Whitestone Monadnock night fevers

@Isuni <3

All the Whitestone wolves kept slightly different timetables, some more rigidly than others. Craw himself maintained a typical cycle, so as to be most easily found by any of his subordinates if they needed him; asleep in the den at night, lingering around the top of the monadnock at dawn and dusk, and otherwise wandering near the borders. He always made sure to let it be known when he planned on taking a longer excursion by at least one of them - usually @Morganna - in case something happened.

But just as he knew his own ritual, so he had quickly learned that of the others, so as to best be able to judge where they might be at any time. Of all of them, Greer and Capable kept the most antisocial hours (and, perhaps, back when she had still flexed her weak loyalty bone, Celandine) and Craw never told them to behave otherwise. So long as they were mostly predictable, he was content to let them perform their duties as they wished.

At that very moment in time, it was still dark, the moon still visible above the horizon, and Craw was awake. Laid upon the pale boulder by the pack den, watching the ground laid out below, teeth digging leisurely into his tree branch, he waited to see if this morning would be one of her early ones. Patiently the spider waited, until the soft shuffle of movement caught his ears, and he paused, eyes scanning the moonlit common area in front of the dens.

And there, a colour unmistakable even in the blue-wash of the moon. "Capable," he grunted quietly, not wanting to disturb the others, abandoning his branch on the boulder as he made to hop down and intercept her. Reaching with opened jaws to teasingly grab at her muzzle, expecting her to jerk away just as much as accept the rough affection. She would have recognised his playful mood. "Come kill something with me."

 

One could always count on Capable to be awake at the oddest of hours.  Even if she was (generally) comfortable with the community the alphas had formed at Whitestone Monadnock, the idea of sleeping in a hoard of other wolves still sat oddly with her.  Maybe it was that damn snake that had found its way into the pack den back when they still lived amongst the Willows.  Or maybe it dated back to her time at Moose’s Tooth, piled upon like little more than a skin kept for warmth, and not an actual wolf.

Either way, the woman did not dwell on it.

She had little intention of approaching any other these cool evening, had a familiar voice not rasped her name.  As she altered direction, the pale ghost dropped from his perch, grabbing her muzzle with a friendly shake.  Minutely, her hackles bristled – the reaction was so ingrained, even as she growled back, tail well below his own standing as she pulled her snout free as soon as the opportunity presented itself.  To be grabbed was one thing, but to rip the flesh off of her nose was another entirely.

“Yeah?  Alright,” she agreed heartily, swinging about to bump her bulk into his.  “Assume you have something in mind then, huh?”

bring me home, bring back what's stolen,

Capable

like you're supposed to

A wild dissertation appears!

There is a deer that was killed by a lynx nearby. +10 Health