Post by Benedict on Jan 12, 2020 11:37:43 GMT -6
The moon hung high in the air, a testament to the still early night ahead of him. He had no idea how long he had traveled for, only that he was in his third year now. The water had long since dried from his coat, the swim as brief as he believed it to be. Now, he had wandered further into this strange new world. A foreigner and having no right to claim anything. He could feel the season of winter gripping the land around him, knew what it meant for everyone here. The scent of wolf was pungent, fresh in some places... He had found another realm ruled by his kin after all.
With his own family behind him, Benedict Ignis Fatuus would continue on. He only hoped this place was kinder, though it was not far for him to think it reeked of danger. A new place always was. Unknown and strange. New customs to learn. Packs to give a wide berth of. His steps were heavy, speaking of his weariness. He had run so fast and so hard that he forgot what weariness felt like. It hit him like a ton of bricks. He tumbled a bit, trying to will himself to be strong. To never show a sign of weakness - for wolves could be opportunistic. They could smell the weak and weary, cut them from the herd like a deer. Had he found a safe haven, or was this another warning sign? He didn't know for sure.
The young man's eyes stared around, attempting calm. He breathed in the new scent of this land, closing his eyes and hovering on the spot. His tail was still, not swaying behind him in glee, and his bones felt rigid. Muscles ached. Old wounds healed. Otherwise, he was alive, wasn't he? He should count it as a sign the world wanted him to breathe. The woodland was not as thick as he wanted it to be, but he could make do here. There was no community, no claim to this land. Was it free? Was it safe? He'd find out soon enough. The tell-tale sign of steps upon the snow creaked and groaned. He had company, but what sort was beyond him.
credit to nat of adoxography.