---

The Silvercreek had lurked in the wisteria forest for a time. Getting his bearings in this new world, yes, but mostly enjoying his freedom.

No stinking breath of a tyrant in his ear, not anymore. Silvercreek had stolen his freedom, taken flight with it, the teeth of trolls snapping at his heels but winter's bite was never able to quite grasp him.

No, he danced now outside of all those cursed cycles - they would never imprison him again.

He had headed south when the impulse struck him, brushing his pale muzzle against the softness of wilting wisteria petals, red as droplets of blood as they drifted free of their stems and rained upon his face, crown, and spine. A goodbye without sorrow, as he parted ways with the mysterious forest that had served as refuge to the fugitive for a time.

Silver stood tall and confident, pawsteps light and stealthy as he trod. A lily-pad gaze skimmed across the man's surroundings. He was pleased with his freedom, but not so foolish as to forget the naivety that had gotten those iron chains clad around him, invisible to all but Silvercreek and his captors. A soft humming, melodies without meaning, rose and fell from his throat as he walked.

Above, clouds hovered heavy. Silvercreek paid them no mind, his frog friend perched idly amongst the fur draped across his shoulders.

Ahead, the scent of blood and offal made his ears swivel to alertness. Graceful motions, almost lazy in their effortless motion, brought the Silvercreek closer to the source until a once-coyote took shape before him in the yellowing grass. A brow arched - the canine cracked apart in a sinew-strewn mockery of wholeness had been...destroyed, but not devoured.

Mossy hazel eyes drifted upward, to a coiled lump of fur. The Silvercreek had not ceased his eerie, idle humming. The melody drifted and dipped, as his gaze skimmed over the wolf, curious without obtrusiveness...not yet.

---

The girl shook, sat up with a look of lurid displeasure levelled at the Silvercreek.

He was unperturbed, taking in the sight of her bloodstained fur at his leisure. She'd not escaped her brawl with the coyote unscathed, it seemed.

He chose to ignore the insult of her responses, but stopped humming at least. He eyes were red as the autumn wisteria forest to the north of here - red as the corpse she seemed to nap not too far from. Red as the gore smeared on her starkly monochrome pelt.

Silvercreek tilted his head slightly. I mistook you for a corpse, that's all. He knew better now than to offer apologies, and so only procured an explanation and a keen expression. He glanced meaningfully at the coyote. A friend of yours?

---

No, she said, as if such a suggestion offended.

The Silvercreek seemed to think that was funny, and flashed a needle-fanged smile quick as a blink at the blood-spattered she-wolf. He didn't care about the stains marring her fur, clumping the strands into thick mats. He'd seen his fair share of fights, although he held himself with the silky-soft, cold expression of nobility. Equal parts welcoming, and chilly as the steel of a dagger's blade.

She thought to eat it, and the Silvercreek wrinkled his nose delicately at the notion. Eating a canine so like himself...was not his idea of a delicacy. He flicked his ear, dismissing his own reaction. It's not my place to judge. Although he left open whether he intended to do so anyway.

He'd never been any good at knowing his place in life and staying there. From a failure of a brother to a traitor of the crown - what role would he taint next, he wondered?

Silvercreek sat down, dry gold and orange leaves shuffling beneath his weight as he settled. You're hurt. Do you...require help?

---

She was clever - or at least, taught to be cautious by some experience or another. The reasoning for it didn't matter; the question returned to him did, though.

The Silvercreek found the woman intriguing, the way one found a bug under a looking glass intriguing - he enjoyed watching the precise motions the cogs in her skull turned with. Mostly, though, he lavished in the knowledge that to her, he was nothing and nobody. That to her, he could be anyone. That she held no power over him, and that he could stand and walk away without a care. There were no longer any bonds holding him back, no chains to make him bend to another's whims.

He could offer help, he could bargain for it, or he could retract it. And it wasn't exactly a situation that was a very obvious or overt power trip, but for Silver, the moment was delicious all the same. His freedom was euphoric, even though a corner of his mind quietly lamented all it had cost and all he had lost to get here.

He was here, and that was enough.

I do, but not without price. He didn't know why he said that. He didn't know why he required that. She had nothing to offer him beyond the companionship she had already provided, and he didn't actually want to take anything she might find valuable to herself.

He was in the midst of it now, though.

The frog on his shoulders croaked, a high, thin sound.

I will search for any useful herbs nearby. You can consider what cost suits you. Or she couldn't. He didn't know if she could walk, but if he returned and she had nothing more than a shrug for him, the Silvercreek wasn't sure he'd take issue with that.

He was no healer, but he knew what herbs were good for injuries. He'd learned through experience. The wolf rose to his feet, arching his spine in a small stretch before turning toward the forest and meandering out of view - his word was his bond, and he did what he said.

---

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so is envy!! loving this thread so far <3

She didn't erupt into indignant swearing at him, so that went well, Silver decided.

He shook his head, dispelling his thoughts of confusion with a derisive snort as he stepped deeper into the forest. The frog ribbited once more, and Silvercreek rolled his eyes dramatically. Oh, hush. The man chided, dipping his head to shoulder past a couple of bushes on his hunt for herbs. Frederick was his most cherished companion, but terribly judgmental and not a great conversationalist. Kind of one-note, Silver thought with an inward chuckle that felt forced even in the confines of his mind.

Silvercreek, too, was used to a transactional world - but he was used to being the one bargaining for what he wanted, or needed. He'd forsaken the kindness in him to help others out of the goodness of his heart. There was nothing in his chest now but the blackened husk of something determined not to thrive but merely survive. He was not used to the position of not knowing what he needed to scrape out of another's grasp for his own survival; he was in such a wealth of free will that he only asked for payment out of habit and greed, it seemed. And was that so wrong, or was it another freedom afforded to him he'd be a fool not to make the most of?

A sensation that was both thrilling and frightening, and he teetering on the cusp of both emotions as he gathered in his jaws frost-touched sprigs of chamomile, comfrey and coneflower. The bitter taste of the potent herbs filled his mouth unpleasantly, but Silver had schooled his features into a charming, confident veneer by the time he re-emerged into the woman's clearing. He dropped the herbs at his paws, having stopped outside her reach unless she moved toward him.

Whatever doubts he'd had about his instinctive deal he'd tried to strike with the pearlescent wolf had been hidden away or shed at some point in his journey, spring-green eyes glinting with mirth at her. He knew what he wanted: entertainment, and this was sure to be so no matter her answer, no matter their deal.

Have you a reply? Silver murmured, reverently quiet amidst the tension and falling dusk. He had an idea for what he wanted, now, but he'd agreed to allow her the chance to set her terms first.