It had been an interesting night, to say the least. A couple hours after Graham left, River had gone outside for a joint and sensed that he wasn’t alone. The moon was bright, and every now and then, he could just make out the form of a large wolf at the tree line. That wasn’t the most interesting part, though. No, the most interesting part was the feeling the wolf gave him, and the familiar aura around it. Curious. He quietly observed the wolf while he smoked, and offered it a small nod before he made his way back inside the small RV when he was done.

The next day (certainly not first thing in the morning; River hated waking up), River was up on the roof of his rig, lowering the solar panels when he heard a deliberate rustling of leaves heading his way. A smile spread over his lips as he felt a newly-familiar presence creep into his senses, but he didn’t bother looking up from the task at hand. “Good morning, Graham,” he called out as the footsteps neared the tree line. “Can’t stay away, huh? Is it for the tea or my company, I wonder?” the warlock teased with a laugh as he leaned over the edge of the RV to look down at the man approaching.

River thought about Graham a lot in the week and two days he was working. Little things, here and there, would remind him of the werewolf, and he would wonder what the other man was doing. It was incredibly distracting, and honestly, he would have finished the job earlier if he had been able to focus. It was fine, though. In the time they were apart, River convinced himself that he'd somehow magick'ed himself silly, those 14 hours in the woods. He'd been stoned most of that time, hadn't he? Surely? That theory didn't do much to explain the way he felt now, though, excited to get back to the woodsman's land and definitely not thinking about how embarrassed he'd been the last time. Was he a teenager?

This time, River drove the rig right up Graham's driveway, though he did park at the furthest corner of the clearing to give some distance between his RV and the werewolf's cabin. He didn't want to pull right up to Graham's door, not yet at least. He cut the engine and took a few seconds to gather himself before he was hopping out, stretching his sore muscles from the long drive and looking around for any obvious signs of his favorite lone wolf. His large frame was hard to miss, on the far side of the clearing gathering sticks and looking very much in his element. “Hey you,” the warlock chirped as he started across the property towards him. “Need a hand?”

River was laid in his bed, unable to sleep and staring at the tapestry on his ceiling, when the furnace stuttered and shut off. He sighed heavily, knowing that he’d run out of propane, a little earlier than expected because of how cold he temperature had dropped. He could probably figure out some magical solution, but the first one that came to mind was far more appealing, and before he had time to talk himself out of it, the warlock was pulling his hoodie on and stepping into his shoes.