The ceaseless stretch of trees beyond his recognition is disorienting enough, but with thick cloud-cover shrouding the moonlight that might otherwise illuminate a path through the snow, Casavir finds himself even more lost than usual. He has passed by the same marks he’s placed upon a tree twice—now thrice—already. There are no stars in the sky to guide him, and the creeping dawn does little to quell the unease that sinks deep into his belly. He had hoped the storm would pass before the sun rose. But, as always, Casavir is one of the most unlucky of men.

So he sits, for a moment. Shoulder braced against a tree, bark digging between his fur in a way that is pleasant until it becomes too cold. He catches his breath, abates his frustration in favor of silence. Heat exudes from him in tired waves, melting the snow between his paws and numbing his certain-to-be-frostbitten toes. His nose, dry and cracked, can no longer catch a scent on the wind over the coppery tinge of his own blood.

For now, he must forgo the temptation to continue, to try and find his way from this forest that has seemingly swallowed him whole. Instead, he relents to his creeping tiredness, parting his jaws in a voluminous yawn, before slipping down into the snow. If fate is merciful, the day will bring with it warmth and light; but long before the sun has risen, shrouded in snow-heavy clouds, he suffers through the cold alone.

Just as he always has. Just as he always would.

And he would be damned if he let it kill him yet.

---

She was struggling through the winter. But she hardly let it show. At least when she was in the city she could steal away by a barrel fire and hang out with the humans who also didn't have homes. There was plenty of food to be had too as she swindled their bleeding hearts, but here?

Here she was truly on her own. And every connection she tried to make had been a flop. Wolves didn't have the same hearts as humans. They didn't think 'aww look at you' and toss some food her way. And sure, she could hunt ─ but she wasn't as good at it as truly wild animals. Feral cats were still domestic animals in the end. And she'd been pampered; in comparison.

She sighed, shivering as she kept her body moving trying to keep a sense of blood flow she held a swift pace through the snowy trees. It was the lump at the base of her tree that caught her attention. So Blaire paused, tilting her head as she peered down at the wolf. ❝ You don't look so good, ❞ she commented from above through tight jaws and shivers of her own.

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He is too weak to fight, lest he might have considered her an easy meal.

As it is, the cruel curl in his belly transcends hunger in favor of the raw, desperate need for rest. And his mind is now so plagued by loneliness that even the company of a small, ink-blot of a creature seems preferable to the silent shake of the aspen trees and the howling of wintry wind. As Blair's soft voice echoes through the hollow, Casavir leers forward, turning his head until he spots her among the frost.

You don't look so good.

A barely-noticeable smile ghosts upon his lips—small, cruel. I suppose I do not.

Worn, weary, delirious to the point that he suspects her a figment of his imagination. He's never seen a creature so small and so bold, so dark against the alabaster snow—as if hewn from night itself. He could swallow her in one bite, if it pleases him; but he suspects it is a fate she might not allow so easily. So he braces himself against the tree further, and its trunk creaks beneath his added weight.

Despite his suspicions, her appearance is noticeably corporeal, and her scent carries a twinge that is markedly feline. Perhaps she knows more of this place than he does, for even he cannot remember how he had first wandered here. Perhaps he is a luckier man than he suspects.

Tell me, cat, do you know a way out of this place?

---

She is observant, intuitive ─ little gets past her. Certainly not the hungry beasts interest in a potential meal. "I suppose I do not." she can get away from him should he try anything; of this she is certain.

There are plenty of elements to work in her advantage and he looks half dead already. Perhaps her timing is not so coincidental. The humans always said she was a bad omen after all. A harbinger of death. She tilts her head, tail flicking in an impatient but curious way. ❝ Do you suspect it will come for you soon? ❞ she wonders, curious more so to know if he will get her reference.

"Tell me, cat, do you know a way out of this place?" Blaire shrugs. ❝ Out of 'here' ❞ she looks around, out of this world? ❝ No; as far as I can tell there is no way out. But ─ a way out of your situation I can do ❞ she muses. All too casual.

❝ I could bring you a few small snacks to get you back on your feet so you might see another day, move further south where the winter isn't so brutal perhaps; but what would I get in return for saving your life dog? ❞ she spits the blanket insult back at him. And sits down, licking her paw and cleaning her face, ears still fixed on him eyes watching from her peripherals.

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Do you suspect it will come for you soon?

What will? he wants to ask, but his stubbornness fetters him to tight-lipped silence. Instead, Casavir contemplates her question in terse thought, his brows knitting at their peaks, before falling away to a taciturn countenance. Unlike the creatures of her past, Casavir does not subscribe to superstition—especially upon an animal he's never encountered before. It is only by context and experience that he begins to make sense of her insinuation. There is nothing, nor anyone, that comes for him but the inevitability of—

Death? I should hope not.

He is gaunt, weary; worn. There is no inch of him that is not dusted with dirt and mess, no part of him left untouched by the cruelties of starvation. But he is very much alive, and the look in his eyes is one desperate to keep on living.

Out of 'here', she repeats, and Casavir wonders himself what he's meant by it. At first, he meant this forest, a seemingly endless sprawl of trees, whose snow-laden branches reach toward a heavy sky. But now—he wasn't sure. He had walked here from somewhere, without fuss or ceremony, but now there hangs an uncertainty in the eddies of the winter air, a charge that makes his teeth ache.

No; as far as I can tell there is no way out. She admits, and he looses a sigh. But ─ a way out of your situation I can do.

A glimmer of hope, at least, however small.

Her proposal is one Casavir, on any other day, would have denied outright. He needs not the help of others if it puts a debt on his head; the man hardly sticks around one place long enough to repay it, even if he wants to. But half-starved and half-convinced he's passed the same set of trees three times now, Casavir has no reason to turn her offer down. Not when Death is what's looming behind her.

No matter how much he maintains his steely exterior, even he cannot help the smile that cracks his lips upon the edge of her slight. Dog. Gods, how he has never felt more like one in this moment—base, driven by instinct, half-alive.

What he knows more than anything is give and take. If what he offers is enough to satisfy her, he'll live to see another day. And if he doesn't?

Protection, should you need it, he finally answers. If I were not so tired I might have—

He swallows his answer. He suspects she already knows.

I doubt I'm the only one.

And if he is, then let him be pleased that this place is far more placid than the one he came from.

---

"Death? I should hope not." the cat laughs, a rolling chuckle that falls from her tongue gracefully. Hope not indeed, but black cats were bad luck. There is a long silent that settles between them, but Blaire is patient, and she waits. Bright, haunting eyes never leaving the frame of what might soon be a ghost. She remains casual; continuing to clean and preen her fur as if bored with him only offering the occasional glance as she works on the details of her face and in between her toes where the ice is stuck.

But finally, her patience pays off.

"Protection, should you need it," he sounds so bitter as he admits it. "If I were not so tired I might have—" her ears only draw forward, giving him a hard stare. Which brings out a quick defense. "I doubt I'm the only one." ❝ Why do you need to defend yourself? Would you feel bad? ❞ she's genuinely curious about this, but adds on.

❝ And actually ─ you are, here at least. But I've also mostly kept to myself. ❞ her interactions with the native wolf population wasn't so big, but it was becoming more commonplace. ❝ How do I know you won't turn on me the moment you're feeling well enough again? ❞ this was the more important matter.

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