[color=007236]"The Farwood"- Ninth Moon[/color] (Missouri, Month Nine)

Two days- Two days, Will had spent in the shadows just out of sight, out of reach. Watching, waiting, observing these strangers. It had been nearly twelve suns- No, days. Twelve days, since he'd decided to settle down in this forest for the winter. He'd marked his territory- Smears of rotten one blood on the trees, an arrow proudly mounted in the center of the clearing. Any good hunter should have known this spot was taken- Another had bedded here to bear out the cold months.

But then they came. He didn't believe they were violent ones- They didn't argue over stolen things, or treat their woman so brashly, so horribly. But they had arrived in his clearing and settled down while he hunted, and caution held him back from shooing them personally, at least until tonight. Now he was sure of who led this group of men and women- Who to talk to to get his place back. So long as they could be reasoned with.... If not, he was confident they would scatter like all the rest, when arrows fell unseen from the trees.

The 'Jon' one, they looked to him- The majority. Perhaps grudgingly, but he was a strong leader. They listened. Perhaps he would listen too. So, when this 'Jon' awoke, some time before the sky was to be painted by the sun, Will followed him from a distance. He walked as a ghost of the wood, tracks hidden in the barest, shallow snow closest to the welcoming trees- Far enough away to be unheard in his light step and unseen in the dark, following his nose. He'd tried to explain how he did it, once- To others that had not tried to kill him immediately.

It wasn't so easy to put into words as it was to do.

He followed Jon for a ways, until softened voices pierced the muted air of early winter.

[color=598527]"Morning, Jon. Need something?..... Walk and talk."[/color]

Will cocked his head, straining his ears and his nose. It was just the two- Jon, and one of those that walked the area every night, with his 'guns' and heavy footsteps. How did he ever expect to notice attackers when he crashed through brush like a bear?... Perhaps not a bear. He was smarter than most, at least. But, soon enough, Will turned and shifted away, coming to a halt in the center of the path that this other one- Boggs, he'd heard him called- followed, every hour. He held his bow loosely in one hand, an arrow nocked but not drawn, passively pinned to the center of his bow by a finger. He didn't need to hold it at draw- It only took a heartbeat to get it there. Once the men, the Jon and the Boggs, were within earshot, he spoke up.

[color=007236]"'Jon'. 'Boggs'."[/color]

The names were spoken more like titles than birthnames, as if Will weren't quite certain how to address other human beings.

[color=007236]"You're in my clearing."[/color]