"If you run into a bog and drown I'll eat you," you say, shouldering him. "In fact, that's an excellent idea, you're nice and meaty after all that feeding up your Dad's done, let me just sniff out a bog—" He shoulders you back, and then you're running, and the moon is a silver blur behind the clouds, and everything smells delicious. Life is good.
The intermittent spatters of rain turn to slush and then snow as you run, and the clouds hide the moon. But there's enough light -- scattered through the clouds, maybe, or reflected off them from Duluth or Fargo or Thunder Bay -- for you to find your way, since you're navigating half by smell and sound anyway. It's fantastic. Once you've run off your initial restlessness -- which takes at least an hour -- you pause on a dome of exposed shieldrock to catch your breath and sniff the wind. "Hey bro," you say, with mischief in the quirk of your tail, "I know how we could two-man a deer without hands or weapons."
"Well, see, we -- stop that! We single one out, and -- I'm talking, you walnut!" You bowl him over. There is a brief scuffle. Sitting on him, you continue: "We herd the deer into a bog, and then it can't kick or run. Two of us should be sufficient to kill it then. Right?"
"If it's a doe, certainly," you say. "If it's a buck you might want to get a few more friends, or just run the poor bastard off a cliff."
"Well, for now, maybe you can show me how you got those geese. Can you get ducks too?" You are literally drooling. You are slavering like a horror movie poster.
"At this time of night and in this weather? We might as well be grocery shopping. Come on." You and Bel leg it for the nearest source of water-smell, and wind up at the edge of a lake. "Pretty," you comment. "Let's go along the edges, quietly, and if you hear anything push off into the water, run over and jump on it."
"I'm not altogether confident about my swimming abilities in this shape," you warn. But in the end it turns out to be every bit as easy as he made it sound -- easier, even. The ducks are sleepy and chilled, not at all quick off the mark, and fat as turkeys in preparation for their long flight. Raw meat is far less objectionable an idea now than it was a week ago. You paw the intestines aside, and nip meat gingerly from the skin so as not to swallow feathers, but you do eat all the rest. "Back to the tent," you propose, "to clean up and get some sleep? I left the flap unzipped so we can get in without trouble, we can sleep dry and it'll keep the wind off even if we can't close the flap up." You do a little front-paws-tapdance of eagerness as you add, "Tomorrow we get to explore."
He's so cute it makes you have to frisk and swat at him, just from outraged happiness. You race each other back to the tent, shake off slush and muck as best as you can, then work to nip and pull the zipper tabs as best you can with fangs. You groom muck and tangles out of each other's fur until you're as dry and cozy as could be expected, and sleep comes easily.
The next morning Bel makes the painful-looking transition to human, to pack and fold everything, then stow it in the dog backpacks. They're surprisingly roomy, and as weird as it is to walk around with weight on you, it's not painful or immediately tiring. "I think we'll be able to get the clasps undone," you say consideringly, as Bel awkwardly buckles himself in to his own and falls back to fur. "We'll each do each others'." You strike off along a hiking trail as easy to traverse as a city street, enjoying the smells, and are both very excited to sniff at the faded marks of wolves, passed through some time earlier. Maybe summer. "I love meeting the locals," you say wistfully. "And this time of year everyone's bound to be flirty. Shame they're already gone from here— do you think they might still be around at the far end of the forest?"
"I'm sure they will be, they'll live here year-round, it's good hunting and it's safe. There's deer and duck season in some areas of the park, I think, but no wolf hunting allowed. Not since like 1970 or something." Now that you're used to your backpack, you experimentally pick up the pace a fraction, and Erskin matches you gladly. "We really can cover a lot of distance like this, can't we? Much faster over rough ground than human shape. I hadn't realized. The longest trail loop is like a hundred and fifty miles, you wanna shoot for it?"
You grin at him happily, and pick up into a nice brisk trot. "We couldn't do all that today, especially not with these silly things on, but we could do fifty miles a day, get a nice workout, and still have time to hunt and play around. I would like to try for deer, I think the last time I had one it was roadkill, and not particularly fresh. The roving life is romantic but you do make sacrifices." You jump up and strike a mournful, noble pose on a rock, and Bel bites your hind leg. Laughing, you race for awhile, then settle back to trotting. The packs jangle and drag, at a full run. You won't be doing much hunting in them. You really hope you can get them off without hands. It's going to be damn awkward if you can't. "Oh, hello there," you say suddenly, a smell standing out from the background haze of sweaty human. You backtrack and investigate, snuffling deeply to make sure. "Werewolf!" you say, and jump up and down. "Look, Bel, there's another werewolf around, it's not just some human who wandered across an old wolf scrape, the smell's carried along the boot prints. Should we go say hello?"
"Are you sure?" you say, but it's just a delaying tactic to give your brain time to work. A second later, you conclude that if there's another werewolf in the park, you need to know as much about them as possible, so you nose the trail assentingly. "Let's go make a friend," you say, only a tiny bit wryly.
You nose his shoulder and then trot off along the scent-trail. It's not difficult: the man was sweating like a bastard, and crunched his way through the woods like a cannonball. Not even a mile from the hiking path you find him, set up in a clearing by a little creek: a big, broad white chap all in black clothes, sitting in a canvas fold-out chair beside a small tent, reading an old paperback. Still mostly hidden by the brush, you snap a thick twig with a forepaw, and snicker with Bel when the fellow jumps about a mile. He turns and peers uncertainly into the underbrush. He meets your eyes and goes all pasty. "Show yourself," he says. His voice is deep, but cracks uncertainly. "I— I command you." You look curiously at Bel. "Well?" you ask. "Think this serving of pudding's going to pull a knife on you?"
"I think I'd laugh for a week," you reply softly, and then trot out, head at a curious tilt. "No need to command, bro, we were coming to visit." You wonder if he can speak Wolf at all.
"You're wearing backpacks," the guy says blankly. When you follow after Bel, he stares at you in further confusion. "Wait, there are were-coyotes?" he asks. "No one told me that. Uh. I mean." He draws himself up, and runs his hand over his weedy facial hair. "I, Lord Aconite Moonbiter, greet you, in the spirit of fellowship and good faith, and welcome you to my hearth. Have you traveled long, to answer my summons?" "Oh my god," you hiss at Bel, gleefully, then shoulder him aside before he can fuck it all up. "Greetings, my Lord!" you say loudly and clearly. "Yes, we have wandered many moons, to find you. This is my companion—" you glance at him, "—the good Knight Shadow... er... Shadow...fast. Shadowfast Swiftrun. Of the Lightning Clan. I am a rover of no great account named.... Glad... paws." "Holy shit, the spell actually worked," Lord Aconite says, and drops heavily into his chair. You grin at Bel, your tongue lolling.
You gawp at Erskin in disbelief and dawning delight, then stifle it all and put on your best Brass Whisperer deadpan. "Aconite's wolfsbane. Are you a killer, sir?" You manage to say this absolutely neutrally. You haven't quite figured out Erskin's prank yet, but you're pretty sure you'll laugh yourself to pissing when it shakes out.
"Uh, I. Yeah. Yes." He draws himself up as if his little chair is a throne. "To my prey, I am swift death! To my foes, a nightmare. I never miss my mark. And with the power of my words and my disciplined intellect, I make those that cross me in debate, uh, regret it." You put your paw on Bel's shoulder and look deep into his eyes, willing him with all your heart not to blow this. Then you turn back to a good solid week's worth of entertainment. "I can see we are fortunate indeed to stand before you, Lord Aconite. Tell me, are you... an alpha?" "I am," the guy says, looking proud enough to rupture something. You gasp. "Bel! I mean, Shadowknight! He's... an alpha!"
"I've been looking for a good alpha to serve," you say solemnly, and fix the idiot with a pale blue glare. "He'll have to prove himself, though. I could be alpha of my own pack if I wanted. If I weren't destined to serve one greater." You know how this nonsense goes. Better than Erskin, even, maybe. Because unlike Erskin, you read pulp fantasy by the truckload as a kid. Too bad Erskin can't remember the stupid thing he named you from minute to minute; you'll have to come up with an excuse why he should just call you Bel anyway.
"Yes, Knight Shadowrun is the fiercest warrior I've ever met, and the most honorable," you agree, nosing his ear fondly. "You'll have to be as powerful, and brave, and smart, and fearsome, and brave, and mighty a leader as we were hoping for, when we answered your call, to be worthy of his respect." "I will not disappoint you, good sir wolf, and coyote," Lord Aconite says soberly, and holds his hand out to Bel as if he expects it to be sniffed, or kissed, or something. "I'm a red wolf, actually," you say. "Coyotes are smaller and have the ears, you know." "Oh," Lord Aconite says, blushing. "Uh." "Easy mistake to make," you say. "Right." His hand sort of wavers in the air.
