Our skin gets thicker, living out in the snow
CREVAN
It’s been a few months, he thinks. Busy months filled with change: settling back into the rhythm of this damned world without his mother, only to find Merida again and start a new life with her. As it should be, the shifter thinks, padding on overlarge paws right through the border of Sylva and straight into the heart of her red-gold wood.
Gryffen was gone but the memories he’d given Crevan were not. They spring to the forefront of his thoughts as he winds with familiar ease through this land, nose tipped skyward to catch the black bastard’s scent. Oh, Morty had been there during the coronation - Crevan remembers distinctly how the clown had watched he and Thana rip apart that red mare (Raxa, right?) and he hopes, knows the black stallion will not so easily forget him.
None who see him in action ever do.
It’s that particular creature he hunts today, ears forward and mouth closed tight. There was unfinished business here with Modicum, with Sylva herself, and he has plenty to say on the matter. This forest was becoming a laughing stock, Beqanna-wide, filled with nothing but strange stories that outsiders circulated as gossip. While Morty and the rest of this dismembered body thought themselves wicked, the rest of Beqanna’s powers - Tephra, Nerine, Ischia - were banding together and forging alliances.
He stops, catching the old scent of Sylva’s new-fashioned leader on a nearby trunk and there he stands, lifting one hind leg to piss atop the worn smell in order to make it new.
The wolf was home.
@[Modicum Mortem] @[Nexu]