Hunting with Grandma

*Mortis* · 06-26-2020, 10:55 PM

She pushed him into the snow - he could only guess in retaliation for the nickname. The young boy laughed easily, rolling with the shove, and landing lightly onto the snow. He rolled flat for a moment, wings spread out on either side of him, like a dead bird as his paws scrabbled at the air.

When she spoke of being ready, he decided perhaps it wasn’t the best time to mess around. He rolled back over, getting easily to four paws, wings at the ready, lightly open on either side. His eyes were for his Grandmother as he listened and watched carefully.

When her eyes moved beyond the tree line to the white expanse, he followed it, eyes dancing across the snow as he wondered what exactly was in store for them. When he heard the shake of Resin’s coat, he looked back to the older wolf. She was getting ready to roll out. The boy rolled his meager supplies back into the thin, oiled coat, and tied it to his back leg out of the way.

He raced after her, wings catching in the air as they expanded lightly either side of him. For the most part, he simply enjoyed the run, the difficulties of racing through snow. It worked his thigh muscles something crazy, and soon he was panting. He was an active young warrior, but he just didn’t have the years that built Resin’s stamina.

He was thankful for the respite when she stopped them, and her young pupil obediently leaned forward, looking past the forest, wondering what precisely she wanted from him. She wasn’t much for words, Resin. Her teaching invited him to think for himself, to see everything, and figure out what she wanted. Was it the conditions? The start of a blizzard, the drifting snow that bloated out the sun. he sneezed at the chill in his nose, and rubbed it with a paw.

She gave instructions then, and he listened carefully. Scent, sound, and what to look out for. She also told him to tuck in his wings, and he did so now. Folding them tightly against his body, wings tilted so no strand of wind might tear them from their place.

“No Grammy” he responded to her question. He was ready, and itching to take on their foe, for which they had travelled so far to find. He breathed softly in the cool air. This time, there would be no shelter beneath his wings. This must be a wing stronger then he was accustomed to. He would have to be careful.

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Hunting with Grandma

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Mortis