It had been a good long time since the arctic wolf had crossed the borders of his packland. He had come to feel centered there, letting the events of his life unfold around him, without the youthful wanderlust urging him to explore. The most recent excursion he had taken had ended in a cruel encounter and a month's healing from the mauling he received. But he was better now, and more importantly, he needed some new scenery to stir up the stagnation he had been stuck in for too many moons.
Since he had learned how to shift (so late in life!) he had continued to assume the hulking werewolf form, forcing himself to grow accustomed to walking upright, to having hands and feet instead of four paws, to looming over all before him. He had always been big for a wolf, but he had never seen an Optime as large as himself before. Broad shoulders, barrel chested, shaggy black and white fur hanging lank from his stooped body... he felt as silly as a bear trained to dance, teetering on its footpaws for the amusement of all who saw. And there was still a color of guilt and shame to his expression, since he had been raised to shun all things werewolf. It was mortal sin to play human, even if his Optime form had the swayed back and bent knees of the old-world shifters, nothing clean and civilized here.
The one saving grace of his abominable genes was that since he had shifted, he no longer felt the dreams closing in on him... In his two-legger form, he no longer suffered from his narcolepsy. And that was the one reason he had not immediately reverted to his most comfortable way of life - because without the constant yawning and the ever-present danger of collapsing into sleep without a moment's notice, he might actually come across as a normal creature. If not for his ice-pale eyes and bold black markings, he could fit in...
The sun was setting around him, washing his tangled white mane in warm oranges and pinks, reflecting oddly in his pale blue eyes. He paused for a moment, ebony-daubed tail waving slowly behind him as he lost himself in thought. He would have liked to show his mate this. She was fond of the colorful side of nature, and it would surely lift her spirits. She seemed to have thrown herself into her alpha duties again, working herself to exhaustion... Part of it was his fault, having shut himself away from the world, forcing her to take care of him like a child. But they had made amends since then, and yet, she still scarcely came home, only to fall right asleep and leave before he awoke.
It occurred to Slay then that he was not alone; a soft, wet scraping noise was caught by his swiveling ears, and the lumbering werewolf turned curiously to see whom he had interrupted. At first glance, he thought the older grey male was his packmate Lubomir, even down to the yellow eyes - but their faces were different, and this wolf was accompanied by a small bird. Slay grew still, pale eyes studying the bird with interest. He was a superstitious creature, believing in the extraordinary and the paranormal, and had heard tell of spirit animals and partners. (In fact, he had suspicions that he himself was accompanied by such an animal, but it only appeared in his prophetic dreams...) A deep stirring in his chest told him that this was no ordinary bird... and that he was only seeing her because she wanted him to. "...Hello," he rumbled, holding his hands palm-upwards in a gesture of peace. He was not entirely sure who he was addressing, the bird or her werewolf partner. He would see who answered.