forget all the names we used to know
Soon, winter would be here. Crevan could smell it in the air, could feel it in his bones that were not bone at all but something strange and silver. He tipped his brown nose toward the sky, not the nose of a horse but that of a wolf - his second skin - and whuffed every ribbon of scent and spore in the air with lip-curling satisfaction. The world smelled close to death; soon, the slumber would descend. Then the awakening would raise all that it had slaughtered or shuttered away, and hunting would be good again. Rutting season had ended and with it, the herds of so many herbivores had gone as well.
Crevan scavenged in anticipation of the harder months to come, and it wasn’t long walking that his sensitive nose caught wind of something possibly edible. This late into the season he would take what he could find without complaint: his skills at snow hunting were subpar at best. If he wanted a full belly to travel south on, he knew he should prepare. That meant debasing himself to the leftovers of other, more adept hunters.
This is how he came across the scat (and the filly) alone under the cover of a bare forest, and he paused to hunker down into the shadows so he could watch her for a moment or two before approaching.
She seemed studious, but harmless. The Wolf shifter slumped lower and layed patiently on his belly, watching her breath curl into the air from underneath the pricking cover of a holly bush while she worked her magic into the world. For a second he wondered at what she was doing, then the product revealed itself and his eyes widened as the bones uncurled themselves from the matted fur and danced again with life. Crevan had never seen anything of the like (and he’d seen a lot in his life and travels,) and he marveled with a half-curled smile at the little mare’s charge over her dead puppet.
The Wolf rose, rattling the bush as his hefty shoulders brushed their tight branches aside, and he slunk out from his hiding spot with his head low and his tail waving up above his curving hips. He was covered in creamy fur, offset by a darker stripe that ran right across his top line, and his inquisitive eyes sparkled delightfully as he approached the young horse.
“Playing with toys, all alone in the big woods.” Crevan’s voice sounded strange, his wolf’s tongue and teeth giving the words a hard, raspy tilt. “What an odd little girl you are.”
revan
@[Persiphae]