(--)
And, quite suddenly, there was a new freshness to the scent -- perhaps some wind draft, or some trapped bit of it, or even a back-tracked trail. This was lucky for Guy, as the rains would have done for the days-old trail. The wolf paused where this new scent came into his nose, dropping down to all fours again. He inhaled deeply, and some memory emerged from the murk of his brain. Matagami -- and impossibly pale fur. Guy was not the sort to freeze with shock and contemplate his new discovery: he charged head-long after the scent with this new memory, spurred forward with purpose. He remembered.
The rain was of no consequence to him, for he had traveled across the earth without shelter for long months of his life. It concealed his noise and blurred his scent from the world, but all it did for him, it did for his prey, as well. For -- that was what she was. He hadn't had his turn, and that memory in particular bit at him. Deemed too low and ignorant even for a defiled deity -- that was Guy's lot in life. Well, he could change that lot, couldn't he? He had already done so by seeking out his own place, free of simpering to his betters and begging for his most basic of rights.
The wolf paused some distance from the edge of her camp, for a moment mistaking the blurred gold hindquarters of a horse for his quarry. Then, he blinked the water from his eyes and recognized the animal for what it was. A brief sweep over the camp told Guy she was not present. He could remember her name, maybe, if he really tried -- but that wasn't very important, after all. The fur was what he remembered above all. The scarred wolf, having bypassed the camp entirely now, kept exclusively to his four legs, moving more in the manner of his natural form than this two-legged one. He did the same when he hunted in this body And this is hunting, he thought, wholly content with the thought.
There was a blur of movement ahead of him, and Guy hesitated a moment, keeping low to the ground. He used the landscape for his cover -- with dark brown fur, he was well-blended and knew it. His lighter underbelly was even obscured; only his darker shoulders and back were visible. And -- her back was to him. He determined this by creeping closer, moving quickly when the thunderclap made it prudent to do so. Guy was not what one would call a perceptive canine, but his body and mind were geared to these tasks: the hunt, the kill, the feast. This last was his right, owed to him for a long life of loyalty and servitude, but he had never tasted it before. He would begin now: never again would Guy be denied.
He pounced, springing from the ground with powerful rear legs.
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