After a painstakingly long stare-down, it seems Emily had gained the wolf’s trust… at least, for the moment anyway. She’d rather not harm a being as beautiful as he was – UNTAMED and FREE in this Frontier. If only that were the case for the people living here, and for herself. However, she did not expect him to voluntarily approach her and sit before her feet! She looked around as if there might be an audience nearby watching them. If anyone else was witnessing this odd, but rare occasion. This was definitely not a normal wolf behavior ; most wolves usually keep to themselves and avoid humans ( unless provoked ).
But as she gazed down at him, actually LOOKING into those amber hues up close, she could not deny that there was something so innately comforting and familiar about them. They say the eyes are a window to a person’s soul ; what she saw in his eyes, what she felt, was something she could not accurately explain. Just that she KNOWS it… like an old friend.
Without much thought, she crouched down before him. Slowly, she reached out her hand to him. In any normal circumstance with a wild animal, she would not do this nor would she advise it. But her intuition told her otherwise, just as it did before this unlikely encounter. She could only hope that she’s right and that her sixth sense will not fail her. Her fingers stopped just before his snout, allowing him to do what he sees fit with such an open offering.
“ It’s dangerous to be out here alone. Nearby hunters won’t hesitate to shoot you. ”
Of course, she doesn’t expect an answer, but she had hoped he’d at least understand her concern.
Fenrir pauses as she offers the hand. It’s too easy to watch memories of the hand of a once-trusted since-forsaken friend, bitten and torn flesh from flesh. No, this time, Fenrir needs to begin afresh. He has a new life, a new chance. This human has shown him nothing that has given him cause to think ill of her. Isn’t it time to start the healing process? Hasn’t it taken enough lifetimes to reach this moment: not to bite as his first, repeating instinct, but to welcome a helping hand?
Slowly, tentatively, Fenrir’s snout gently rubs against her fingertips and when he is sure her gesture is one of good will, his eyes softly close, rubbing his snout along to the palm of her hand, and very gently licks a couple of times. It’s how he used to greet his mother; his father; his keeper...anyone in his former life who had shown him love and care. It’s astounding how Fenrir feels those long-suppressed, much yearned-for feelings emerge in this moment, with a complete stranger.
Yet, stranger isn’t quite the word. His soul feels as though he understands hers, in a way he cannot hope to fathom - not yet.
“Thank you...” he murmurs softly between little whimpers of relief.
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