Crushed thorns and branches had fallen in the wake of a beast’s fury. Not a creature with ego wounded, but body instead. The close quarters of the Thicket had been difficult to navigate, and more than once the behemoth believed she had been led astray by the black male and his subordinate. But eventually, perseverance won out and at long last the she-wolf was able to taste the free air…

Just as the eve had begun to set. As wild amber and umber eyes beheld the fall of the day, a scowl formed upon her muzzle, knotting earth-hued brows into an ugly visage. Her lips began to tremble as rage began to swell, til inevitably it boiled over in an instant and was resounded was not a howl but an incoherent curse to the air. All that time spent wandering through hell and she would see her deliverance at the time she had hoped to return to her den by. She was livid, staring at the sky long after her rage receded and there was only the haggard breath to show it had once been a part of her. It was her own fault that she barely knew the grounds of which she had stumbled upon, but blamed the dark wolf and his subordinate for wasting her time as they had. Perhaps those precious minutes of conversation could have been used more efficiently to get her where she needed to go.

Or it simply could have been she was just too slow; sacrificing expediency for a less painful progression.

But blame would do nothing for her now. Not with night fast approaching and her status too open. Grumbling to herself, she marched from the last reaches of the Thicket into the vastness of the field, her eyes wide and alert as she sought something suitable to make her den for the night.

Velvet night had slipped silently overhead in the midst of her searching, taking with it the crucial light needed for the search. Though the eyes of the lupine were gifted to view the world within the realm of night, it was still difficult to discern what was livable and what needed to be avoided. What may have appeared to be an abandoned hollow could very well have been a pack’s cache or predator’s lair, regardless of the scent. She knew of too many hideaways in her seasons that were disguised as a part of nature, but were actually of great importance.

She had no intention of having her night come to conflict.

But the eve had other plans for the lone soul. Pausing in her search, she turned around toward the steps of an approaching soul. Had his words not been enough to draw her attention, then certainly the musk of the Thicket that covered him would have alerted her to his presence. With gradient eyes glowing brightly in the deepening night, she regarded the male somewhat passively regardless of the scent that told of where he hailed from. It should have been no surprise that she would find another this far; after all, she had not traveled a great deal from its borders. But after the welcomed received by the dark male of the Thicket, she was less than eager to meet another so soon. Yet, she curbed her apprehension, and settled instead with passing sweep of her tail.

“They are too long,” she grumbled softly, neither admitting to nor contesting nature’s attempts to frustrate her so. Yet the countless thorns haphazardly scattered through her pelt were perhaps enough to answer the question for her. “…second large wolf I’ve seen from the thorns,” clearing her throat with a cough, she nudged her muzzle toward the male. “…how can you live in that?”

Undoubtedly, what he said made sense; the more time spent within something the more likely one was able to get used to it. But she was certainly not fond of the idea of being pricked and prodded by thorns just to live within an area. Were there not other locations that catered to a more open area with simply the cover of trees? Even a den would have sufficed carved from the stable earth… But thorns and wild flora… if the pack had been intentionally trying to drive others away, then she could see the reasoning behind it. To digress, however, she found the idea unappealing but kept her personal views silent and dismissed from her expressive face.

However it was not for long as a brow perked with aroused interest for the male. His offer while bold was not at all unfavorable. She despised the manner in which the thorns clung to her coat, poking inward on intervals that her shoulders would roll forcing them deeper into her sides and flank until they became a perpetual bother.

The female said nothing as she shuffled around in place to brandish her flank. Heavy lids hung heavily over bi-colored eyes as she ventured her gaze upward to the first stars of the night as they peeked from their cover. It was too late now to try and find shelter in the deepening night. More than likely a rest within the field or next to a tree would have to do. Or worst, she would have to find shelter in the edges of the Thicket. But for the moment, she did not dwell on what brought her further discomfort, and instead anticipated a moment in which she could find relief. In silence, she cast a mild glance to the male.

A matted coat was the garb of the vagabond, one the woman wore not with pride but somber acceptance. There was little time for grooming when the world was seemingly against the lone creature. No energy could be spared from preening when it was better used for travel and survival. Such a way of living meant that certain luxuries would fall away from the mind if not tended to on occasion. Luxuries in which the female felt she should have adhered to at least once in a while, especially when the male began his ministrations of freeing the dreadful thorns.

She was still throughout, only jerking slightly in place when a deep thorn was pulled free. Her skin would prickle somewhat, and her nostrils quivered to the faint scent of blood, but no sound was uttered on her behalf. The pain could be endured as long as the task was completed to its fullest. When a pause would allow, she rolled her shoulders to ensure no hidden thorn remained deeply buried, then would relax when satisfied that an area of bother was cleared. In silence, she would glance to her company, assessing him quietly as she did with any and all. Even in the settling night, she could glimpse the trouble protrusions from his coat, just as spread and haphazardly placed as her own burden has been.

When he finished she rose swiftly then brought her forelegs forward and bent in a bow. The length of her back stretched to its limit as she found to her pleasure that no more of the dreadful prickly things poked her skin. Righting herself, she gave her body a quick shake, then turned with purpose to face her male company. Still her lips did not part to speak but in her passive expression were the softened eyes of appreciation. His offer for shelter was indeed heard but went unacknowledged for the moment, as she stepped closer to him til her muzzle was but a hair’s breadth from his own… then carefully eased forward to pluck a small thorn from his cheek.

“Turn.”

If her conduct at present could share any truth about the female, it was that she was not as cruel nor dense as her demeanor with others might have suggested. She was not innately a caring soul, but there was certainly a part of her that shared kindness when it was called for. The wanderer was a creature of passion; to act upon what she may without hesitation as best as she saw fit. And her offer to the male was a form of this, conveying her appreciation as openly in gesture as he had bequeathed to her.

As he turned from her with flank presented openly, she further closed their proximity to linger by his side. Rather than dive into the littered pelt without direction, she carefully mapped the placement of the visible thorns then raised her paw to lightly brush at the hidden few embedded deeper in. Then gradually she began, taking her teeth first to the subtle few then expanding to the more noticeable across his length. Modesty was absent as she skirted from the higher reaches of his side to his belly, nudging a few thorns free before lapping the tussled fur down to proper placement. And in her ministrations was care; the same manner she would give to the rambunctious youth of her mountain home. Those silly pups and their adventures always coming home matted and muddled and in need of grooming.

In remembering them, the faintest glimmer of a smile touched her lips as she paused to walk to curl from one side to the other to begin again. She ensured his nape was free from the thorns’ wrath as well then his ridge before declaring her grooming complete with a silent return to face him. Patiently, she returned to the earth by her haunches, bothering a particularly long thorn between her teeth before letting it fall away.

“Better?”