His fingers moved fast, slowly cutting away at the figurine he was carving. This small pocketknife was something he nicked from a lost and found a few towns back. He had been desperate, the urge to do something with his fingers intense. Thankfully, one of his few positive childhood memories was his grandpa teaching him how to whittle, making out small figurines that he could keep for himself.

Right now, he was carving out a small rabbit. He’d seen one hopping around earlier that day, its cute button nose twitching as it searched for food in the underbrush of leaves. Anders had been in his wolf form, hiding beneath a ridge. He’d just woken up that morning and so he decided to carve it. He would leave the figure in a little notch he’d found in a tree nearby.

Anders felt the knife briefly nick his thumb, causing a small bead of blood to blossom from it. He sighed, sucking it into his mouth, letting his tongue clean it up. As he set his craft aside, he breathed in. All the sudden, a pleasing scent wafted into his nose.

He smelt a sweet scent, like roses. Maybe mixed with lavender? He wasn’t entirely sure. It warmed his soul, begging him to follow it. For a moment, Anders stood up, ready to go and find the source of it. But then, his rational mind took over. The only time this ever happened to werewolves was when they found their fated mate.

Panic welled within him. Anders scrambled, shoving the pocketknife and the half-finished bunny figurine into his pocket. He began to move, desperate to get away. But of course, his body didn’t listen.

Anders ducked behind a tree, panting. His heart was racing, the scent of his mate swirling around him. He swallows, slowly peeking around the tree to see them. God, they were beautiful. Not worthy of a broken soul like him.