Hear Your Knuckles Crack

Brave, young, foolish, all would be appropriate words to describe the plodding figure as it hustled through the ancient battlefield. Every so often he would turn his nose down and take in the smell of sulfur and gunpowder, foreign scents to a wolf as young as Jyla, but all the more intriguing for much the same reason. e watched the sun sink to the earth with bitter awe as he searched for a place to spend the night, nearly cutting his paw open on a chunk of shrapnel from the carnage the terrain once fostered.

Somewhere near water, somewhere near food. No. That was too much to ask clearly. Animals wouldn't touch this place, they hadn't for years. It was too open, too distant, too...Scary. This was a place where ghosts roamed, he could feel it. Ghosts of humans, creatures his mother had always warned him about but had never seen first hand. But Jyla feared nothing. He sought wolves, any wolf that would know where his father might be. Any wolf that would offer him a home and a place to rest his tired bones for a good year. Any female wolf willing to mate with him and sire children. His eyes shut as he walked, allowing him to dream of such a place, of such a wolf, of such a being. Anything to feel at peace with himself. Anything.