Cold Water Creek the snow itself is lonely

"You're plenty nice." He chirped, the words tumbling out of his mouth like they were instinctive and ingrained. Because Reyes was good. And good for Cottongrass meant that they let him stick around and talk as much as he wanted without getting too mad or annoyed. There was also the hunt they had a few days earlier, and the fact that Reyes so far hadn't attacked him. Which automatically meant the older wolf went on Cottongrass' list of The Best Wolves to Ever Meet. It might have had only had Sahalie and Reyes on it so far, but that just meant they were all the more better in his mind. But he bit down on the urge to ramble all of that to the older male, instead letting them drink and resume talking without interruption.

He hummed, nodding his big white head in understanding. Everything Reyes said made sense, like the part about hoping for a good winter and how hard it was to live on your own. And if Reyes, an older wolf said that, it must have meant it was really true. It eased his nerves, knowing that he wasn't the only one flailing out in the middle of nowhere all while winter crept closer and closer. Except he couldn't imagine Reyes exactly flailing, and guessed the darker male did something like mutter bad words whereas Cotton would just panic in silence.

But he was getting sidetracked, because if he was going to take Reyes' words as advice there was one problem. One little problem that was already messing him up. He drew in a careful breath, paws already itching as he met Reyes' gaze.

"I'm bad at being in a pack, though." It was quick, he let out his secret in a hurried breath before clamming back up. Because there it was - the horrible truth about Cottongrass. Or what he thought was the worst truth about himself. Because the last pack he was in was a mess, one that he didn't like thinking about. Ever. He gave an expectant stare with wide yellow eyes, ears pricked forward in interest, because what was he supposed to do about that?

Panic might have stricken little Cotton once more, but the admission was met with little more than a shrug. “Yeah, packs aren’t really my thing, either,” he hummed, taking a break from guzzling water. Drinking too quickly always made him feel like a damn bag full of liquid, sloshing around and slowing him down. “My mama was a loner. Never really did anything but that.”

And maybe it was in his blood, he sometimes reckoned. Maybe he was destined – or doomed – for it. Inevitably, his rogue father was a loner, or at least one at heart; a pack wolf who snuck copulations outside of his group was no good pack wolf. While he had no intention of being anything like the man (or his mother either, quite frankly) and siring pups he couldn’t (didn’t) care for, sometimes he reasoned that his wandering feet were not entirely his alone, and bequeathed to him by the blood he shared with both parents.

“Look, kid. I’m just saying it’s harder to survive alone, not that it’s impossible. ‘ve been doin’ it for three winters, now,” he murmured, unable to resist his toothy grin. That was something to be proud of, after all. “Don’t like packs? Don’t live in one. Easy as that.”

@Cottongrass -- Maybe you could fade out since we have a new thread? (:

He couldn't help the dorky grin that spread across his features in that moment or the giddiness forming in his chest. Because once again, Reyes was just so cool and Cottongrass was blew away by it. The man had so many scars, and he got them by protecting his sisters! He was a lone wolf all his life! He made funny jokes! And really, that was only the tip of the list that had Cottongrass crowing away with sheer reverence inside of his thoughts. Behind him his tail swished away and he let out a breathy laugh.

"You're so cool." He breathed, the words simple and plain with something warm bubbling in between. And maybe Reyes wasn't that all that special in the grand scheme of things. But to Cottongrass, the boy who grew up alone and isolated in the north with overbearing parents that seemed to hate him, Reyes was practically a hero. With a glance to the darker male, Cotton thought for sure he was going to stick to the wolf. At least for a little while. Maybe for however long they would let him.

But with the memory of being attacked pressing at the edges of his mind, he wasn't sure how true that was going to be. For now he would be content to sit by Reyes in silence with the river as background noise. It wouldn't be until later would the paranoia return and he would find a way to wander off by himself. The wounds on his muzzle were still fresh, after all, and he didn't like the idea of having another run in with his attacker.

For now though? He was staying.

Fade.