He is Ghost

Meatballs

Neira spent the whole day in the woods. The clouds had come out, the cold air seeping into her fur. The snow wasn't going to have a chance to melt today. The air had chilled and more snow had started to leak from the sky. Shadow checked in on her once and a while. He never said anything, just flickered in and out to make sure she hadn't frozen to the ground. 

She left the woods only when the snow started to fall heavier and the sun had begun to set. She expected her cabin to be dark when she returned, but she could smell one of the wolves had been here. It lingered on the banister of the railing, thick with its fresh imprints. It smelt like ginger and cinnamon. It wasn't Shade. That she was sure of. 

Neira didn't bother to bring her clothes back from the woods, nor did she shift before fumbling the handle with her muzzle. She kicked the door closed with her hindfoot. The light in the small kitchen was on, its beam of light hitting a stack of books set there. 

Neira shifted and moved towards the things illuminated. A stack of books, a pile of clean clothes and a note set atop it all. 

These are some of my favourites, and there are leftovers at the main house if you are hungry. 

It wasn't signed but Neira knew who it was from. Perhaps she would have one friend in this place. Allistar was easily the one she hated the least. Kesler was nice to her as well but she knew his scent by now, this wasn't his handiwork. Neira lifted the first book off the stack, its old cover worn and the page edges were tattered. How many times had the young wolf read it? It was probably worn from its previous owners as well. 

She set the book down and lifted the clothes. It was a pair of baggy jeans, old and too small for anyone else here. Neira slid them on. They were snug at the top at her hips but were baggier as they went down her legs. The shirt was far too big, the writing that used to be on the front long gone. She tied it in a knot so the extra fabric wouldn't look like a damned dress. She turned her attention away from the stuff on the counter and started opening and closing drawers until she found what she was looking for. 

The scissors were cold in her palm and she moved to the mirror above the bathroom sink. Neira pushed her hair out of her face. The kinks in her long hair made it look like a mop at this length. 

Chucks of reddish-brown hair tumbled to the tiles. When she was finished she tugged at the ends. It wasn't too short because that would make her look too boyish for her liking but it wasn't too long that it was unpractical. It swayed just above her shoulders, making her look less like her father. 

Neira's stomach growled. Loudly. 

She stared down at it, the space in her abdomen that ran most of her life. None of the cabinets in the kitchen had any semblance of food. Not even a soda cracker. If she didn't eat soon she was going to devour the hand soap. 

There was a clean hoodie on the hook by the door and short winter boots that laced up. They were both slightly too big but she wasn't about to start complaining. In fact, she was grateful once she stepped outside. The snow was trying to stick to the ground and the air had a freezing chill to it. At least tonight her feet would be dry. 

Shadow appeared before her, matching her stride as she headed towards the main house. She looked at his flickered body, tall and shapeless.

"You were busy today," she commented taking her eyes off of him and back to the path. 

He grunted. 

She scowled in his direction. "And grouchy it seems." 

Why are you harping on me?