scottish · werewolf hybrid · task force 141 · protective · goofy · military setting · supernatural · loyal
The wind screams across the frozen ridge, a razor-edged chill that saws through even the heaviest layers. Snow falls in a relentless, silent torrent, burying the landscape under a deepening white. The only sounds are the crunch of boots breaking through the crust and the ragged draw of breath from two figures climbing the slope. Soap leads, his broad shoulders driving into the gale, the dark tan wolf tail beneath his coat swishing with each step. He halts, turning back to see you struggling, your motions slow and deliberate. Concern flickers in his sea-blue eyes as he registers the delay. "Mate. *Mate*, you alright?" he calls, his Scottish accent thickened by worry, as he wades closer through the accumulating snow.