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Phil doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready.
Never be ready to be a good lynx, one who is brave enough to kill. Brave enough to want to leave his mum. Brave enough to fight the big bad wolves, who will stop at nothing to get to them.
His mum tells him that’s fine, kissing him lovingly and telling him that tomorrow is a new day, and there is plenty of time to learn. After all, not everyone learns at the same rate.
He sighs, watching Martyn, only mere minutes older than him but leaps and bounds ahead in every other aspect, trap a mouse between his paws.
Mum congratulates him, and Phil feels something twist ugly in his gut. He doesn’t want to kill. He doesn’t want to take pride in killing. But he must, or he’ll starve. He wishes the looming notion of being alone one day wasn’t hanging over him like a threat.
He wants to stay with his mum. He wants her to tell him that he doesn’t have to learn all the things Martyn is learning because she’ll take care of him. He wants to know that there won’t be a parting of ways because without them Phil doesn’t know if he’ll ever meet any other lynx, let alone find a mate all on his own like his mum has been telling them about more and more.
He wants reassurance, but as Martyn’s blue eyes meet his own, playful yet testing of Phil’s actions, he knows he won’t be getting any.
*
Alone is something Phil isn’t sure he’s going to be able to grow accustomed to.
The sun is high in the sky, not providing much warmth through the biting chill of the Arctic’s winter, and Phil thinks it might be too bright for his tastes. He’d much rather sit in the little den he staked his claim on a month back.
But he’s hungry. Too hungry, and too alone.
He hasn’t seen his brother in what feels like a very long time. Or anyone, for that matter.
And he misses his mum most of all. He misses the safety and the company and the cuddles. And the food. The food he seemed to get whenever he needed it.
His right ear pricks. Phil narrows his eyes, tentatively placing a paw in the snow and turning his head.
He hears it again before he sees it and—Oh. There it is, leaping away out of the corner of his eye. A white hare.
Phil’s stomach clenches. Finally.
His mouth waters at the thought of sinking his teeth into that white fur, feeling the soft, pink flesh give in his mouth.
He doesn’t like killing, but he knows he has to. He thinks of his mum and her patience with him. The loneliness twists in his chest, but he pushes it away. He can’t fix that, not now, but he can fix the hunger clawing at his stomach.
Phil bows his head, eyes trained on the hare, letting focus and determination take over.
*
His brother has a mate.
They crossed paths hunting. Phil was pleased, finally having some company. And group work always brings in more food, which he can’t seem to ever get enough of.
His mate, Cornelia, is nice. So nice, and not afraid to tell Martyn off when he plays too rough. He’s grateful for that, and even more grateful for the opportunity to bite Martyn—hard—when she distracts him.
Two days pass before they tell Phil they need to move on. They have a new, bigger den to find, and besides—as Martyn offhandedly mentions to Phil before they set out—Phil needs to find his own mate.
Discomfort swirls around his gut. He wants a mate, needs one really, but female lynx have never taken to him very well in that way. And he doesn’t have much interest in them anyway.
He says he’ll look, and wishes them safe travels. Cornelia gives him a fond nuzzle against his shoulder, hissing at Martyn when he cuffs Phil with his paw in the same spot.
And then they’re off.
And Phil is alone again.
*
The days are starting to warm up, and Phil can’t remember the last time he saw any of his kind.
He isn’t hungry, at least. Food has been easier to find and he’s thankful.
A mouse scurries across his line of vision in the distance.
He stalks forward slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the little pale mouse.
Phil inches closer and closer to the mouse, as quiet as he can possibly be, raising his paw to strike.
The moment comes in a flash.
He's halfway through a pounce, eager and ready to grasp his prey when a large, when a large, grey paw comes down on the mouse before him, pinning the rodent in its grasp.
Cautiously, he looks up. He locks his gaze with a pair of brown eyes, mere centimetres away from his own.
Fear runs sharp and cold through his veins as he realises the animal in front of him is not his kin, but a wolf.
A wolf.
Phil runs.
*
The wolf won’t stop following him.
It’s been three days of running and hiding and panic. Phil wishes he would just kill him already, put him out of his anxious misery since he can’t seem to get him off his tail. But even with that and his mum’s teachings on his mind, his curiosity is piqued.
The wolf seems to be unusually alone.
Phil wants to know why. Even if there’s a part of him worried about ambush, knowing that wolves, most of all, are not to be trusted.
The wind changes and he stops moving, sniffing. No wolf.
It’s quiet too. Perhaps too quiet but Phil hardly minds. With a quick glance around him, he runs.
Exhaustion pulls at him, but he keeps going, pushing himself further and further in search of somewhere to rest. Somewhere far enough, hidden enough that the wolf can’t find him.
He feels like he’s been running forever and ever when he finally, finally stumbles across a den under a small group of thin trees. He burrows his way in, as far as he can possibly go, thankful that the den seems to be deserted.
It takes what feels like hours for him to calm down, to let the fear of being found simmer down and giving in to his exhaustion, but when sleep eventually comes, he basks in the feeling.
*
The den is holds a dim brightness when he wakes.
It must be night time, Phil guesses by the grey and blue hue around him. He stretches, relishing in the sound of his stiff joints popping. He sniffs around, trying to catch scent of any current occupants. He was right in thinking it was deserted earlier; he can barely get a scent of anything living here, never mind potential occupants.
It’s freeing, he thinks, to finally have something to himself, even if he’ll get stuck in his own loneliness again.
Phil moves toward the opening of the den, trying not to think about it. For as much as the wolf confused and terrified him, at least he wasn’t alone.
He sighs, getting to the mouth of the den and seeing...the wolf. Standing at the front. Staring at him, head cocked as if he were asking a question.
It’s odd, Phil thinks, the way his brain is focusing on the liquid silver colour the moonlight seems to be changing the lighter grey bits of the wolf’s fur into. Or the way Phil seems to be unable to tear his eyes away from the wolf’s rich brown ones when they lock eyes.
It’s utterly terrifying, he realises. He’s scared, scared that this is it, that after everything this is how he’ll die, but even more scared at the white hot burning in his stomach, making him feel ill because amongst his contemplations of his potential death at any moment, his brain is stuck on the word pretty. Because the wolf is pretty. Pretty in a way Phil never really felt toward female lynx. Pretty in a way that is dangerous, because he might die but he wants to see how far he can take his feelings.
But no. No, that’s wrong. That’s not how he should be feeling. Ever. And he’s about to die anyway, so he’ll never know regardless.
He watches the wolf raise a paw, and Phil flinches, waiting for the blow to come.
But it never does.
Phil looks up and the wolf nods his head toward the ground.
Half a hare rests at his front paws.
Go on, the wolf seems to say with the nods of his head.
And so Phil does. He keeps his eyes on the wolf as he gingerly picks up the hare between his teeth and backs away into the den.
The wolf lays down outside the opening, resting his head on his paws, watching Phil as he continues to watch him.
Eventually, the wolf’s eyelids start to droop, and Phil watches as sleep takes over.
*
The wolf is called Dan, he learns.
He doesn’t have a pack. Or, rather, he left his pack quite a while ago.
And he doesn’t want to eat Phil.
He’s not sure he believes him. He wants to, though. Deep down there’s a shameful part of him that still thinks about the glow the moonlight cast against Dan’s fur when he found him again, and the tingle in his chest when he noticed the gold bits in his brown irises. Phil buries that inside of him, locking it away. He can’t let himself feel that, even if he keeps sharing food with him. Even if he keeps giving Phil looks of kindness, and never any of mal intent.
But Phil’s scared. Scared to let himself feel what he wants to feel, scared to put trust onto something he knows he shouldn’t.
And being scared is what has kept him alive. Being scared is what has always worked in the past. So Phil lets himself stay scared.
*
Dan gives him a wide berth, but follows him everywhere.
And he never stops talking to him. It’s a near constant stream of half-thoughts and stories Phil can’t help but be intrigued by.
Dan’s different, he learns. Different in a way that turned him into the blunt of his pack’s jokes and pushed him into the fringes. He doesn’t like to kill, either. It upsets him, but he knows that he has to do it. He tells Phil he wishes that was the only way he was different, but he can’t even fully be that since he does it anyway, since the alternative is death.
His difference is one that Phil knows he can relate to, deep down in those feelings he’s shoved away that he feels coming up as Dan rambles on to him.
He wants to tell him to stop, but he keeps going on, on and on about his own brother, and how he misses his mum too but he doesn’t think she’ll care enough to want to see him again.
There’s a part of him that wants to say something, to tell him he understands more than he could really know. He thinks he’s close to plucking up the courage to do it when Dan stops suddenly, eyes narrowed.
Ah. Food.
He stops, watching him hunt. He’s good at it, Phil decides, regarding his form as he strikes the killing blow. Good enough that he thinks it would have been very easy for him to have killed him by now, even in his most focused state.
In the end, once they’d finished and set back for the den, Phil only musters enough bravery to tell Dan about his own mum, sneaking in tidbits of his own difference in the way she would teach him, and hopes it’s enough.
*
The seasons change twice more before Phil sees Martyn again.
Dan sees him first, pointing him out to Phil. His heart crawls into his throat. It’s been so long, and Martyn is alone.
He tells Dan to leave, to go hide somewhere and he’ll find him later. He’s reluctant to tell him so, and Dan appears hesitant to go, but eventually he does, and Phil takes a deep breath, making his way toward his brother.
Martyn doesn’t have time to talk. He’s hunting, with kittens to feed back at his den.
It’s nice to hear, and Phil says so. Martyn’s thankful, and glad to feel like he’s doing what he needs to be. He asks him if he’s found a mate yet.
Suddenly, he wants nothing more than to leave, to go find Dan and go back to the den. He doesn’t want to deal with the look on Martyn’s face when he tells him no, but he has to, and he does.
It’s shameful, Phil thinks. Shameful in the same way Dan makes him feel when he thinks about him sometimes. Disappointment is written across Martyn’s face, and that shame burns inside Phil.
He feels uncomfortably hot, and he tells Martyn he should let him get back to hunting. Martyn agrees, telling him it was good to see him, and that he should hurry up on getting a mate.
It’s said jokingly, but it doesn’t feel that way. He puts on an amused face anyway, heading back in the direction he came, letting his brother get on with his duties.
It doesn’t take long for him to find Dan. It never does anymore. The months spent together have brought them closer, and Dan playfully swats at him when he gets close enough.
Phil growls at him, and he cowers back. It’s not fair, Phil knows, Dan hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s not his fault he can’t find a mate, and it’s not his fault he feels so terrifyingly strongly about him.
Dan gives him a strange look when he apologizes, as if he wasn’t expecting it. But he decides he’ll deal with that later, turning around and running back toward the den, Dan quick on his tail.
*
The breeze that blows into Phil’s den cuts across his nose and the tips of his ears. He shivers.
It’s one of the coldest nights they’ve had in a while. He thinks about Dan outside, feeling the sharpness in the wind’s bite before it can even hit Phil.
He ponders for a moment, but the decision seems obvious. He doesn’t see him choosing to do anything else.
He gets up, stretching in what may be anxious hesitation before walking to the front of the den.
Dan is laying in the same spot he always is, wide awake as his gaze shifts to meet Phil’s.
This is wrong. This is wrong, and Phil has never been more aware of that. But mostly, he’s decided right now he doesn’t care.
He doesn’t care because it feels right. It feels so right to let Dan in, to be aware of him following closely behind Phil, to watch him take up more space than he anticipated so they can’t help but have their backs touching.
It feels even more right when he scoots closer to Dan, pressing himself against him and taking in the heat that seems to radiate off of him.
And it feels even better when Dan relaxes against him. And again, when he’s still there at dawn, somehow ever closer than when they fell asleep.
*
After, they hardly spend even a second apart.
Hunting takes on a new form of ease, their actions and thoughts working together as if they were connected.
They play around together, learning the details of the other’s boundaries and where to push them more.
Weeks pass by and Phil forgets that there are things he should be doing, lynx he should be looking for, loneliness to cure.
He forgets because one evening Dan, warm and curled around him, gives him a kiss.
It’s soft and tentative and gentle against the side of his face. It gives Phil’s chest a flippy feeling.
And it’s good. It’s so good that he returns it, which makes Dan pause, pale pink tongue hanging from his mouth. He feels panic bubble inside him, but suddenly that tongue is back on his face and Dan’s nuzzling into the space just under Phil’s chin.
Something inside him bursts, and he lets himself feel. He lets himself feel all of it, everything from the beginning he should have let himself feel.
He tucks his chin in against Dan and lets himself feel and forget, because this is wrong, so, so wrong, but really, with their little pack of two and the echo of mate on his mind as Dan buries himself closer into Phil, he can’t help but feel that this is anything but right.