He had always liked the night best, even as a pup, driving his mother wild with worry when he disappeared each evening with the sun. He'd never cared much for the watchful eyes of his parents and the pack elders or the raucous company of his brothers and sisters, and so had always preferred to do his roaming alone by the light of the moon. He had learned to navigate by the stars, had discovered the landmarks of the pack's territory by their thin light while the rest of the family slept. Now, sitting on this beach, he was carried back to those simple, early days by the damp smell of the cool night air. Lulled by the gentle rushing of the waves at his feet, he let his eyes flutter shut and slipped down into his own thoughts.
First and most pressing, he was faced by his immediate circumstances. A stranger in a strange land, he knew no one and knew nothing of the surrounding territories. He had eaten only yesterday, but soon enough his stomach would begin to rumble again and he would be forced to hunt. He made a mental note to scope out potential hunting grounds as dawn grew closer. He dared not roam too far this night for fear of stumbling over the unfamiliar terrain. The last thing he needed was to wind up with a broken back at the bottom of a ravine. The beach was safe enough for the present moment, but it would not serve for even a short-term home. He needed to find a more permanent place to sleep. A den to call his own.
Beneath this thought lurked another: the life of a loner had always suited him just fine...in spirit. But packless life was difficult, and the brute had seen more than his fair share of hardship in his lone travels. Hunger, cold, sickness, vulnerability, all plagues that had followed him closely over the last several years. All plagues that were sure to continue, if not grow worse, now that he found himself in a strange new land. No, he was tired of just scraping by. He wanted now, for a few seasons at least, to be part of a collective, to benefit from, if not necessarily contribute to, the common good. He loathed the pack structure, the politics, the ruthless hierarchy, but he liked to eat and liked to sleep secure. Within the next few weeks he would need to join a pack. Recover from his travels, get to know the area and its denizens until he was once again strong enough to set out on his own. Another mental note, this one to listen closely to nearby conversations, hoping to pick up on pack locales.
Gradually the steady pulse of the waves began to change, a louder sloshing breaking through their gentle rhythm. Something was moving through the water. Something large and, by his guess, vaguely wolf-shaped. He was unconcerned; whoever it was was of no importance to him. They would simply carry on past his place on the shore, perhaps not even spotting his dark form in the gloom. In fact, he rather hoped that this would be the case. He was in no mood for conversation, to be questioned about his identity. He simply remained motionless on the shore, not even bothering to open his eyes. Perhaps, he thought, if he ignored them, they would ignore him...
It was only when, some ways down the beach, he heard the swimmer pull themselves onto the rocky shore and shake the water from their pelt that he forced himself to acknowledge that he would be having company. Still he refused to open his eyes, not so much as flicking an ear as her greeting floats to him on the cool night breeze. Friendly girl, he thought, if none too bright. For who in their right mind would approach a dark stranger, alone, in the middle of the night? It would only be fitting of her naievity if he were to turn around and tear her pretty little face apart. Teach the girl a lesson in stranger danger.
He did not, however, tear and part of her apart. He did not so much as turn, maintaining his stoic posture. Perhaps, he reasoned, this girl could be of use to him. Maybe she had a den somewhere nearby that he could spend a night or two in. Perhaps she was even a pack member who would be willing to take him home with her. Better to play nice and see what the she might have to offer. All the same, he was careful to let her words hang unanswered in the air between them for a few moments. He didn't want to give her the wrong impression. She was, after all, still disturbing him uninvited. When he did reply, he did so slowly, still facing the open water. "So. Your mother was a poet then, my dear?" he murmured in a voice low and smooth as silk, his words carrying just a hint of the rolling accents of the north. "I've crossed paths with many wolves in my day, but none with a name quite so...extravagant." He chuckled darkly, three distinct coughs, then let his large head fall heavily to the side, finally facing the girl. He opened his eyes slowly to fix her solidly in his stare, golden eyes flashing in the deepening dusk. "Chenzii," he all but purred, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his maw, "You need not be so formal with an old wanderer such as myself. I would be honoured to have your company as cold and miserable as this. Please. Make yourself comfortable."
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