Something This Way Comes

The weather was warm enough he couldn't see any mist gathered around his maw every time he breathed out now. That was nice. That being said, Iarlaith huffed softly, an ear flicking in irritation. No sign of him. He was still down… every family member. A grim smile replaced his scowl; how long was a guy supposed to go on before giving up altogether?

He wouldn't want me to give up.

He wouldn't give up.

Iarlaith shook himself and pressed forward until he reached a small clearing. He'd been through soulless woods and haunting, war-torn fields unlike anything he'd seen. Now he stepped between strange trees with long, slender branches. Willows. He'd only seen them once or twice in his life. They didn't grow in the snow-bound lands he'd come from. His step slowed as he ended up beneath one of the graceful trees. Fronds swayed in the calm evening breeze, delicate green leaves tickling his nose and ears, beckoning him to be at peace.

There was something strange and pensive about them. Maybe that was why he kept thinking about–

He snorted, nosing the long branches out of his field of vision with a rough jerk of his snout. No. Not now.

Besides. There was a trail to find. He pressed his nose to the dirt. Deer. He could smell deer. And water.

If it was small enough, maybe he could bring it down? He doubted it, but the idea of having fresh deer was appealing enough he couldn't help but meander after the scent for a few paces. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had it fresh.

Ultimately he stopped, however, head raised, a wistful glimmer in his eye.

…water was easier to catch.

As a night-bird called—too early—he thought, he rounded toward the soft burble. The sky was still gray, though night was well on its way. Padding down a gently-sloping bank, Iarlaith approached the stream. It babbled up at him as he lowered his snout to drink… only for his nose to scrunch as his tongue met the tepid water. He twitched, froze, tongue hanging from his gaping maw, and pulled his head back again.

It was warm.

But it tasted clean, and water was water. He blinked, recovered himself with a swipe of his pink tongue over his chops, and, expecting it this time, took a tentative drink.