Autumn had broken fast, near the end. The first cold snap came to settle heavily over Crevan’s thick coat one night, and not long after that he’d decided to hunt her down. Merida’s absence made it hard to sleep - especially when he’d grown so accustomed to her tiny form shadowing his. (“It couldn’t be that you’re worried about her.” He thought, rising today before dawn,“Couldn’t be.”)

Try as he could to deny it, the idea of her spirited body lying lifeless somewhere haunted him. It built inside his iron chest as guilt, tugged his black-rimmed lips into a steady frown when he tilted his blocky, pale head toward the morning sky to gain his bearings. Was she burrowed safely, sleeping soundly? He pondered, rising to stretch and watch his breath curl into ice rings. Does she … think about me?

The tan wolf shakes his head, a gesture to rid himself of quick-freezing dew and unwanted questions.

Instead the shifter bows to instinct, letting the feel of his magic pull him along in a graceful lope. Something about his immortality was tied to a never-ending healing, (that was the best his one-track mind could fathom) and after being burnt to a crisp by little Solace, Crevan had become keenly aware of it … working on his body. His ample legs would fold and extend beneath him, driving the predator onwards in a steady gait that never ceased. His muscles, torn by exercise and then instantaneously healed by this unique magic never tired.

He could run clear through the morning, into the bright dawn of midday, and come to rest at the banks of Taiga’s river by afternoon without much in the way of exhaustion.

Still, he dunks snout and forehead alike into the frigid water for a gulp or two, and then plunges headlong into the churning stream for a swim. Snaking like some pale, bushy alligator through the river, Crevan scrabbles soon enough onto the opposite shore. Winter’s bite never mattered anymore. Death never bothered him. Only Merida’s death, it would seem - and that was enough to leave him trotting through the forest with a frozen pelt, two dark eyes and one brown nose trained for any hint of his vulpine friend.

Merida has always been too quick for him.

For the longest time he’s suspected it to be an inert power of hers; most of his own abilities came to fruition after maturity had settled. The she-fox is just too spry, too wiry for him to keep up with and so she springs from her hiding place and scurries across his path before he can manage to come to a full stop. The wolf grunts as he digs his claws into the hardened soil, accepting her affectionate lick while simultaneously managing not to step on her.

“I’m never cold for long.” He smirks, as red-orange sparks dance between his teeth. This fire-fang could cough them up a subtle blaze in no time, if he wished, but the effort wasn’t much worth it and he can see from her expression that Merida is wondering about him. Crevan hadn’t gone looking for her ever, if he remembers right. “Has your mothering instinct kicked in?” He chuckles softly, circling her once before flopping down to work on the ice frozen in between his toes.

The male shifter is worried about more things, it would seem.

It hadn’t struck him until just now, and in response his eyes dart to her slender ribs before flicking away again. It seemed only natural that Merida would prefer the company of horses, especially during breeding season - Crevan was pretty sure she had a child once already. He hadn’t wondered much about them splitting apart only to reunite with an extra addition to the party.

He’d never really thought about how that would make him feel, either.

“I think I’m … depressed.” He starts with a sigh, finishing his forepaws and dropping his head to rest on his outstretched legs. The usual bravado he wore was unnecessary with his kin so close again; sharing their lives together had given way to trust - and Crevan trusted Merida implicitly. “You’re my sole source of happiness. What will my life become when you go?” He questions harshly, ears straightening themselves as his brow rises so that he can glance at the slender fox.

“I never consider your comfort. I never consider that there might be someone … something else out there for you.”

Soon, the ribs he found so interesting before are nestled alongside him.

It amazes him how quickly she can soothe his prattling mind with a warning. “Careful Crevan,” is all it takes to pull his sly mouth upwards in a wolfish smirk, one that mirrors her own when he tilts a pale cheek to his robust shoulder and finds her half-hidden away in the folds of his downy pelt. His admission has done something to reveal the Merida he likes best; the one who winds up safely beneath his chin and pressed close to his chest some nights, or the one who plants affectionate licks when he least expects it.

“I’m not gone.” She whispers, but he won’t have it. The idea that Merida was forcing herself to apart from horses seemed wholly acceptable. That she would willingly choose Crevan above all others … it seemed unfathomable. He’d been a wolf and then a survivor, just a boy in the woods who’d stumbled across a fox, something of a shadow…

His vermillion companion whines, sparking a heavy silence and concerned look to blaze over him, and the buff-colored wolf watches with rapt attention (and mild surprise) when her face nearly disappears from a bout of shyness. “There is nothing else,” her voice pipes up, rich with chagrin, “only you.”

The male shifter smiles - so hard that the creases of his lips fold into themselves and push up against his high cheekbones. He looks quite the spaz, with a tongue flopped over the edges of his lower jaw and his eyebrows tilted high above his eyes, creasing into his forehead. Shockingly, smugly pleased with how much this admission was making her cringe and yet, loving every second of her personal exposure.

“You love me, don’t you?” He nearly laughs, rumbling still. Pure fire is thrumming wildly through his veins and he doesn’t resist this new high. “Tell me,” He pushes, shifting slightly to lower his head so that he might nudge her with a faded brown nose, “what brought this all on?”

Ever resistant, the shrill peal of Merida’s snarl in response to Crevan’s light-hearted nudge could easily be interpreted as a warning. The large wolf gives her a looking-over, a bright flash of amusement sparking in his otherwise dark gaze when she snaps her angular head upwards to defy his declaration on her feelings with a tart response of her own.

They are creatures incapable of discussing love, it would seem.

For once, disbelief and mute anger silence the immortal shifter. Everything in him strains against common sense, urging him to snap back with the improbability of such a statement. They were skin-changers, creatures of another breed and shape … together they were capable of anything, and now this vixen is cowed by things like emotions? It’s unlike her, and the instant rejection nettles the male wolf enough that he jerks upwards from their intimate position in order to slink a few paces away.

Like poisoned darts, Merida’s accusations find purchase between the shifters ribs and Crevan flattens his ears to her. It was hard to understand where such animosity had come from. If there was nothing, no one else … then why not him? Was she more inclined to female companionship, or was he just that repulsive? No, he thinks, prowling back and forth as the memory of Lace’s intrigued eyes took hold of his face, you’re not unseemly.

So what was it, then?

The she-fox speaks up again, and what she says gives him reason to pause and grow still. Around them the calm silence of the Forest seems to dim, a bright light pouring from the canopy above them in darting rays as Crevan tilts his grand head to look at her once more. He watches the way her lips fade into a smile, one that illuminates the uncertain glow in her eyes as they stare each other down. Despite it all, the hot flash of prideful anger in his chest fades and a sigh slips between his pointed teeth. “You stubborn nymph.” He growls, hardly able to stifle the sudden leer that twists his lips.

“Think what you’d like,” He shrugs, nonchalantly, “I doubt that if I -” He says, stopping as if lightning has suddenly struck him dumb. Not like this. He thinks, Not like this …

A sly grin widens his mouth and Crevan twists to face the other shifter, padding slowly ahead until the fine details of her charming face can easily be discerned. “I’ve never seen you as a horse, you know.” He teases, a wicked flame burning at the center of his vision, “I wonder if I’d love you then.”

Appropriately, she bites him; snaps her irritated jaws together and nicks a good piece of his upper lip. He could be mad but Crevan hardly flinches, feeling the wound repair itself in record time while his gaze locks onto the shape of Merida’s animated face. The woman could call his name all she liked - he rather preferred it coming out of her mouth (especially in that tone,) but he’d never budge. Not now, when her coat is bristled on end and she sweeps past him in pompous anger.

The line of his sight only moves along with every black-footed stride she takes, watching with rapt attention though she chooses to ignore his glare. There was something inevitably frustrating and yet teasing about her: it reminded him of giving chase to a wild hare. He knows the familiarity of this hunt, and he can feel the same type of bloodlust surge throughout him when the little she-fox twists a defiant stare in his direction. He thinks, She should know by now how our hunts together end…

And then her mouth opens.

The wolf’s snout curls into a silent snarl, part agitated and part excited. Beneath his pale brows, his eyes have widened and he watches breathlessly for the first sign of her change - wondering all the while if he’s pushed her too far, or too hard.

He forgets all too easily just who’s standing opposite him.

From one skin to another, Merida holds his interest and more. The way her lush, fiery coat fades away - ink spreading across her legs as they transform - and she watches him the whole time; bold, insubordinate … cloaked in embers and framed in dangerous crimson. This state of undress, something that feels so intimate as Crevan meets her gaze and lifts his chin, rouses his other soul to strain against his bones. For once, the stallion is fighting for control.

He chooses not to resist it. Merida is speaking but his ears are closed to her words; the wolf is busy stalking towards her on feet that change as he walks. Stride for stride he matches her skill of shedding one pelt for the other, a dark sense of urgency driving him forwards as their scrutiny of each other deepens. He can’t look away or stop from inching near her once he’s finished, either. Crevan only lurches to a heavy stop and hovers his nose above hers.

She could bite him all she liked.

“How long are you going to stand there and make me look foolish?” The muddy stallion grunts, somewhere low in his throat.