[ P ] All We Are is Dust in the Wind

Running
against the wind

Another day, another success. Finch was rather content as he walked briskly through the snow, which was nearly as tall as his oversized paws, and he hummed despite having a mouthful of fur, with the hint of metallic taste from the blood of his prize. A limp hare, fattened up for winter, hung from the youth’s jaws. Yet the boy’s victory had not been one of hunting. While the almost-adult wolf was an adept hunter, he was even better in the art of theft, something he had been doing out of necessity nearly his entire life. It had been different when he was a child – he was still little and cute, and manipulating grown-ups for their dinners was simple.

Now, as he was much, much bigger and less endearing to those types, it took more cunning, more practice. But Finch was up for the challenge. A sick mother at home was enough to convince those who had enough today. Was it true? Of course not. But it worked. Sometimes, of course, those attempts would fail, and he would have to use more muscle to get the prize. Usually, however, violence was not necessary, which the youth preferred. Now, he only had to walk the short distance back to his home in the foothills, where his family waited for his return.

A sudden wind from the north, blown down from the tallest, snow-covered peaks of Tir Na Nog, jolted Finch from his distraction. It caused a shiver to run up along his spine, and he nearly dropped the hare. Blue eyes squinted as he examined the mountains – except the summits were all hidden away, masked by huge, looming clouds. Better hurry up, there may be a storm coming in from the mountains. As of yet, the sky down in the valley remained azure, with just a few white clouds hovering in the firmament. But weather could change in an instant in these parts.

Finch’s pace hurried, and the boy was distracted by the ominous clouds off in the distance as he moved noisily through the snow.

@Galadriel

It was odd to be back home.

The sparse trees around the city allowed what was left of the afternoon light to dapple Galadriel's coat. As he moved through the snow, quiet save for the soft crunch of his footfalls, he drank in the scents of Inverness. Of the salty ocean and the sand, of the alder that had shed its leaves in fall and the evergreen that held fast. Dark ears for once did not perk or fold or twist. They relaxed as he allowed himself a moment with his eyes closed in the sun.

Home.

It was good to be back, but he would not stay for long. Once he arrived at the city's end, he would greet his brother and linger at the corner of the clan's festivities for a while. Then he'd get word of a new job before retiring to the woods in which he made his den.

Thump! Crunch! Thumpity-thump!

The sound of a wolf racing through the snow was enough to cause Galadriel to tense. A motion imperceptible to the eye but far too familiar to the man. Pale eyes skirted the clearing, seeking out the source of the cacaphony. When he saw a young man of gray fur and blue eyes barreling across the snowscape, he watched for a moment. An errant memory of standing in the Fae Forest, blood on his fur, Elwynn on his fur, appeared. The dead man on the ground, watching everything and nothing—hmm?

Within the boy's jaws dangled a rabbit. It was unusually plump given the heat wave, and Galadriel's stomach rumbled.

It wasn't in his nature to take candy from a baby... but this was hardly a baby.

"Careful, careful," Galadriel called. "The snow is deep around these parts, you might sink in and break an ankle."

@Finch

Running
against the wind

The unexpected sound of a stranger’s voice, deep and unknown, caused Finch to stop suddenly in his tracks, with a forepaw still hanging midstep in the air: "Careful, careful. The snow is deep around these parts, you might sink in and break an ankle." The youth’s head turned sharply to find a brown wolf observing him. ”Hrm, umhm –” But the words did not make sense, not with the hare still grasped in his jaws. Finch regarded the earthen brute curiously. What did a stranger care if he got hurt? His left paw slowly returned to the snowy ground beneath him, and he carefully set his prey down between his forepaws. But his focus remained fixed upon the stranger. ”Um, thanks,” he offered in a voice that now lacked any characteristics of youth, a deep voice to fit with the boy’s imposing physique – the one trait that resembled his biological father, it seemed, though he could scarcely remember his sire, who had been dead longer than a year’s time.

It occurred to Finch then that this individual could be related to the one who had caught the hare in the first place. Perhaps he had come to take it back to the hunter. Or, maybe, he was an enforcer of laws against stealing, and had followed Finch to get him into trouble. A slight frown tugged at the corners of his lips, and his brows knit with worry, but he was quick to rein in those automatic reactions, as his mother had taught him. Never show too much, or it could be used against you.

Another chill ran through the boy as he watched the stranger, uncertain of what to do next. He was feeling more than a little uncomfortable in the sights of this unknown wolf. ”Er, do you need something?” His head lowered, ready to grab his prize again, in case he needed to leave quickly.

@Galadriel