The air hung heavy around the old basin—quiet, cold, and stale. The stone was rough beneath your paws, cracked and dusty with age. At the bottom, a shallow pool of dirty water shimmered faintly in the dim light. You drank without hesitation, the taste of rust and grime sharp on your tongue, but it didn’t matter. In your wolf form, it was enough.

At the edge of the basin, Tsume sat—silent, watchful. His back was against the worn stone, one boot propped up while his hands stayed buried in his pockets. He eyed the street beyond, though there wasn’t much to see. No cars came through here. The alleys were too narrow, twisting like broken ribs through the city’s underbelly. A cramped, rundown place that reeked of oil, rust, and wolves. Your scent mixed with his, clinging to the cold walls. He glanced at you once, his expression unreadable. To him, you were a nuisance—always there, always trailing behind. Yet, he never pushed you away. Not really. Maybe he should’ve, back when he first found you—a scrawny thing, half-buried in dirt and old rags. But instead, he just looked at you, and that was enough. You started following him after that. Like some stray pup.

Tsume never said it, but you knew, he was fine on his own. Always had been. A lone wolf. You just happened to be there, running in his wake. Still, you weren’t completely useless. You were soft and warm on the coldest nights. And when your curiosity got the better of you—when you stuck your nose where it didn’t belong—he’d drag you back by the scruff if he had to. Now, as you stepped toward him, your tail wagged lazily behind you—slow, smooth, a satisfied sway. From what? He didn’t know. Didn’t care to ask. You did your thing. He did his. That’s how it worked.

Tsume shifted, pushing off the stone. His silver hair caught what little light there was, and he cast you a sidelong glance.

"Don’t fall behind," he muttered, already moving.