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[ClaytonMorgan]

Fire's warm. About the only comfort I got out here. The shelter is about ready, and I can do the ritual whenever I need to sleep. But at this time, I need to be outside. I'm alone out here. Small comfort my uneaten family's alive. Learned that from a dead friend o' mine, as weird as that is. My pack's dead. Can't say I miss 'em. Almost went home, but obvious problems come up from that. That me is dead and I hope stays dead for their sake.

So, as established, I'm here. Alone for the first time since all things happened... Physically at least. I been alone since they murdered Stokes...

I hear the twig snap. I try not to act like I hear it. A voice whispers, I can hear the smug smile on his face, "You tensed up. Not blind after all."

I make a show at lookin' at the stars, "I been lookin' at a fire. I ain't got much."

The man the voice belonged to an ugly man. He smiled, fangs in his mouth visible, "You smell like wolf"

Before I even have an idea of what to say, my mouth goes runnin, "You smell like crap."

My guest laughs. Turns out, I gave the right answer. Has a wild, with an I, look on him. My eyes lock to the scales on his neck, "If I do, I'm used to it. I mean no disrespect, brother. Still, not many wolves out on their own."

He ain't got a problem with fire, which is less likely he's a biter. But my hackles are tellin' me it's worse, "Well, most of 'em are useless anyways."

His smile, while still mad and predatory is a level of approving that makes my skin crawl, "That's true... Tell me, brother, you ever think of joinin' the winning team?"

I channel my rage into my movements, my gun's up, and I'm firing at him with all the silver I got. His corpse is still wearing that smile, and that's when it hits me, wolves don't usually travel alone. I grab my gun and bag and start running.