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Grey ate as though he were not sure when he'd get his next meal. It was the way of a wolf on his own too long, and I didn't much blame him. I knew that feeling. It only made glad I offered to be a pack. I could pretend I needed him to help me hunt, when in reality I needed him to erase the feeling of being so alone.

Grey had only been with me a few days, but we were already falling into a routine. He'd often nip at the sheep's heels for sport. He respected that they were off limits, even if he didn't agree or understand. He ran with ease, even though it'd only been a few days since he'd been shot. Like I said, fast healers. It had been a normal bullet after all.

Grey loped back from his daily terrorizing of the flock, his tongue lolling out as if laughing. But our attention was drawn away by the deer meat we were about to have for lunch. We ate, and for long moments after, I licked the taste from my muzzle, watching Grey. I wanted to see how well he'd healed, but I couldn't see a thing beneath all that fur. I waited until he was lying contentedly in the sun, and nosed his side where his wound had been.

It was gentle prodding, not enough to hurt, but enough to draw attention to the area. I moved from there to his paw, and watched as Grey rolled over to give better access. Should I change?

I hesitated, knowing exactly what I would see: bare tanned skin, silver hair, serious eyes and a strangely pouting mouth. But I needed to see his wounds. Yes.

He changed, and so did I, so I could have use of hands with thumbs. As always in human form he was naked and irritable. He seemed to have little use for two legs, and having been so far removed from using it, he was practically uncomfortable in the skin. I looked over his barely-there injuries best I could. They were nearly gone, like I thought, and would be completely healed before the full moon, no doubt. Hat tipped low over my eyes, I threaded his fingers together, not in an effort to be comfortable, but rather one to keep my hands to myself. His hair was inviting, a strange waterfall of silver.

After a long moment, I couldn't just watch. I unlaced his fingers, reaching out with one hand to gently push back that silver hair. I'd never seen hair that color before, nor since, and half expected it to feel unreal. But it just felt soft in my hands, silkier than it should have been. I should have pulled away, but the message from brain to hand got lost somewhere.

Grey just lay there, head resting comfortably on his arm, making a contented sound in his throat. I think he even dozed off a bit resting that way. I was content to stay there in silence, but he shifted suddenly and posed a question. Dark One. Why do you have human fur?

I was distracted by his hair on my fingertips, and it took a moment for that question to make sense. Human fur? "Clothes," I said, sounding the word out. Humans wear them. It has become...habit.

But why do you...wear them? His brow was furrowed in confusion at that unfamiliar and a little disdain. They are prey. Would you put on sheep fur? There was a gleam of challenge in his eyes.

I did not accept that challenge. They are not always prey. I have always worn them in this form I tried to explain the concept of modesty among humans, but there was no way to convey it. In winter it is too cold to go without. And human skin is soft, too soft. It is protection. I shrugged. Humans are not comfortable in their bare skins.

I could tell that last bit struck him as odd. What manner of silly creature, to be uncomfortable in the very skin they were born in.

But you are not human. The look he gave me was pointed, direct.

I live in their world now. Our kind walks between the world of wolf and man. Some are more one than the other.

Grey seemed to ponder that and then just lay his head back down. Strange was all he said, and then we fell into silence.