#shifter!141

Simon is in heaven.

The three other wolves pout by their warm spots by the fireplace, watching as you give Simon the full treatment. You checked him over incessently, making sure you didn't cripple the wolf beyond repair. Technically, Simon has already healed, but you don't need to know that.

Simon is milking the attention.

A whine gets him water. A soft tail wag gets him scratches behind his ears. You are wracked by the thought of how docile these wolves are once again, yet you can't bring yourself to care when your new companions, for however long, surround you. Big, plush bodies made to be cuddled.

If they'd let you.

You aren't quite sure you can breach that boundary. You can. The four wolves would be more than happy to rub their scent all over you and drape themselves over your form. It doesn't help that your house is the coziest they had in a long time.

You left to go clean up for a bit. Simon gets up, shaking off his body as he stretches. It definitely wasn't fun being slammed across the road by a metal contraption, but thankfully, he was still in a state where he could heal.

Most of the kinks are definitely gone.

Johnny stares him down, chuffing as Simon works on getting feeling back into his muscles. It feels good to move after a bit of pretending he was crippled. Whatever gets him easy access to you, though. He is no less a mutt than the other three shifters.

They're all desperate.

Even Price has been heavily attuned to you. He keeps closer to you and Simon when you two are together, hoping to look simply like an overprotective Pack Alpha. Inside, he is burning because he loves how sweet you smell.

They need something like you.

As soon as your footsteps approach again, Simon lifts up a paw and feigns injury. Gaz sighs and completely turns himself around, snout pressing close to the fire. Price and Johnny just keep watching him.

And it gets the reaction he wanted when you coo and rush to him. Asking him why he is trying to be brave when he's obviously in pain. The tail wag that follows as you encourage Simon back down into his bed is an insult to Price and Johnny.

Johnny clambers to his feet, looking right at you as he lifts his own paw and pretends to limp.

You chuckle and move towards him. "Silly little guy, you like playing?" You ask.

Johnny is content as he also gets his head scratched.

The whole situation is surreal to you. Four, should be aggressive animals, are completely docile in your home. Maybe you should wait for the other shoe to drop, but you've always been a sucker for cute things.

You are oblivious to the fact that Kyle has disappeared from the fire. Well, Price knew. He heard the nails clicking against the hardwood floor and watched his furred form disappear to the back rooms. Though he couldn't be bother to care. You'll notice eventually, so will the others.

It takes all but five minutes before you turn to look at the fire. Confusion morphs your face. Where'd one of them go? You look around, but he is gone.

You stand up, walking to the back rooms. Johnny follows you eagerly. He is also suspicious of Kyle and doesn't want him to get dibs on something before he does.

But dibs he has gotten.

You find the missing wolf, snout deep in your dirty hamper. He's sniffing around, shamelessly lifting his head as he blinks at you. You sigh and push him away from the hamper.

As you turn around again, now Johnny has his snout buried, and his tail is wagging a mile a minute.

"No!" You exclaim. "Out both of you!"

The two wolves scamper away, and you make sure to close your bedroom door to avoid that again. You can sense troublemakers on the horizon, and that part you're reluctant about. Maybe if you keep scolding, they'll eventually learn.

Something in your brain tingles and tells you that is a big lie.

You sit down next to Simon, rubbing along his spine. He snorts and shifts, leaning into you as he tries to fall asleep. They're all so sweet it makes your heart hurt.

A few moments later, a dry nose pokes your shoulder, and you turn to see the alpha. You're still intimidated by him, that's no doubt. He lies down right behind you, though.

Honestly, could you even be mad if they end up ripping your face off. Just the fact you got four wolves in your vicinity is enough.

“Abandoned, Selling As Is” was what the advertisement had read. No one else had wanted the plot of land hours away from civilization. For you, though, it was perfect. Somewhere to start over, to be alone and relearn who you are.

The rooms still held the previous owner’s belongings. Everything had been left untouched as if they just vanished one day. All men, you assumed, just from the sparse decor and the clothes left behind. Military, maybe, from how the beds were made with their sheets tucked into hospital corners. Paranoid loners, possibly even doomsday preppers, was another guess you made after discovering a gun safe hidden behind a false wall under the stairs.

It was almost a game, once a day trying a hand full of combinations to see if any worked. Something mindless to fill an unoccupied moment of time. That’s when you really started going through the papers and books left behind. Looking for any clues at what the code might be. A notepad left on the small hallway table is where you scribbled down all the combinations that hadn’t worked, in a meager attempt to not repeat yourself. A small mystery to add a little life to your loneliness.

At night is when things really come to life this far out into the wilderness. In the early days of owning the property, before you were able to get the satellite internet set up, you’d spend the evenings watching and listening on the back porch. Deer were the most common, using the wide open expanse of a backyard as a place to graze in the evenings. Owls silently swooping down on field mice before retreating to the trees once more. Coyotes, crickets, and night birds made a symphony of nature most nights.

The most exciting were the wolves. You could always hear them howling in the distance, calling to one another. They weren’t like the coyotes that cackled over one another in attempt to sound larger or more numerous than they actually were. These were direct calls and responses. Their vocalizations sounding almost melancholy, as if they were yearning for something that seemed just out of reach.

It was a quiet night when you finally decided to respond to their calls. The evening had been spent making supply lists for your trek into the nearest town in the morning. A large cooler had been thrown into the bed of your truck to store items intended for the refrigerator and deep freezer.

You sat on the tailgate, listening to the night song that seemed to encapsulate the peaceful valley you now owned. A celebratory drink held in one hand and a small, proud smile graces your lips. Your house was starting to feel like a real home and that was definitely worth celebrating.

The wolves that you had grown fond of, yet had never seen, were starting up. Your favorite night song. A melody that you could listen to for hours. One you had listened to for hours.

Four. You could make out four distinct calls at this point. Two were more vocal than others, their tones more playful. One was definitely the pack leader. His call the first and last each night, like a command or an order. And one was rarely heard, usually only short responses and never as loud as the others. But the valley always carried their calls to you, teaching you their voices. They were faceless friends in your solitude.

So you call out into the night. The long howl a poor imitation of theirs, straining your vocal cords.

The night grows still. All goes quiet. As the silence passes for a beat, then another, your smile slowly falters and fades. A pang of disappointment and a small bubble of guilt at interrupting their conversation.

All animals, even fierce predators, could be skittish. You worried that your call had scared them off, ruining your chances of ever spotting them. With a hop you jump off the tailgate, slamming it shut in frustration. Heavy feet stomping all the way onto the porch and inside. You could only hope they hadn’t heard your foolishness and that something else has quieted them.

The night remains silent as you crawl into bed. The night song ending early and sewing sadness into your dreams.

But they had heard you.

Your distinctly human howling calling to a dormant part of their minds. They remembered themselves. They remembered their life in the valley. They remembered the house where their human lives were lived.

btw this is the size comparison (in ft bc murica) between them :3

Thinking about you driving down a back road. You're tired. You just want to get home. You love the isolation that comes with the small cottage you brought. It's cute, only has the occasional issue, and is decked out in your own style. It's yours.

Backroads means wildlife. You are reminded of that in the form of your car plowing right into a heavy mass. Your car jolts and you slam on your brakes, soul ascending out of your body. Your heart is pounding, your adrenaline immediately spiking, and stone cold horror washes over you.

You hit something.

You're shakily getting out of the car, looking out past where your headlights shine. You don't see anything at first. You do a quick glance at your bent bumper before you hear a low whine.

Cautiously, but hurriedly, you run to the noise. Your eyes widen, that horror now making you dizzy.

You hit the biggest wolf you have ever seen.

His sandy coat is ruffled as he lies on his side. You think his breathing is unsteady, but honestly, you aren't quite sure over your screaming mind. You don't know what to do, but you need to help if you can.

He lifts his head immediately when you approach, brown eyes peering into you like he sees your soul. A beautiful creature. You know whatever he does will just be a reaction to instinct.

Yet, he merely stares at you as you approach. No growling, no whimper. Just stares. It unnerves you.

Just as you get close enough to kneel, a low growl emits behind you, making your spine go ridged. You slowly turn your head, spotting two other wolves in a defensive stance. Where there is one, there is multiple. Wolves are pack animals, you should’ve remembered that.

You're definitely going to die.

However, a louder, more authoritative snap has both wolves bowing slightly. Though, they're clearly watching you still. Silent, but deadly. It's the unpredictable nature of the situation that has you seconds away from making some dumb decision that will probably get you killed.

The Alpha, as evidenced by the reactions of the others, stalks up to your cluttered mess of a group. Four versus one. Nails scrape on the asphalt, deep blue eyes watching you, but focused on his fallen packmate as well. He's gnarly--torn ears, scars underneath his thick coat. Sure, he received those scars, but he obviously won every single fight.

You gulp.

The Alpha nuzzles his nose into his friend, a small chuff escaping his lips. The fallen wolf chuffs back in response, finally attempting to move. His muscles strain as he struggles to pick himself back up. The pair of wolves that arrived first are at their buddy's side, nosing him up onto his feet.

They flank either side of him, pressing their thick, obviously well-fed forms into him. He won't topple either way with them around. The Alpha, who you think is going to lead them back into the woods, wanders over to your car.

You follow reluctantly, not really wanting to stand out in the dark alone. What if there was more? Why were they going to your car in the first place? Your brain was reeling, and you wondered if you had actuslly crashed, and this was a random reality your life conjured.

The Alpha paws at your back hatch, eyes blinking up at you. Okay, maybe they were once domesticated wolves. Would that explain this very odd behavior? You weren’t sure anymore.

You open the back hatch, and immediately, all four dogs are piling into your car. The vehicle even lowers underneath all the weight. They surround their wounded packmate like incessent mosquitoes.

Do they want you to take them somewhere? What was even going on? Who are you kidding. They don't know locations. You have to make the decision.

"Do you want a ride to the doggy motel or something?" You choke out.

The Alpha growls in response.

Tough crowd.

You let out a shaky breath, closing the back hatch quickly and scampering to the front. The car already reeks of dog when you sit down, and every little movement makes your car bounce.

Your best case scenario is taking them home as you're too far away from town, and you don't know how to explain any of this. Plus, you were sure the vet was gone from the shop by now. Sleeping normally like you should be.

You'll check the damage on your car in the morning.

You're a thief that takes more and more risks every time. A sleazy man in a tavern gives you a contract to steal something worthwhile from the supposed dragon hybrid that lives in the mountains. You agree, maybe half a pint too deep.

You journey out into the woods later that week and find a looming cave. It's easy to enter. If you weren't blinded by your determination, you'd realize how suspicious that was.

The place is warm and full of gold, as expected. There are some other random treasures as well. You had never seen a dragon hoard before. It baffles you where someone even finds all of this stuff.

As you're elbow deep in one section of golden items, you hear a low timbre behind you. You happened to visit PRICE right in the middle of his most intense rut.

And being in a rut means he obsessively hoards.

You don't mind if he adds you to the collection, do you? Maybe he'll pin you amongst his trophies and stuff you full of his clutch. He's been alone for a long time.

Safe to say, the news of your "death" spreads through the town when you fail to return from your excursion.

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You're the princess/prince of a struggling kingdom. The king and queen got dragged into a war they could not handle in order to keep their alliance with another neighboring kingdom going.

After the castle suffers from an invasion, your parents plead for the gods to send you protection. You are their only child and heir to the throne, they cannot lose you. They will hold off on making any marriage alliances in exchange for peace as long as they can.

GAZ appears on the steps of the castle one day. He exudes a regal energy and seems to know everything about you instantly as his heartfelt eyes analyze you closely. He's a cross between a lion and eagle, and his wings alone are majestic.

Your parents are overjoyed. The gods must have sympathized with them to send a Griffin hybrid. They take it as good fortune.

They don't seem to mind as Gaz slowly imprints on you. Giving you soft, newly preened feathers. Tucking you under his wings whenever you're exploring. Marking you with his scent in every way.

Griffins are known to protect treasure. And even once the war is over, Gaz knows he's not letting you go.

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Every time someone has died in your village, you see a large black wolf right before. The thing is emaciated, though doesn't seem deterred in the slightest. He's lithe and quick regardless. The village has taken to calling him GHOST.

You often find him prowling the graveyard whenever you go to visit a family member who has died. The pup watches from a distance, and when you end up crying, the canine howls for you. You swear his eyes glow orange in the gloom of the graveyard. For a feral animal, it sure is interesting.

You always try to find his den. It must be somewhere in the premises of the graveyard if he's always there. Your bleeding heart tells you to help the poor stray.

One time, you manage to catch the bastard and he whines the whole way. He nips at the heavy leash you've subdued him with. You manhandle the beast into your little cottage and drag him to the bathroom.

Your bathroom didn't survive the wolf's stubborness.

He reluctantly jumps up onto the bed with you that night, and when you scratch behind his ear he lets out a bitter chuff as he leans into it and wags his tail.

Just don't scream too loud when you wake up to a grown man wrapped around you. He smells oddly like death.

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There's a seal that won't leave you alone. It chuffs and flops on the floorboards of your simple fishing boat, making it rock slightly as you stare the creature down. You're unsure of whether or not to play submissive or be intimidating.

The seal stares at you with big eyes, nostrils flaring as it analyzes you. It doesn't seem threatened, scared, or really anything. It's just one very big seal that lumbers around.

He dives back into the water after a little bit, and you sigh in relief.

But he shows up every time you're out. Blubbered form hitting the deck and glistening under the sun. You grow wary less and less as the visits continue. You even offer him some fish from the collection you already caught.

You, admittedly, become attached to the creature. Not many people can say they befriended a seal.

And the oddly docile animal takes your affection and runs with it.

One day, you wander down to your docked boat in the cove and find a man lounging against the edge. He fiddles with some ocean worn charm as he hums to himself.

The man beams when he spots you. You don't notice the pelt he leaves on the floor as he walks your way.