(Untitled)

[fenrirthegrey]

Who: Fenrir, Ron
Where: Snowdonia, Wales
When: January 23, 2001
Status: Complete

Comments

[waningred]

Entranced by the way the starlight danced and bobbed on the surface of the lake, Ron didn't immediately notice the quiet rustling in the grass. His mind was miles and miles away; hovering just over the vicinity of Canterbury to be exact. As if such a thing was truly possible without the help of some really strong, arcane magic and a whole lot of willpower. Neither of which he was in possession of right now, so instead, he'd sat there, huddled up to ward off some of the nighttime chill, completely alone with his thoughts.

Ron's eyes widened, quickly suppressing the urge to shudder when he felt more than heard the raspy growl just beyond his peripheral vision. Warning bells - damnably slow to respond in his opinion - began to clamor. The fetid stench of the creature's breath (something told him this was no stray dog) was hot on Ron's neck.

Swallowing, his fingers tensed white against the heavy fabric of his trousers. Ron silently cursed himself for keeping his only real means of protection holstered snugly against his forearm, and thus, made impossible to extract without drawing attention. If this indeed was not a feral animal in search of scraps from the rucksack sitting propped against the tree, making any sudden moves might be a very, very bad idea.

If only he could get to his bloody wand!