packs aren't always of the same species (a WayHaught au)

rotting fruit and gasoline

Finding oddities along one of the many trails going through Purgatory National Park was a daily occurrence for you, but you always found a way to blame the natural things - like, bears got a hold of it , or that was just the wind that touched your shoulder - no big deal - or those darn idiot campers sure got rowdy last night haha they got you good , or your so-called friends are just pulling a prank on you when they're supposed to be stationed at least 50 klicks in the opposite direction, logic be damned (basically things that could be easily explained away just so you could sleep soundly at night and the other being inside you would be able to rest easy just as well, which was a rarity nowadays because she constantly seemed to be on high alert, literally 24/7) - then you would be on your merry way and everything would be back to normal. Or as normal as it could be in a place called Purgatory.

It was currently mid-December, a sort of off-season if you will (no one in their right mind chose to go camping in the midst of winter in Canada) and everything had been oddly serene for the better part of the month and you didn't like it. It was too children's storybook for your liking, you were half expecting to stumble across a cabin made of gingerbread any day now and the uneasy feeling in the middle of your chest gradually grew the longer the calm lasted, uneventful, yet terrifying. You tried to stifle the rising panic of your canine counterpart, but your attempts were futile at best. She was too wound up and intensely coiled, ready to strike, claws first, at anything that moved, at a moments notice. The human in you felt it too, in the way the goosebumps on your skin formed or how the hair at the nape of your neck bristled as you ventured further along the new route you chose to patrol that morning.

There was a pretty decent amount of snow that managed to build up over the frozen ground the night before; a winter storm that lasted nearly 12 hours ripped through Calgary like a knife through butter. It didn't bother you, practically being your own space heater and all. You only wore the standard winter wear so you didn't look suspicious if you happened to come across any civilians. But you briefly wondered how your human companions held up through the night with their roaring fireplaces and blanket overkill, but then again, the ranger cabins weren't heated, so you couldn't blame them. You made a mental note to check in with Wynonna and Eliza to make sure you didn't need to go thaw them out. Unless Dolls already handled that. You wouldn't be surprised. He had a tendency to make sure at least Wynonna was thoroughly warmed. You made the mistake of trekking out to her cabin after a particularly chilling discovery kept you from wanting to be anywhere near your own cabin, and caught Dolls just as he was leaving. The three of you didn't mention it again after you watched him take off through the woods on his ATV.

You were caught up in your head space and too distracted by what was probably the only time you've ever seen Dolls blush to notice the wolf's unease surpass her usual heightened alertness. You only noticed when she practically started vibrating with anxious anticipation and finally got your attention by releasing a small yelp, followed by a low cursory growl that ripped from your throat without warning. You had to physically cover your mouth and bite your tongue to muffle another one from escaping. Normally, you wouldn't be so stifling, but there could be campers nearby and you didn't need to explain that to a few teenagers trying to "rough it" in the Canadian backcountry.

But then you smelled it, the wolf noticeably on edge, forcing you to pay attention and use your heightened senses. Your hands immediately went from resting gently on your utility belt, to one hand on your firearm, the other on your radio attached to your shoulder. What you smelled wasn't natural. At least, not anymore. There was something else there, something under the smell of death and...something else. You paused along the trail and listened. Trying to hear any sign of birds wings flapping, flying overhead or twigs snapping under a paw or hoof, or critters running through the snow, or even a howl of some sort.