Forward dated to 5/12

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They were wolves. Wolves were meant to hunt. Not the ravenous way hypocritical ranchers accused, to justify killing a free thing. But in the order of things, balance between beast clans, waya had a role. Prey that was sickly or frail were prime targets, to keep sick from spreading, to keep suffering from drawing out.

And yet Mythris had, until recently, been rather determined to stamp out wolven race no matter the cost. Even at the expense of the elk, and the chickadee, and the tortoise, and the frog. In some ways, life was restored. In others, it was still mending. Lives were always precious... wastefulness was the flaw of the arrogant, regardless of what skin they wore.

So Nate rather felt like being a wolf, and being a man with the power to remember histories, were at odds, here.

A wolf should cull this fawn, trapped in the washout. It couldn't run, couldn't work its way up the eroded bank. He'd been watching. Seen the mother hovering. Listened to the bleating.

Easy prey.

But the fact there was a fawn at all, when winter had persisted so fiercely, sort of made him reluctant.

He hovered just far enough away to not chase the doe off entirely (or inspire her to charge him, which felt like a stupid way to get hurt after everything that had come recently before it.) From there, gauged his chances of being able to boost the little fella out of his predicament without getting beat to a pulp for the trouble.

Nate had been so entirely focused on the fawn, he hadn't noticed the approach of another until they brushed his side. Leaping like a cat, Nate strangled back a yelp that would no doubt have brought the doe bearing down on them in matriarchal vengeance and clenched his jaw so tight his teeth squeaked.

Blinked.

This was undoubtedly a stranger. Or at least, a newcomer he'd not yet met. Unless death had robbed him of memories, or he'd finally gone insane, which he supposed were possible, too.

Nate cleared his throat, trying to retrieve some sense of dignity from the far reaches of his mind, and offered a grin that was a little apologetic. Mostly apologetic.

You scared me half to death, there. His whisper greeted, laughing softly. Glanced back to the washout. It's a, uh, fawn. Stuck down the slope. Can't climb out. Back to the stranger, Have we — met?

Non. Nate tilted his head at the accent, and the curious stranger who'd manifested beside him. He supposed stranger things were prone to happen in Mythris.

Well I won't say no to industrious idealism. The chief replied, grinning. I'm Nate Ronan, pleased to meet you Etienne.

Then back to the deer. In my old country, I was a uh... Ranch... Paw. Lip pursed. Well, basically it was my job to look after the herds, y'know? We took care of what fed us. If Etienne had only ever been a wolf, hopefully the idea would make sense. If not, hopefully they knew what he was talking about, Sometimes after the rain, calves would get stuck in the mud. Wear 'emselves out trying to get loose.

Frantic mothers, frightened newborns. If he'd had a rope and a horse this would be no trouble to solve. But all he had now were paws, teeth, and the industriousness of his mind. If it was a particularly protective mama, we'd have one fella run interference, keep her busy. The other would haul in and get the kid free. Patch it up if need be. Then we'd all book it so they could reunite. Couldn't do that on my own, but now...

Nate lifted his brows with mischievous glee.

Perfect. Nate nodded, deciding Etienne had to be a basically decent sort of fella to jump on board with this scheme so quickly. Leave the diversion to me, you get that baby up and outta there as soon as you can.

Maybe it was a little dangerous. Maybe some folks would call it stupid. Nate decided to call it 'an adventurous spirit' as he loped out into open grass, setting himself in full view of the doe.

She snorted, foot stamping. He sidestepped. Easy there, Mama... A spring-blue gaze darted back toward Etienne and the washout, to gauge his proximity. Wouldn't it be a laugh if he just took the free dinner and ran with me standing out here? Well, too late now for second guessing.

Eyes fixed back on the doe, he crept forward in a rough approximation of a sheepdog, and when she charged, he bolted in a way to keep her eyes off Etienne.

Heart pitched. Paws and hooves tore grass. Shit, she was fast! He laughed a little, in spite of himself, tail tucked to avoid stomping hooves.

For a moment things seemed to be working as intended. Etienne kept the tyke quiet at first, and Nate did his best to kite the doe far enough away to avoid noticing what they were about.

But plaintiff bleating as it climbed free turned the doe's ears, and promptly the rest of her. Nate skidded as she charged the wolf who'd finagled her fawn out of the gulch.

Shit. Bolting to catch up, he barked. When that didn't work, he aimed teeth at the white of her tail. Anything to divert her attention from Etienne.

Well, the bite landed.

But so did the retaliatory kick to his jugular that dislodged him with a mouthful of fluff. And the followup flail of foreleg crashing over his ribs and knocking the wind clean out of him, because of course it did.

Wheezing, Nate wrestled unsuccessfully for control of his limbs. Watering eyes watched her race across the green for her fawn.