When he woke up that morning and found that he could breathe without feeling dizzy and disoriented, the recuperating wolf was over the moon. Slay had spent the past few weeks healing from wounds he had received from the dangerous crow-wolf, Corvus Vendetta. None of them had been deep enough for scars, but he had lost so much blood, he had suffered from anemia for far longer than he wanted to. His poor mate had been stuck hunting for him, trying to keep him healthy while looking after the gaggle of puppies they had adopted. He owed her for a lot. For now, he wanted to test his returning strength, try out the shiny scabs that had knitted him together, see how far his atrophied limbs could carry him.
The arctic wolf nosed his way through the door that separated him from the outside, and inhaled the fresh scent of early summer, a happy light glinting in his ice-pale eyes. He still felt wobbly on his paws from all the sleeping he had done, but there was something refreshing about feeling awake for the first time in many days. He padded down the steps on all fours, appreciating the springy grass between his toes when he heard the howl.
The ebony-marked male trotted lightly along the border, hoping to reach the caller before someone more fit beat him to it. It was merely a challenge to himself; this was no howl of distress or loner seeking a home, but a simple social call. Slay didn't recognize the smooth masculine voice, but with a deep yawn, the narcoleptic wolf spotted the seated Optime in the grass near the trees. His breath came a little too quickly in his chest - was he panting already, after that brisk walk?- and one of his small cuts had opened to trickle down his leg, but otherwise he had made it. His reward would be a nice conversation with a stranger.
"Hallo there, stranger!" he called, still catching his breath as he drew nearer. He didn't recognize the light cream colours of the male's fur, but the scent he carried was of their allies, Crimson Dreams. It was probably just a relative coming to visit, which happened more often than he was aware, since Slay really had no relatives. He could probably direct them to whichever den they needed to find, since he was now such a senior member and all. It still boggled his mind to realize that he had been with this pack since it had begun, some fourteen moons ago...
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
