some girls wander by mistake

(447) pain meds make me write weiiird. ;-;

It had been chance that brought him away from the borders, and chance that found the moose. Spring drew near and with it came mothers casting out their young; it was an instinctive pattern and one that allowed for them to forget about the children from the season before. Ezekiel imagined this was what happened with his own mother—that she had followed the pattern and become a stranger to him, as his own father now became. Memories, like ghosts, faded. He needed to live only in the moment, for his world was made up of a path he himself constructed; there were plans, ideas, motions. He had manipulated his world with the finesse of a man he himself did not wish to be.

Instinct had led him to follow the wounded animal. It was a bull-calf, less than a year old. The Secui form gave him more weight, resembling his father and all the wolves that came before. A slashing bite had further wounded the animal, and then once more, instinct. Fleeing north, Ezekiel trailed for miles. This was a day-long chase, one that went unresolved until nightfall. Then the calf finally fell to exhaustion. Ezekiel took it by the throat and smothered it with jaws made for slashing and tearing.

He shifted and began work almost as soon as the kill was made. After burying the massive heart Ezekiel feasted on the prime organs and flesh, though he was careful not to gorge himself. Others would smell and come soon enough, and his work would need to happen quickly. Without a knife, he used his claws and teeth to pierce and tear the hide, ripping it by brute strength in places where it would not tear. The skin was peeled away and bundled, and for the next day he feasted and fended off the kill, working with the pelt when he managed to sever the head and brains.

By the third day he was satisfied and took several cuts of meat, perhaps twenty pounds, and bundled this into the tanned hide. It was a crude job but served his purpose, and what was left of the moose would feed others. A wolverine had come the night before and Ezekiel took this, as he always did, as a sign to leave—he would not fight a wolverine unarmed.

His trail carried him south, moving at a steady clip, dissuaded only by the sight of the building. While he was not a man that favored such places, he found himself looking upon a white coyote wearing a cloak; an odd thing for a four legged shape. Ears high, he stilled, unabashed by his shape or his nakedness.

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