jackson harris ( werewolf ) . (likefenris) wrote in light_of_may, |
Jackson had pulled into Scarlet Oak only a few hours ago, and his first instinct had been one that he simply couldn't ignore, and so he hadn't even tried. He knew that familiar itch under his skin, the one that could only be scratched by one thing and one thing alone: changing. Running. His first order of business should have been establishing some sort of shelter but he was too restless for that, and it wouldn't have been the first time he had spent the night in the truck, not even by a long shot. By this point in time he had already discovered the best points in the truck's cab for maximum comfort -- if you could call it that; it was more like minimal discomfort -- and it was free. Sleeping in wolf form had its benefits as well; no one was going to mess with a truck that had a big black wolf sleeping on the front seats, and if someone tried to sneak up on him while he was trying to get some rest, he was ready and able to fight. Besides, it wasn't like he really slept all that much recently. It was easier to stay awake, if he could, and while running through the dense woods and burning off a good deal of his excess energy wasn't exactly conducive to fighting off exhaustion, it was still what he needed most.
So he had parked the truck, wandered into the trees far enough to be certain he wouldn't be seen, and changed, making sure to conceal his clothes under a suitable bush before going through with the transformation. From there it was just a matter of wandering and exploring as he saw fit. It was rich with scent and sound, there was plenty of fauna that was quick to bolt from him when they heard or saw him coming, and the few hours since his arrival on the outskirts of Scarlet Oak had passed before he even knew what time it was. It was the darkening of the sky that told him he had spent more time in the woods than he had first intended, and so with muscles well and truly stretched and itch suitably scratched, he loped back towards his changing spot feeling some semblance of contentment. It wouldn't last, Jackson knew that, but it would be an hour or two free of gnawing guilt and heartache, at least.
He had just finished fastening his belt -- never the most sensible choice for a werewolf, but sometimes they were just essential -- when he heard the voice. The muscles that had been loose and relaxed only moments ago tensed anew and he stilled in place, listening to the sounds of the trees around him. Would an attacker really announce themselves so obviously? You would think not, but Jackson couldn't afford to let his guard down that much. No lone wolf could.
God, he would never get used to that term. Lone wolf. It just felt wrong, in every way.
Keeping his eyes fixed on the direction from which the voice had sounded, Jackson picked up his shirt and pulled it over his head. Jacket in hand, he moved slowly and steadily out from the concealed spot, making to head back towards the truck. Maybe he shouldn't have left the gun in the glovebox.