"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
A thin yellow moon hangs low and large on the horizon, barely visible between the finger-like branches of the winter bare trees. The stars overhead are no easier to see, and the wind that whispers between the creaking limbs carries with it the icy bite of winter.
It tastes of snow and the bitter north, of bare stone and icy peaks jutting into the clouds. It tastes like home.
I lower my dark head, and the too-sharp nose of the wolf shape that I had chosen.
I have no home.
Releasing the breath I had been holding, I do the same with the tension in the rest of my body, shaking it from my well-furred body as best as I can. It will never be gone, not entirely, but I can push it aside, I can bury it as I always have.
My next breath smells of rabbit, and I turn my head to find it browsing unconcernedly. Having eaten earlier in the day, I am content to simply watch it, the intense focus of my blue and orange eyes fixated on the little animal, barely visible in the dim light. As a black wolf, I am far less ostentatious than usual, and I am grateful for that choice as I continue to watch, unobserved.
Years have long past since the fall of Taiga. Even more years since the wolf packs had dispersed, disappearing into the cracks and crevices of their world. I was no exception.
I was not entirely alone in my solitude though. As a spiritual medium between both this world and the next, I conversed with many past life forms. They each had a unique story to tell and I was glad for the company.
Today though I move swiftly across the forest floor, unattended by a spiritual guide, my orange eyes shifting to place my location in the dim lighting. With padded paws and a thick dark coat, I leap over a moss-covered log before stopping to scent the air.
Winter was just beginning and soon the forest would be bitterly cold, but tonight it was a mild chill. It was times like these I sought out my dens, having multiple in different areas of Beqanna. I was a drifter and never stayed any one place too long so as to remain undetected. I never felt the need to secure a territory, being the only unferal wolf had its perks.
Prepping the dens each seasonal rotation was a never-ending task, but I enjoyed the busy work of it. I turned towards one now located just under the fallen log. Burying my nose into the darkness, I sniffed for intruders. Drawing each front paw up to tidy the makeshift home by casting out built up debris.
Finding this den uninhabited and now in acceptable condition, I turn my sights to the forest, maw parted and tongue pulsing as I pant.
Food was next on the agenda, and it wasn't hard to find, if you had the nose for it.
Head down I begin to trot along a familiar hunting path. Weaving my way through the barren trees, a light dusting of snow rested on the fallen leaves that hardly crunched beneath my soft steps. I follow the trail for some time, maybe a mile or so from my den deep in the woods. It would be easier to catch something with less places to hide.
My travels stretched to the tree line, the icy breeze bringing me the scent of a rabbit. I turn and heads towards it, downwind of course. The crescent moon that hung in the skies was starkly similar to the one on my face, though neither offered me any favors tonight.
The winds shift and another scent fills my dark nose. Suddenly the rabbit is an afterthought as I haven't scented another of my kind in sometime. The stranger's scent was faint, so I assume they haven't been a wolf for long. Truthfully, I have never graced this world with my equine form. Just never felt natural I guess.
My movement stops as the smell lingers. I shift my gaze around the area, seeking any recognizable form in the shadows.
The rabbit bolts, the shifting wind having carried my scent toward it as well. I stand instinctively, my elbows rising from my relaxed position in the grass, and while doing so catch sight of the other wolf.
Immediately forgetting the rabbit, my tail rises, the fur of my shoulders bristling in a warning that is echoed in the brief show of glittering white teeth. The expression - and the sharp teeth - remain even as I shift back to my usual equine form, and then once more back into the wolf.
The transitions will be enough to scare any real wolf off, I have learned. If it sticks around - and judging from the coloring and the striking marking in its forehead it will stick around - then it is something that I probably better off addressing in this shape anyway.
I’ve only recently mastered this form having a strong preference for feline over canine, but my interactions with other wolves has been enlightening. I know why Hyaline had been called the Pack now, having studied the way wolves interacted with each other. I am still learning their language, and am fairly sure my show of teeth and raised hackles communicated that I was neither easy to intimidate nor interested in picking a fight.
To be sure though, I tilt my head curiously, my eyes widening just a little as though asking to see a similar display of power. Your turn, my expression says.
Coming to a stand, my orange eyes strain to pick up the form of the stranger in the dim light. I hardly notice as my supper bolts off.
It is when the other rises from their spot in the grasses, teeth glimmering white, that my attention focuses. The display given by the stranger in a random shift to their equine form is unfazing. This was the form I was used to seeing both in this world and the spirit realm.
My tail rises in response, the dark purple ears seated on my head perking in interest more so than aggression. I had always been more a lover than a fighter. A kind and gentle soul.
Lifitng my nose, I test the air, my eyes remaining focused on the other and reading their expression.
I now take a single step forward, testing the space between us, with a gentle wag of my still upright tail. Having never claimed the territory, I don't feel the deep desire to protect it but I wasn't about to be run out of the area either, if that is what the strangers intentions are.
The other wolf does not flee when I shift, confirmation of my suspicion that it is something more powerful than a wolf. Exactly what it is I cannot be sure, but I recognize the interested prick of its ears and the lack of aggression as it steps forward. Reassured, my own dark ears perk up and I step closer as well, cautiously extending my nose in greeting.
I can see the pale marking on the other’s brow in more detail from this distance. A crescent moon, pale against his purple fur.
Behind me, I hear a distant rustle in the undergrowth. The rabbit. I’d forgotten about it entirely, but at the sound I glance back over my shoulder. Then my eyes flick back to the stranger, and this time when my head tilts it is a clear invitation.
'Hunt?'
He might have been hunting for a meal, I’d realized, a meal that I’d scared off without even thinking about it. Yet he hadn’t seemed too bothered by it, at least not judging by his greeting. Still, helping him catch it would be the least I could do. Not to mention it has been a while since I hunted any way other than alone, and I have missed it.
My purple maw parts in a smile of sorts, the pink of my tongue exposed and the glint of my white teeth. The stranger approaches, extending its own nose to me in greeting. My tail wags in response in a return of pleasantry's.
At the sound of movement in the underbrush my ears twitch, but my orange gaze doesn't leave the other.
Hunt?
My head tilts in response, a pause given to my panting as I consider the invitation. Often a lone hunter, only a time or two had I joined a small pack residing in the Chamber, I nod before replying, "Sure! You want lead or flank?" My paws tread along the ground in anticipation, ready to leap into the chase at any moment. With an excited yip I add, "Names Cyrus friend."
Cyrus
//Wolf Shifting-Ghost Whispering\\
*Will always be in wolf form*
“Flank,” I reply, my mouth opening in a lupine smile. It’s been a long time since I hunted with another, and with my own belly full I am content to let him take the lead. These are not lands that I know well, but the purple wolf seems at ease here enough that I think he must be familiar with the woods.
He introduces himself as Cyrus, and I step aside to let him take the lead as I reply. “My name is Malik.” I consider asking him for news of the kingdoms, of politics and diplomacy, but more chatter would scare away the prey that I eagerly follow along to hunt.
As we go, I focus on the unique sensations of the wolf shape I wear. Though there are limitations to my shifting, limitations that will remain until I’ve completed my quest, the years spent honing the gift I have were well used. I am quick in this form, but I would be better in one I know better, and so as we stalk forward, my body transforms from a wolf into a smaller feline. An ocelot, a shape accustomed to moving through the woods, and one that can climb far out of reach of snapping teeth.
At the word I leap forward, darting beneath the underbrush that tugs at my thick purple tinted coat. I slip through easily though, streamlining my body and tucking my ears to my skull.
Leaping over a fallen log, covered thick with moss and shroom, I land on the other side with a thud. The noise vibrates the earth, sending a deer scampering from their place of rest within the forest. I stop, watching it bound off, its tail high in alert. That prey was too big for just the two of them to take anyhow.
In my pause I expect to see the dark wolf approaching from behind me, but instead a catlike creature appears on the log. Baring my sharp teeth with a guttural growl, my orange eyes fixate on the feline. Accustomed to seeing the cougar of the northern mountains I know just how crafty the creatures could be, and powerful.
"Get out of here cat! Go find your own hunting grounds," I spit out with malice. I wasn't often hostile but something about cats made my fur stand on end.
My worry goes to why Malik had not yet appeared, and that the vile creature had gotten him.
I breathe in deep of the rich night air, sorting through the scents and information that they bring to my sensitive nose. The rabbit is not the only prospect tonight; we pass a covey of quivering birds and some glowing-eyed inhabitants of the underbrush. I do not blame Cyrus for avoiding those - sometimes the flesh of the latter continues to glow eerily even after death, and the birds had hardly been a mouthful.
The deer is too large - we share that thought, and my head is turned to watch it bound off and so I miss my companion’s initial reaction to my shift in shape.
I only see the glittering white teeth bared in a snarl. My reaction is immediate and unconscious. I become the very smallest thing I can, crouch down, and leap into the open air. I am a flea, and I tuck my legs in tight, the hard shelled body around me offering protection against the now-massive undergrowth through which I fall.
The collision with the earth knocks the wind - or whatever it is that fleas have - out of me. For several seconds I stay quite still, assessing my small body for any injuries that might remain when I shift again. And then I stay still a little longer, attempting to process what had just happened, what Cyrus had said.
“Have you never seen a shapeshifter?!” I ask, the words growing louder as more of a speech-capable throat reforms. My transition is complete by the time I speak the last word, and I glare up at the purple wolf as I wait for a response.
My orange eyes remain fixated on the spotted feline even when my mind travels to the worst possible outcome that may have fallen my new friend. After I was done with the cat, however it ended, I would go search for Malik and hope for the best.
With a snarl and snap of my jaws, the Ocelot dissipates instantaneously. My eyes widen as they frantically search for any sign of the creature. I had seen many things in my life but this topped it as being odd, even for someone with a ghost shifter as a mother.
A soft whine exits my jaws as fear rises the fur on my back. I turn around, not knowing that the other is still with me and certainty not knowing it has been Malik all along.
Then there comes a phantom voice and I consider for a moment that there is a spirit present, but there is a tone of familiarity in the voice. "Malik?" I question, my head tilting as my ears search for the location of the voice. I had known many shifters, myself included, but their abilities were limited to one other form.
Malik
