What it Means to Have You

Lone Wolf

One. Two. Three.

It's breath came in hard gasps, the frigid chill of the winter morning seemingly making it hard to manage a solid inhale without irritating its lungs. I could easily tell that its front leg had healed incorrectly from a previous injury, visibly making it limp slightly as it walked. I wasn't sure how long it had been wandering, but judging from its condition, I'd have to guess a good while. Narrowing my eyes, I tilted my head slightly and focused on its back foot. It had serious damage on it, far worse than the front limb, making it likely unable to hunt the simplest of animals.

That explains why its ribs are showing, but with the amount of carnivore shifters in these woods it probably eats whatever leftovers it can find.

After a brief glance back to its damaged foot, it huffed and tried to sit down in the large snow drift it had been trying to get through for a bit. It then began trying to scratch at its matted throat. Blood had dried there, the dark color easily visible on the blond animal as it tried to get at an itch concealed by the matting. It could probably rinse off some of the blood in a river or pond, but the infection that would cause... it wasn't a good idea.

Its left back foot's claws quickly got stuck in the mats after only a moment, making it yank it out with a quiet yelp as the claws pulled on the mats connected to the injury. Looks really itchy. Shaking its head, it grumbled and flopped over in the soft white snow, then rolled onto its back and seemed to finally manage to scratch the itch a little. It wouldn't bring much relief doing it in the snow, but it was all it could probably do at the moment. At least it isn't rubbing the wound on the bare ground or a tree trunk.

Seemingly satisfied for the moment, it rolled back over and stood up, shaking out its coat. It looked like it was going to continue on its way toward the south. The thought of not knowing where its next meal was going to come from was likely more unnerving than the cold or its current injuries, but that was life in the forest during winter months. I heard its stomach growl a moment later, making my tail flick slightly. Nothing to eat around here. Especially not for you. I thought to myself as it began to step out of the small depression it made in the snow.

Well, enough waiting and watching. Time to go, worthless coyote. I thought I'd run them all out of town, but here one was, standing right in the middle of my hunting grounds. It looked half dead already, which would make it easy enough to finish off. It had to be a shapeshifter, considering all of the normal ones had been eradicated years ago. Tricky bastards, especially if they have a human side. My small black ears flicked when I picked up the sound of its stomach growling again. I couldn't hold back the sound of my own rumble when its scent hit my nose a moment later, causing me to take in a deep breath. Blood. Of course. It was completely covered in it, but smelling it gave me a whole other adrenaline rush.

When the coyote caught the sound of my growl, its own ears stiffened and turned slightly, then it whipped around... but it was too late. I had already leapt, front legs outstretched, canines bared, claws extended, ready to dig into flesh and remove the unwanted mongrel. And then our eyes met.

Mate!

I faltered, then tumbled into the snow like a newborn kitten. I was up fast, of course, but now it was on the attack, snarling as it bounded toward me with killer intent.

Yeah, right. Not in your condition, pup.

I hopped up on my hind legs right as it got close and then swatted downward with my right paw, landing a good thump onto its head. The hit sent it straight into the snow between my legs, its body sliding a few yards before coming to a stop with its head buried in the powder near a spruce tree. I thought it would be down for the count with its already-inflicted injuries, but it surprised me by standing back up, albeit a bit wobbly. I was already facing it, sitting in the snow as my tail swished back and forth with slight interest. Of all the things my jaguar could have chosen as a mate, it actually decided on a blasted coyote. It was infuriating to say the least, but... Heaving a sigh, I shook out my rosetted black body and stretched my back legs, then my front, in quaint feline style. When I looked back up at him, he was just standing there, panting quietly, eyes appearing wary.