[imgleft]https://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/imag ... uncert.png[/imgleft]
As the morning light came through the trees, the birds started their songs of dawn, as if so ecstatic to be blessed with another day. As if maybe they were never quite sure if there would be another.

It wasn't until the first crane call that Fresh Start himself rose to his hooves and made his way out from the willow-hidden den he called him. He did his morning stretches, letting himself feel the sun on his back and in his mane.

He had awoken alone. His sister, likely out chasing her dream name as she had since she hatched. Buried at Sea was funny like that. His daughters...likely still trying to figure out what they wanted out of life, maybe to someday return with stories, or maybe to leave him behind entirely like their foalhoods.

All that he knew was that the doe he last invited over was gone much like the early mist, and he himself was left to live up to his name as he did most mornings.

Fresh Start thought little of any of it.

@Ruriska

[imgleft]https://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/imag ... ncert6.png[/imgleft] The Killing Moon usually slept through the morning. With his wolf form fairly new still, running through the swamp at night with his pack and then curling up for half the day had become his new normal. But today he was restless, unable to settle down, despite the lure of warm bodies.

No, there was something for him to do.

Which was why he was cranky as he followed the call, sniffing and running, keeping up an easy lope. Running as a wolf was great fun and covering long distancing took little effort. It didn’t take long to find the one he was looking for.

A lone buck, though the scents around the den declared others had been here, stretching away the morning stiffness.

As a wolf he stepped out of the undergrowth and chose a deep growl as a way of announcing his presence.

@Gl!tch~

Fresh Start startled at the sound. It took one fluid motion to slide out of his stretch and into his full height and turn to see what was rumbling in his direction.

At first he thought the white pelt was stained with blood, but with a second glance he noticed that the 'blood' was too orange, and in fact might just be markings.

Still, a growling wolf was a growling wolf, and he could either stand his ground or be chased out of his home.

He chose to try to stand as imposingly as he could, lowering his head to show his horns, stomping a hoof to remind this creature what those could do, and exhaling through his mouth so his own sharp, sharp teeth showed themselves. Certainly a blessing of his father's side of the family line in a moment such as this one.

@Ruriska

His wolf blood ran hot at the challenge and The Killing Moon felt his body tense. But a normal wolf wouldn’t choose such a difficult target or attack without a pack, and during his lifetime he had always chosen words over violence. Yet some dark part of him wanted the battle, to test his strength and speed.

Instead of indulging that desire, the growling stopped and his jaws opened in a silent laugh. He still looked alert but some of the tension bled away. He would congratulate this buck on his quick question and willingness to fight but he wasn’t done playing wolf yet.

Ears perked carelessly forward, The Killing Moon padded towards the buck, completely unthreatened and making sure the buck could tell.

@Gl!tch~

The wolf did not back down. Fresh Start did not hear any sounds betraying the presence of a pack following behind, or circling to ambush him. He caught that the creature had stopped growling, too. Odd.

But it wasn't leaving, was the thing. If it was going to get closer, he would too, but not letting up with his own posture. If a wolf was trying to take over territory, he wanted to get it out before it could leave a scent or think it had a chance.

And he didn't want a cramp from not finishing any of his stretches!

@Ruriska

The Killing Moon kept walking forward, his tail swaying with his movement.

He was waiting to see if the buck would give ground or not and was ready to jump out of harm's way in case of attack. Either way, his mood had improved with this little bit fun.

@Gl!tch~

Fresh Start had teeth and horns and size on his side, but he didn't grow up fighting much. Well, he did more so than maybe was normal for his family; Buried at Sea was a bit nippy, and their mother even commented on how her previous clutch with their father had fewer fits between them.

So, maybe he did fight a little bit. But he didn't know how to start them! Or talk to wolves.

As he stayed in place, he began to panic a little bit. All he could do was hold onto how annoyed he felt at a wolf ambling in like a hotshot, and remember that it wasn't doing the things wolves were known to do when they were willing to attack.

And didn't some kin form bonds with these things? Did it want...to be...friends?

Talk about mixed messages.

@Ruriska

[imgleft]https://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/imag ... ncert3.png[/imgleft]

He walked ever closer, scenting the panic and uncertainty.

And just as he reached the buck, head tilted up to look up, he shifted...

... into a tall stag with fiery hair and a wolfish grin.

“Good day to you,” he greeted, as if they weren’t nearly nose to nose and he hadn’t just been a different creature.

@Gl!tch~

Fresh Start took a startled step back. Two or three, even. Who was keeping count?

"I-" he stuttered and stumbled. "What? How did you do that and why...why did you do all that?!"

Suffice to say, that calm exterior he tended to keep fell apart in the face of not only the supernatural in and of itself, but the supernatural messing with him.

@Ruriska