Vaken smelt like pack- more so than he would have liked. He wore the scent of Fallen Tree Cove on his fur, of his aunt and her partner and the flora surrounding them. It didn’t feel right to him. Not because there was anything about his aunt’s family that he disliked. He was learning to love her, the way she reminded him of his father. It hurt a little, but it was a soothing pain. It was settling with time. He cared for the pack, but something was wrong. He didn’t want to be a pack wolf, not yet. He had tried being in a pack his entire adolescence, and it always ended badly. He loved his family. He just didn’t feel like he fitted in there, not completely. He was worried that if he pledged his loyalty, something bad would happen and he would lose it. He was at war with himself.

He had been looking for kin, and here they were. What was wrong with him? He left in the middle of the night, travelling east from the border. It was dawn now and the yearling continued to move. He was restless. He knew he would head back eventually, wouldn’t let himself move too far away. It felt so good to run that he tried to ignore those thoughts.

When the rain began to fall, the yearling barely noticed. It felt nice on his dark pelt, offering a breeze. It was a chillier morning compared to the others. That meant he wasn’t wasting too much energy. He had been in this area before, it smelt familiar. He slowed his pace to a walk, his golden eyes darting around the land. He was brought back to reality quickly. He was drenched, his fur weighted down by the water. His mouth was parched. It hung open, panting, drinking from the sky before he noticed the small creek.  

The scruffy boy was spooked by the voice. He jolted, tail straightening out, ears flattening and lip raised. It took him a second to catch his breath. He had been too concentrated on his thoughts to realize he had company. The other male’s voice cut through his mind like a sharp knife, demanding and authoritative. It was a rude awakening, but the youth settled down when he realized it was no threat. The coyotes had put him on edge. It was a knee-jerk reaction. He let out a jagged exhale and relaxed his body language. He sniffed the air, testing it for any information. There was little. The yearling couldn’t smell much over the scent of mud and dew. It was all mixed in his mind, blurring any signs of who this man was.

Rain fell into his eyes, making him squint. He blinked away the access liquid, and through the storm sized up the new arrival. He wasn’t excessively tail, but he was certainly well-fed. Vaken could make out the features of his husky frame. Whether it was muscle or fat, the yearling couldn’t tell from the distance. The male’s fur was too dark to see in the hazy light of dawn, especially with a cloudy sky. Vaken could make out a rough shape, but not any definition or details. Regardless, he was fairing well in the heat of summer, even with coyotes. That was no lone wolf. The boy kept his mouth shut, but moved his eyes in the direction of the river. At a steady pace he moved towards it. His steps were long, but his pace short- unhurried. He was taking his time, making sure he could trust his companion. He didn’t want to turn his back on a threat, especially one this large. When he reached the water’s edge, he turned in the direction of his visitor and drank.

Between sips, the boy spoke. “Water is water.” He gulped down another mouthful, licked his lips and smirked. It was a genuine sly grin, but subtle. It was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. “Tastes the same to me,” he purred, shaking out his fur. Water droplets flew off his mucky pelt, landing on the grass and river surface. He looked ridiculous. The uneven lengths of his hair were even more apparent after shaking it out, making it stick out in different directions. He looked truly wild.

It took the yearling only a second to put the pieces together. He was quick, his features empty as he racked his memory. Oak Tree Bend. A faint smile played at his lips, his eyes lightening. They had to be close to here, didn’t they? The yearling sniffed the air, trying to find scent markers, but failed. He turned his cool gaze back to the visitor. He was aware of the distance between them, but kept his voice at a neutral volume. He wasn’t going to force himself to be heard over the rainfall. “Aponi wishes,” he snorted, knowing damn well Aponi and her pack were fine without him. He admired her greatly. If any had tempted him to change his lifestyle, it had been her. For a second, he had almost- almost- been tempted to succumb to her authority and pledge loyalty. She hadn’t quite got him, but she had been close.

His words were playful, but dry. To a stranger it may come across conceited, but the boy didn’t try and correct his tone. He hoped the news would get back to her. That she’d find out some wolf was near her borders talking up a big game. This wolf clearly wasn’t one of her subordinates either, despite looking like the kinda wolf he’d imagine guarding her borders. He looked like a big, dumb brute. His smile widened. He took another sip of water, not trying to hide his grin, but genuinely thirsty. When he brought his muzzle back up, he took a seat.

“Not from the bend, or draw, or rye fields,” his tail swished behind him. “Not from the cove, or ridge,” his forehead creased, trying to remember the other packs he had heard of, been invited to, intruded on. He could remember the smells, the shapes of the wolves, but not the names. There had been a pack close to here too, hadn’t there? Vaken remembered the two men. His first encounter with the coyotes. One with mismatched eyes, about his age. Then the other, large- strong, darker fur and scars. He had invited him back to the territory, more dominant. All the names slipped through the cracks of Vaken’s memory.

It couldn’t matter much. He snorted, giving up altogether. He’d leave it up to the stranger to guess, if he was so curious.

Vaken felt the male’s words vibrating off his skull, the sternness in his voice unrelenting. Something about his dominance unknowingly challenged the insolent boy. It was full of black and white, yes or no, straight to the point. The mangy looking boy felt prompted by it. He could sense the frustration of the other wolf, when he rolled his eyes, the annoyance in his tone. Even though the wolf was larger, Vaken continued to test the waters. Not because he wanted physical confrontation, but because he was young and stupid. “You ask a lot of questions for someone who doesn’t want my life story.”

It wasn’t a pissing contest, but it sure felt good. The boy let the words slide off his tongue before considering them. It was effortless. Knee-jerk snarkiness. He stayed sitting, his wet paws sinking into the mud. His fur was normally dirty, but the rain was washing all the gunk out. It felt refreshing. He was going to be clean for once- kind of. The wet soil was making it harder to feel completely revitalized, but it was something. The boy didn’t mind being unclean. He wiggled his rear into the grass, enjoying the sound of squish that it made. Finally, he smartened up. “I don’t know her well,” he admitted. “She’s just an acquaintance.”

Now that he was closer, he could get a better look at the male. He was undeniably bulky. His body frame was sturdy, wall-like. The yearling was impressed. Not only had he been eating well, but he was strong. The muscle definition was apparent in his legs. They put his legs to shame. The yearling was tempted to compare the two, look at them side by side, but suspected that might annoy his companion further. The way he carried himself was full of power. The yearling, as ignorant as he tried to be of packs, couldn’t ignore the authority in his stance. Not only was this a pack wolf, but clearly one high on the charts. He scoffed. “My turn,” he stated coldly.
“Who are you?”

Ah. The boy scrunched his nose up, not necessarily in disgust, but in disdain. He had suspected the male- Askan, of being a dominant wolf. He had figured second in command, maybe lead guardian. The boy hadn’t considered it too much. He pictured the big brown brick to do something assertive and mindless. The yearling could imagine him sulking around the border, his teeth bared at any unsuspecting creature. Snarling and growling at rocks, puffing out his chest. The multicoloured boy’s lips twitched up in a crooked smirk. Being a leader, that was a whole other realm of annoying. It meant he wasn’t as dumb as Vaken originally suspected. All brawn and maybe a little brain. How surprising. “Shallow’s Edge,” the boy repeated, testing the words on his tongue.

He had never heard of it, or maybe he had and forgotten. He thought to himself for a moment, trying to map out where he had travelled, where the pack could be in location. Eventually, he brushed it off. It didn’t ring any bells. “Sounds inviting.”

The boy took a step away from the water, his paws coated in mud. He looked down at them briefly, lifting the right one and shaking it out. Most of the grime stuck to his fur, but a few clumps slowly fell back into the wet ground. It was futile. He sighed, dropped his paw and offered a side eyed skeptical glance at Askan. He was going to be covered in dry mud for weeks. Not like he was usually clean, but still. It worked like a gel in his thick uneven fur, poking it in different directions. The mane around his face was weighted down and made him look skinnier. He took a few quiet breaths, letting the rain hit his face. It didn’t feel great, but it wasn’t horrible. Compared to the beating sun, it was heaven. “Well Askan,” the boy drawled. “I’m Vaken Svart.”

That was only fair. A name for a name. He took another few steps away, not because he distrusted the male, but because the two had reached an conversational impasse. “Any other questions big guy?”