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There is a certain spot in the forest where Keith loves to play, away from the rumbles and roughhousing of his kin. It is a secluded area ringed with trees, a pool so clear he can see the moon in it, with soft green grass and bushes to burrow under. The last he does not admit to anyone, for everyone always teases him on how small he is, if he's not a wolf at all, perhaps a mutt that mated with a wolf or even a domesticated dog. Kolivan scolds when he can, but even he is tight-lipped on Keith's parentage.
Even the elder wolves aren’t much better. They don’t give him an extra portion of the hunt—and none have even offered to take him to practice. He knows several pups who’ve tracked alongside their parents, learning how to pad lightly on the forest floor, when to pounce at the right moment, which prey needs a good shake or a proper fight.
So he practices, mostly on squirrels, but this time, he simply wants to lay down near the pond and pretend he’s not as alone.
But Keith soon discovers someone else has found this place.
He involuntarily growls, hackles raising, as the rabbit twitches but stands his guard, something Keith can admire. Even as a kit, he’s almost as big as Keith, paw curling over a shard of rock. Rabbits aren’t prey, exactly—he’s heard of jackrabbits out west that can deliver quite a kick—yet it’s clear who resides at the top of the food chain.
This rabbit doesn’t run—and it’s not frozen fear or stupidity. It’s almost assessing, as if he’s calmly weighing his options.
But more unusually, he's been fouling up the pristine pond to make a patch of mud, smearing it all over his fur, as white as the first snow.
“What are you doing?” Keith exclaims.
The rabbit narrows his eyes. “Promise me you won’t charge, and I’ll tell you.”
Keith nods. “I promise,” he says, and sits on his haunches for good measure. His pack may be wolves, but they honor promises. “I’m Keith,” he offers.
"Shiro," the rabbit says.
"What are you doing?" Keith repeats.
"White is easy to see," Shiro says. "My clan thinks I am danger."
Keith feels a rush of indignation. "But it's beautiful!"
Shiro stamps his foot, ears flopping over his right eyes. “You're very kind, but you would not think the same if you were in my warren. They say I’m not worth it.”
Keith growls, then checks himself when Shiro’s ears flicker. “Sorry. They say that to you? And no one defends you?” His voice breaks, just a little.
"No. Both my parents were taken by Sendak’s clan, so… it’s just me.”
Keith immediately feels a kinship. "Me too.”
Shiro nods. “It isn’t easy being alone. So maybe for one day…?”
For the rest of the afternoon, they tumble and chase through the bushes. It’s the most fun Keith has had, free the pressure of proving his strength, his usefulness, to his pack, and he bets Shiro feels the same way, for when they have to say goodbye, it’s reluctant.
“Tomorrow?” Shiro asks.
Keith nods. “Tomorrow.”
As kit and cub, they love running and sniffing and rolling in the grass. They have their own territories, but Shiro admits he wants to travel, as does Keith. He knows the dangers, how lucky they are to be secluded from bloodthirsty wars and battles over resources. Even wolves fear Sendak's clan, killing with no remorse, no matter if it is infirm or a kit.
“Sendak is bloodthirsty,” Shiro agrees. “But one day, I want to meet him and…”
He doesn’t need to say anything else. “I can teach you what I know,” Keith offers. “And then when he sees you, he’ll run.”
Shiro agrees, fire in his eyes, and Keith shows him how to carve his own weapons, how to dodge and press forward, doing his best to outline what is instinct to him: when to bite, where, and how hard, teeth and claws seeking the killing blow.
In return, Shiro teaches him how to weave traps with his clever paws, how to identify plants that will heal and poison and feed. “Fighting is not just about the battle. It’s survival, a war of attrition, a war that’s critical to win.”
One day, Keith knows, his pack or Shiro’s warren will move on, and they might not see each other again. He will never know if Shiro succumbs to frost or wildfire or Sendak, and the thought perturbs him more than he can bear, even curled safely alone at night.
But for now…
“Tomorrow?” Keith always asks, and Shiro always nods.
“Tomorrow,” he promises.