In the cold bright dawn

Snow crunched in the drum of charged steps.

Darkness raged overhead.
Didn't matter.

The whitefall piled atop the trees, dusted the top of his coat. He slipped through the forestry with a low head, hackles raised up at their ends and trailing down to the base of that raggedy tail. Didn't smell familiar– none of it. Didn't even look familiar, really, but it was hardly notable. And what did it make of it mattering?

Beyond the howling winds and crunching ice was only a monotonous repetition of shifting trunks with their mocking branches.
Was sickening. Made the stomach churn. ​​Made the scent of the distant deer he tracked turn his senses feral. Shitty feeling, not being able to put a finger on what was strange.

Still, will and desire to turn familiar with these lands and their stories ran rampant. But his nose didn't lie. As did the need to survive.
Wasn't that always the case?

​​​​​​One moment, the boy was there, and the next, a prowling figure weaving through wood. Wildcat man. Two eyes that barely caught the moonlight until he spun out into a spill of it glittering down between the leaves. Head high, neck raised, legs tense and straight, head whipping around to try and lock on to the smells wafting from a spin of directions. It brought up memories, this night. Bonnie didn't feel bad; though, it tried furiously to make him. Pest. It always came up at the worst of times. Ah. . .
 
Where.. was he?

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The Creature enjoyed the night. The snow? Not quite so much. As its memories faded and became distant like the stars above, the Creature found itself relying more on sensation and emotion than anything. The snow was not ideal. Was too cold. Was too barren.

There was no food to be found. Only trees that creaked and wind that whistled and snow that crunched underfoot.

Usually, there was someone else with it. Usually, it did not travel alone.

It did not like traveling alone.

A variety of scents were flooding its nose, but it could not find any of the sources amongst the snow and trees. Perhaps entering this great forest had been a mistake. Perhaps it should turn back. There seemed to be nothing for it here.

And then it heard other footsteps. For just a moment, its mind conjured the image of a two-legged creature walking alongside it - a small companion whom it missed as it would miss its own limb if it were gone. The Creature rushed after the sound, slipping in the snow and barging its way through the undergrowth in its desperate attempt to reach its friend.

And then...

A patch of moonlight through the trees. A dark figure, distinctly quadrupedal. Not its friend. Not the one it missed.

A wolf, its mind supplied. A creature like the Creature.

Mongrel. The word reverberated in its skull, spoken in a harsh and unforgiving tongue. Perhaps this wolf was a bit different than the Creature, actually, if the Creature had been referred to in such a way.

Its own tongue felt too heavy to form words, but it did not wish to startle the wolf, and so it forced a sound from its throat. More a chuffing noise than anything else, and certainly not a word, but a puff of air that escaped its maw and drifted off into a fine mist in the cool night air.

Wary, but not aggressive. Not a threat.
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Bite the bitterness down. The fat of his tongue felt then frozen, stiff. Shadows crawled on the floor. Through the blankets of snow, nothing but a marching night with crying winds. Snowbirds rested. Hares hid deep away, capturing the sound of a lone predator's walk long before it could arrive.

Something putrid and alien rested miles ahead. Maybe an ill doe, buck. But Bonnie knew the scent of a decaying doe. Rotting buck. It was strangely neither.

The wolf hungered on a full belly. Curiosity was an insatiable beast. 

Perhaps it made him too a beast.

Hard to see. Used his nose, this one. Still had a head up, squinting to look beyond the powdered wind through powdered lashes. Beyond it, pitiful amounts of blur.

Noise started to creep out in the sound of thunderous running. His head cut corners, being bounced around by the echoes and nauseated with confusion until the sound soon came to a deathly stop. "Who's there?" Brown eyes to the glowing whites of gold, there was a figure. Dark. Still, for now. Encased by light, it made the outer world feel that much closer to the color of a void. And still he saw their eyes, the silhouette of their ears, face. A shriveled body. 

Perching taller, his ears rose and nose upturned once in a returned chuff. Cautious, and demanding immediately, "Who are you?" Lying if he said it wasn't both a blessing and a curse to see someone else alive.

Or was the being one of his ghosts finally catching up to him?
​​​

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The wolf looked at it as well as he could through the darkness, though the Creature supposed its dark fur stood stark against the fresh-fallen snow. It hated the snow.

Who are you?

Speech was... difficult. It had not had to speak much with its friend at all, for they spoke vastly different languages, and the Creature had none like it to communicate with. Therefore, verbal language eluded it, though it could still understand. It just could not respond in the way this wolf likely wished for it to.

Not that the Creature knew much about itself, either. Even if it could speak, it would not know what to say. A name? Had it ever had one? Was it always simply Creature?

Was that all it could be? What was its identity outside of its friend's companion?

Did it even want one?

In response, the Creature crept forward a little, low to the ground, belly brushing the snow. Only a few inches, and it kept its tail tucked between its legs, hoping to convey that it was no threat. It was not sure if it could outrun someone at the moment if the wolf decided to be aggressive, and it certainly could not fight.

So it let out a soft huff again, devolving into a hoarse whine. When was the last time it had made a noise? When was the last time it had been spoken to?

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The pile of fur descended to the ground with whelp whines. Tail, cut off from the wind and nestled into what could've only been a crinkled belly. Crawling on thin toes. 

Dare did they choose to approach him. Decidedly, a gamblers choice. Let it be a gamble. 

They're met by a fierce approach, tail flagged high and the prickles of flared hackles flying. Coat half raised with a feline puffiness from his tightening chest. Truly, for no more reasons than he himself could think of. Danger wasn't imposed by the being, they who lacked a scent that the man could differentiate from either woman or man. 

Yet Bonnie did not like the way that his stomach twisted into itself and shouted to spill its contents upon the sight of the lonesome creature. Gramps would say it a blessing that they lived. 
Bonnie declared it a curse.

They never did speak. Too scared, likely. A poor bastard who'd gotten caught up in the maze of a winter forest. Or a witchhunter.

"You got a name?"

His nose fell and moved to traverse closer to their body, and then hesitantly jolted away before attempting twice again to examine their scent at the nose. Perhaps he hallucinates now.

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The Creature had met with cruelty before. Fists and feet rather than teeth and claws, booming voices shouting harsh names and curses. It had crept between the structures the two-legged beings called their homes in search of food and companionship and was often received poorly by the starving people who lived there.

There were no other creatures like it in that place, and so it had never encountered one this closely. Was it normal, to greet in such a way? Had the Creature done it incorrectly?

Its chest swooped in fear and its fur spiked instinctively along its spine, flattening itself further to the ground and narrowing its eyes into wary chips of gold.

Now the wolf seemed hesitant, as well, sniffing at them and jerking back and then sniffing again, this time at their nose. Slowly, when it became apparent that it was not in immediate danger, the Creature relaxed.

A name?

It hesitated a moment, racking its brain. Surely it had been given a name at some point, spoken lovingly and kindly in its friends' small voice. But it could hardly remember anything, no matter how hard it tried, words and faces and events slipping through its consciousness like water through the floorboards.

Finally, it shook its head. It could not recall, and so, it did not have one.

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"Nameless."

No words met their tongue. It was as if they were torn from a piece of reality itself and birthed as a haunted husk. Strange. More so, it was strange how incredibly small they were.

Youth ached out from them.

It was then that only the wind brought high his fur. It smoothed down the boy's back, and came back up in waves.

"Look," look Bonnie did not, turning away towards the snow before looking again to them with a weight trying to hold down his head. Tracks were filling with powder. The tip of his dusted tail reached the sky again.

"You one of them huntsman's hounds? If you were sent out to come and get me, you can tell them I wasn't sticking around anyways. I'm gone, okay?" 

​​​​And just as quickly, it fell away.. Down, along with his ears. A low mutter crawled out, "Or you stick out here too?" Was it a ghost that stared back at him?

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Nameless.

That wasn't quite true. It had been called many names, but most were unpleasant and not things that it wanted to be called. It did not want to be called Nameless either, but it could not argue, and so it didn't.

Look.

It did. Obediently, it stared at the wolf. He spoke once more, asking about huntsmen and hounds, and oh, it had certainly been called a hound before. But it had never belonged to anyone called a huntsman.

Confusion crept across its features as the wolf's voice dropped. It tilted its head this way and that and dared to stand a little straighter, so its belly did not touch the snow.

It opened its mouth to speak, but only a short, squeaking noise slipped from its parted maw, and it broke off into a series of hoarse coughs after, its throat raw and dry from disuse. It did not know the words necessary to speak with this wolf, regardless, but once it caught its breath once again, its tail gave a tentative wag. It would bring no huntsmen to harm the wolf, if that was the concern.

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Abhorrent. Sounds with no language. Noises that the wild boy too made, and yet from another, made his skin all hot and attitude heavy. 

A figure that took to rising, and it was then Bonnie could make out the curve of their stomach going inwards, the patches of fur that were glued only to bone below the skin. Starvation could be a merciful end.

Sometimes people ended up places. People like Bonnie.

Wolves that ain't got no crib to cozy up to and make a living out of.

Lone stragglers that ended up in the big sea of the wild, and learned the hard way what it was like to be alive, unchained to the destiny of a big boss telling them what to do. 

Did Nameless not love it?

That was the difference between beasts like Nameless and beasts like Bonnie: One of them lived, and the other died.

Surely it'd not been a choice from the creature, though. An ear flicked down and his curiosity nagged him. Their tail wriggled some, and the boy wasn't sure what that meant.

"You get thrown out by somebody?"

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