My paw pads feel raw as I tread on the cool earth, the constant walking having worn on them.

The evening sunlight just barely breaches the canopy of the forest, dappled bronze light sparsely decorating the leaflitter. I look around, searching for landmarks.

I see an old, gnarled tree with peeling black bark, and figure that it's a good starting point. I trot up to it, tentatively sniffing it.

I sneeze and huff, glaring at the tree. The tree's scent burns my nose and irritates my eyes.

I turn to look at where I came from, seeing my large paw-prints in the dirt. I frown, flopping down onto my belly.

My eyelids droop. I'm so tired. I'll just get a few hours of sleep and then I'll set off again. I close my eyes, curling into myself with a sigh. Find home, get help... I drift off.

###

I blink my eyes open, stiff as a board. My eyes dart around. I lift my head, sniffing the air. The early dawn light paint's the world in colour, the cool air nips at my ears, the ground is blanketed with a thin mist, and a thick fog permeates the air.

I growl low in my throat, ears shoving forwards. Something was watching me just beyond the fog, I could feel it. I sniff the air again, flexing my claws.

The only thing I can smell is the overwhelming burn-scent of the tree behind me.

I brace myself on the forest floor, standing slowly. The wind pulls at my fur, and I shudder at the cold.

Suddenly, I'm on the ground with a weight on top of me. I yelp, twisting around and snapping my jaws wildly. I hear a shout of pain as my jaws clamp down on flesh. The shout is defiantly human, I realize as my heart races.

I bite down as hard as I can, shaking my head vigorously, snarling. Pain explodes from my left eye, then from my foreleg, a heavy boot pounding against my left side.

I yelp and snarl, releasing my hold. I rip myself out of the human's hold and dashing into the undergrowth as fast as I can.

I run until both my legs and lungs feel like they're on fire, flying through the forest, a singular grey blur. When I finally slow to a stop, I'm panting heavily.

I look around and find that I'm in a meadow. I frown, trotting along and sniffing the ground. I pause at a tree in the centre of the clearing, cocking my head.

I need somewhere to sleep that's not so out in the open. Somewhere underground, maybe? I'm not sure how many caves are in this forest, or where to find them...

I set off again, through the grass and up a small hill that was tucked in the corner of the meadow. I tilt my head as I examine a large oak tree that stands on the side of a short cliff. The roots of the tree wind and weave in and out of the dirt cliff like the ribbons of festival dancers.

I sniff at the tree tentatively. The clean scent of healthy plants greets me. Satisfied with the aria, I begin to carve out a dwelling in the cliff face. The dirt crumbles under my sharp claws.

By the time the sun was high in the sky, I had whittled away the dirt and made a small cave under the ancient oak.

I climb into the hole, going as far back as possible before I turn and flop down onto my side. I stare out the entrance that was hidden by roots large and small, breathing slowly.

I close my eyes, falling into a deep slumber.

###

The next morning, I wake to the sound of birds chirping. I yawn and crawl out of my den to stretch.

I look around lazily, deciding to explore. I trot into the meadow, looking around.

I leap onto a large, flat bolder, sniffing curiously at it. I lay down, enjoying the coolness of the bolder beneath me. I dig my claws into the rock, scratching it lightly.

I leap off the bolder, rubbing it absently with the side of my body. I trot out into the centre of the clearing, sniffing at the cool grass.

After a while, I walk out of the clearing and into the forest. I walk around for a while, before emerging onto the riverbank, a short while from my den.

I lap up some water, thirsty after my day or so without it.

My thirst had been attended to, but my stomach still needs attention. Sniffing around the rocky riverbank, I search for food, trying to remember what Damon told me about animal breeding seasons.

Let's see, it's the beginning of spring, so. Deer breed in the fall and give birth in the spring, I know that much... I mull it over as I stroll through the forest undergrowth.

I sniff around, huffing. Something attracts my attention. I turn, peering into the tall grass.

My tail twitches as I catch sight of a fawn hidden amongst the grasses. We stare at each other for a moment. Then I lunge, catching the fawn by the ankle.

I pull the kicking fawn back as it shouts. I release the ankle and quickly pin it beneath my paws. I bury my teeth in its throat, crushing its windpipe in my jaws.

It kicks, crying feebly. It goes limp, and I pull back. I dig into its side using my sharp teeth and pull large chunks of flesh and organs from it, feasting.

When I had eaten all I could, I started back towards the river, licking my jowls clean of blood.

I pause near a large hill, ears perking. "Did ya 'ear about Lord Baron's son up in Forest Spirit?" Asked a deep, masculine voice.

I frown, trotting quietly along the kill to keep up with them.

"Yeah," sighed another male voice. "Shame, it was, right shame. He was a good kid,"

The first voice huffed angrily. "Killed by a wolf in 'is own 'ome! I 'eard they only found blood and bits of skin left of 'em,"

"A wolf?" The second voice asked. "I thought we did'nt get no wolves 'round here?"

"Yeah, well" growled the first voice bitterly. "We didn't, then one killed a Lord's son. I 'eard Lord Baron put out a bounty on the wolfs 'ead,"

"Good. I hope they catch it, make it into a rug," The second one guffawed.

I slow to a stop, looking up at the hill with wide eyes. I back up, twist around and sprint back to the clearing. I dive into my den and curl up into a ball, panting.

'Lord Baron' they had said. My father is a Lord with the surname Baron. They were obviously talking about me, right? They couldn't have been talking about my brothers... I didn't kill one of my brothers, did I? No, they would have talked about how I was missing, if I had killed one of my brothers. My father doesn't actually think I'm dead, right?

... Right?

l curl my tail over my eyes. Doubt clouds my mind, and I know that all things considered, my father does think I'm dead.