Under the Bush

Every inch of this new land seemed more interesting and more worthy of exploration than the last. He felt the itch of wanderlust; the drive to explore every corner of Alacritis, peek beneath each stone, spy behind each bush. Such searching led him to the nook, a relatively young forest teeming with delicate redbud trees. In these early weeks of spring, the rising temperatures coaxed new life from seemingly withered branches. All around him thin branches dipped under the weight of laden buds, not yet ready to develop into their vivid fuchsia blossoms. He paused his careful wandering for a moment to inhale the scent of the forest: damp earth, pungent flowery perfumes, the retreating hiss of winter. Yet there was another smell beneath these, an almost-hidden musky tang. Curiosity overwhelmed Wyndham in an instant. He took another long drag of air, craning his head in a slow arc. This way.

His steps were light, but not hidden. He had no strong reason to sneak, for by now the scent was unmistakably wolf. In his time he had met some truly dangerous wolves, but his confidence assured him that he could handle whoever was out there. He paused near the very bushes the stranger was creeping behind, though Wyndham hadn't yet caught sight of him.

"'Lo, out there," he called amiably. "Wyndham Rittan Cross. It'd be nice to have some company."