"Aww, I kind of want to see the babies but yeah, it'd just be pointlessly mean. Okay, what's this --? Wait, wait, found it -- toad!" You know you sound like an imbecile, but you're having fun, and Erskin doesn't seem to be sneering at you. You ramble and dig, investigating plants and animals both familiar and unfamiliar. At one point, you have to just sit on your haunches and gape in awe at a spectacular orb web, the weaver dully gray-mottled to these senses but -- you recognize the species -- spectacularly geometric in red and orange to human eyes. But to the human nose, nothing. Whereas to yours, now -- "Spiders have a smell! Erskin, oh my god, come smell this -- watch out, the web's huge and it's so pretty, don't mess it up -- spiders have a smell, Erskin!"
You sit down and admire it. "That's a beautiful web, well done," you tell the spider, who doesn't care. To Bel, you say, "Make a note of it, if you're ever stuck in the southwest you can eat tarantulas. Nearly as good as mice, some of them."
"Knew that, humans can eat them too. You want to singe the hairs off or they'll give you a rash on your mouth, they've got itching toxins. This pretty thing wouldn't make much of a meal, would it?" You continue your smell odyssey, going wide around the web. "I did research, but naturally everything was from a human perspective. I know that Alpha Male nonsense isn't right, but I don't really know how social structures do work."
You give a shrug. "No, there isn't, hm, there isn't a king, not the way humans like to set themselves up with one another. When you get groups it's just a family— some fellows are older and bigger so they'll be pushier, some are just more even tempered, some get pissy about every last little thing so everyone humors them instead of fighting all the time. Some don't care about much enough to fight. From what I understand of you new fellows, humans just count up who in a pack does the most biting and says 'that one's the boss'. Seems a terrible way to run things, you'd end up with all the bastards in charge."
You laugh, which seems to involve rolling in leaves. "Okay that's not remotely true, but it's super funny," you say once you've settled down. "Some people would say it's true but they're being cynical. I was hardly ever even grumpy with my men, let alone slapping them around. I was in charge because I'd done the hard work to develop the necessary skills. What I mean is... not because I could dominate my men, but because I could organize them."
"Well, there you go, that sounds more like it," you say, picking a few leaves off him with your teeth, then lying down to put your chin on his chest. "It's not about who's, mmm, who's the toughest, but who's got the best idea at any given time. If someone wanted to rally the whole family to go hunting and everyone was sleepy, we'd say, no, fuck you, go to bed! But if it was noon, why not? That'd be fun. "Or when it comes to having pups, of course everyone always has opinions, but ultimately you'd all agree on the best pair to do it. And it wouldn't be anyone who didn't want to have the pups, because then they wouldn't be any good at it. Of course, you get a few members now and again who'd really like to— especially if they're having a heat, where, apparently, all sorts of silly things seem like a good idea— but they get shouted down. Just because you want something doesn't mean it's the best idea for you to have it, I think. And that's what families are good for, I mean, one of the things, it's not just about the company. A lot of people do best with a few other people around to, to make them be their best." You lick his cheek sympathetically. "Sounds like you had a good family, a good team. You've my sincere condolences for your bereavement." (i think for bel to have lost his whole squad to slaughter and then get kicked out of service instead of getting to form another squad makes him, in wolfy terms, sort of an orphan and a widower and a homeless exile all a the same time. a really, really sad situation. erskin's a lone wolf because he's roaming, which is romantic in a mad rogueish way, but i bet bel would be more of a tragic fugure.)
"Thanks," you say simply, and you do mean it. Fur-licking and nuzzling turns out to be way more comforting than a hug. "And thanks for hanging out with me. I didn't know I was lonely until I wasn't. Uh -- I don't mean that as guilting you into not striking out solo if you want to, just. You know. Friendship. Awesome." You are Captain Dork of the Loser Brigade, is what you are.
You laugh and scoot a bit more of your weight on to your companion, pinning him down companionably: I'm here, it's alright. "You're very sweet," you say. "I know what you meant, don't be sorry. I do enjoy being on my own but it isn't exactly a hardship making friends— once you really like someone, the world brings them back to you at least a few times."
"I like that idea," you say softly, tailtip stirring the leaves. Eyes half closed, you doze a while, enjoying the sun and the sounds and the smells. This is a really nice place, you'll remember this. Eventually, you catch a whiff of done-smelling goose, and half-regretfully stir yourself. "Lunchtime! I want to eat it human, flavors are more interesting that way. You in?"
"Mmnfg," you mumble and yawn, staggering to your feet. "Nnnnh. Let's-- let's see." You push, a desperate huffing scramble, and it feels as if it takes forever, and it hurts, like running on paw pads ground raw. You lie on your bare side in the leaves and pant raggedly. "That's it for today, that's the last," you mumble. You clench your fingers into fists. "Fuck. I-- I'm all out."
Already half dressed, you bring him his clothes and help him sit up, a little concerned. "It seems a lot harder for you than it is for me. Not that I've changed so many times in a day as you have -- well, you relax, I'll set you up." You help him into your folding camp chair -- you only have one, which you wish you'd remembered while you were shopping -- and pour him a cup of sweet tea. Then you pluck a pair of foil packets out of the coals with tongs, set them in metal pie plates, and open them up. The steam that escapes is amazingly appetizing, as is the sizzle of potato and onion still cooking in butter and goose fat. You give Erskin his with a fork and knife -- "Not that I'll fuss if you eat with your fingers," you add with a grin.
You dig in eagerly. It's excellent, though you nearly gag yourself trying to swallow a bone. That's not an option, apparently, not even the thin, brittle bones of a goose. Belatedly you remember there was a question. "I'm out of practice," you admit. "It's been a long time. Changed more in the last two days than the last two years, and I was-- I was born like this. That? With fur on. It's harder. Like-- climbing up. There's a gravity to it." You eat a carrot. "This is really good," you tell him. "Worth the fuss."
You beam as brightly as it's possible to do while stripping goose ribs with your teeth. "Thanks, my dad taught me. Just about any fresh game is good cooked this way. I'll show you his universal fish method tomorrow if we can get hold of a boat." The first helpings vanish in short order, and you serve out the seconds, with bread to sop up the juice. "I can't believe we're polishing off a whole goose, just the two of us. I don't think I ate like this even when I was doing long marches in the mountains. Oh, I should check what's in season here; I know there's nothing wrong with wolves taking wild game, but I'm human enough not to want to undermine conservation efforts, you know?" Mouth full, you check it on your phone, then swallow and report: "Oh, there is a goose season, it's just long. We're good for ducks, woodcock, and doves, too. Gun season for deer's not open yet, so if we want one of those I should pick up a bowhunting license. And a bow. There's no such thing as pointy-stick season or drop-on-it-with-a-knife season, which is a bit disappointing."
"Are you allowed to fight deer with a knife as a wolf?" You muse. "I'd love to see that. You could hold it in your teeth."
"The terror of any forest!" You agree. "A wolf with a knife. They'll be telling new horror stories about you."
"From the studio that brought you 'Snakes on a Plane' and 'Sharknado', it's... 'Knife Wolf!' You'll never piss on a tent again!"
"Oh, fuck off. I'll piss on anyone's tent I damn well want to. I'll piss on Knife Wolf's tent. Just watch me." You throw a goose bone at him.
