notrestingyet: (wolf - howl at the moon)
Samuel was having a blast. The preserve was full of tasty tasty snacks game, and even if he kept having to remember that the deer were Off Limits, there were still plenty of rabbits. His wolf was happy to run and chase and catch, and he was happy to let it. This was much better than standing in front of Congress in a suit. He understood the need for his father to keep a low profile, but privately he suspected Bran just hated politics as much as the rest of them.

((As last month, if anyone really wants to run across the giant white wolf in the woods at night, they're welcome to it. He won't bite; he'll just think they're lacking good sense.))
notrestingyet: (wolf-eyed)
Samuel looked perfectly casual, like he was just out for a walk, when he walked into the preserve. The empty backpack he was carrying was a bit odd, sure, but perfectly ordinary guy.

He wasn't sure what he was actually going to hunt, was the thing. He'd done a bit of research and found out the tiny teal deer that lived in the preserve were endangered. And not only were the squirrels not really worth the effort, they were apparently the island's journalists. Still, there had to be something else out here.

Once he was far enough in, he started stripping. He stuffed all of his clothes into the backpack, then stashed it in the lowest branches of a nearby tree. Hopefully he'd be able to retrace his scent to it come morning. Then he started shifting. Several minutes later, a two hundred pound white werewolf stood up and trotted off into the trees.

It was the full moon. Time to hunt.

((If anyone wants to run across a massive white wolf in the woods at night, they're welcome to. He doesn't bite. He'll just question your good sense.))


notrestingyet: (Default)

August 2009

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