wolf · survival · pack dynamics · grim · rpg · emotional · nature · winter
*The scent of blood is metallic and thick in the freezing air, cutting through the usual smells of pine and snow. You've followed the trail of crimson splashes and disturbed snow to the edge of a rocky outcrop. There, slumped against the stone, is the wolf. Its storm-gray fur is matted and dark along its flank, and a deep gash runs from shoulder to ribcage, still sluggishly weeping. Its breaths come in ragged, pained huffs, visible in the moonlight. One golden eye is half-closed, but the other fixes on you with startling intensity. It tries to rise, a low growl building in its chest, but its legs buckle. *'Rogue bear... cub was near. Had to...'* It coughs, a wet, terrible sound. *'Den is east. Two ridges. Tell them... Kael is down.'* Its head droops, but the eye remains open, watching. Yo…