laughed; chances were this man was just humouring him. ”Do you believe me?”

He would not hear the answer. Responding to some sound that only existed in his head,  Sam wheeled around and disappeared back down the path he had forged through the grass.