:: Wolf Dreams
1. Standing Still
2. So Soft
3. Foxglove
4. Rabbit
5. Cabbage

[ Original on Gaia here ]

Standing Still is next to him - as her namesake, standing still. Her eyes are soft and warm; she is light on her toes, she is waiting. She is waiting for him. He unfolds, rises on silent paws, and pads over, tail gently swishing. When she takes off, he follows right behind.

This is the way it should be.

They run. Through wet marshes they run, nose to tail, sending long sprays splashing out behind them, sinking imprints into soft mud and silt. Sometimes it is not marshes, sometimes sand, hot to the touch and then cool like moon kisses. Sometimes it is tender grass, sometimes the icy crunch of frosted snow. Sometimes it is only darkness, forever and ever and ever. It doesn't matter what they run through, they just run.

When they reach the end of the world, it is abrupt, and she stops with a grace he tries to match. There is nothing but from the scents around them he can tell there is everything at once – when she throws her head back and howls, she is not alone.

He doesn't like to say too much, but this is different; he closes his eyes and joins the pack.

[ Original on Gaia here ]

What took you so long? is what she'd have said, if she were still a mare. But she is a wolf, and so what comes out is a roll of her shoulders as she rounds on the caiman. So Soft gives the barest flick of a tail, darting in to lunge a decisive bite. They are used to this. Used to each other. Perfect.

The battle is hard, the caiman large and deceptively quick. They dart and lunge, lunge and dart, sometimes snarling, mostly silent. It would have been made easier with the rest of the pack, but this is not a prey for dogs. It is only the two of them, but that is enough. They fight as one – one heart, two tearing jaws.

The battle is long, but the triumph supreme. The blood that rains is hot and thick, sharp and delicious in the air. They exchange proud glances, but that is all – the outcome had never been in question, to feast was celebration enough. They bring it home to the pack.

Where is it, she asks about, puzzled, after she wakes, a mare again but not really, where is the caiman? We got it yesterday, So Soft and I.

It is dark when she slips by him, tapping him into wakefulness with a brush of her tail. Through the night they run, light steps soundless, as if they were stepping with bloom-shod paws. Like his name: Foxglove, but he is not a fox, he is a wolf.

And so is Lupin.

There is no need for manners here, no dos and do nots, no dainty looks, no flowers, save where they scattered, petals dashed, as they slash past them. They are wolves, and they run, through the night, until they find just what they want, and then, on silent bloom-shod paws, they round the hare and hound it down: he lopes past, and sinks his teeth into a flank; she leaps and tears its heart out from its chest.

They feast.

Rabbit is nudging at her, bumping her snout into her fur, licking at her face.

Wake up, she says.

I'm awake, she replies.

Rabbit stops nudging, but still licks.

She yawns.

What is it? she says, as she rolls to her paws, and sleepily shakes off.

There's a vole in the cabbages, she says, shall we -

- and here, she hears, she stops to huff, before continuing:

- chase it off?

The cabbages, she says, they're almost full-grown.

Turning her head - yes, she can smell them now: the crisp wetness of the cabbages, the hot stink of vole.

Yes, exactly, Rabbit says, it's already started eating from the left side.

She doesn't wait to answer - growling, she runs towards the garden.

Don't scare it off, Rabbit says, following, we'll flank it - if you just scare it, it'll be back.

This time, and only because of that, she remembers not to bark.

They move, swiftly, but silently. She can hear the click-click-click of little teeth, the burst of wetness, as if the cabbage is crying out for help.

She growls, but quietly, so the assailant cannot hear.

Rabbit creeps to the right; she rushes, all of a sudden, snapping  - click, from the left.

The vole squeaks - the hurried patter of tiny feet: it is running.

Rabbit is off, she can hear her, the growl in her throat, hear the sharp crack of bone. The smell of blood is in the air; she should follow. But she is so sleepy, so very tired.

She doesn't want to run, not anymore. The cabbages are almost full-grown, green, and crisp, and cool against her coat.

She falls asleep again, pillowed by the cabbages.

She awakes to a long, low howl.

She rolls over, changes her mind, and rolls back again. But, no - she rolls over once more, rises, and shakes out her fur.

What did your siblings say? she yawns.

They send regards, Cabbage says.

Cabbage came from far away. A nice Acha brought him here. He has siblings, parents. Rabbit sits by, occasionally thumping her tail against the ground. Rabbit has no one else.

But they have each other. Their pack.

She pads over, touching noses with Cabbage. Then she puts her head up, and howls.

A long note. It rolls away into the night. Silence falls once more.

They listen.

A returning howl echoes across the spaces between them.

They're so nice, she chirps, with satisfaction.

Cabbage's pawsteps: he pads to Rabbit, nudges. Rabbit huffs, resists. Then she whines, sighs, and gets to her paws.

It's just so awkward, she huffs, then raises her head and howls.

Just a little.

But a howl rolls back.

See, Cabbage says, it's not so hard.

Rabbit hrmphs, turns away, and settles back onto the ground.

Cabbage howls.

That is enough for her; she yawns, sniffs, lopes over to Rabbit, and curls into her warm side. Rabbit shifts, sticks out a limb, makes room; they cuddle, heaps of fur and fluff.

After a moment, Cabbage joins them, and, pressed between her packmates, she drowses back to sleep.