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Wolffe hears the sound of something scuffling around outside the camp, and he’s on his feet and moving before his conscious mind catches up to him. There shouldn’t be any Seps nearby, but there are large predators, at least according to the info they’d been given. A shadow moves through the brush, the shape massive and dark against the fallen snow. Canid. A big one too, or it would be if it was full grown and well fed. As it is, the creature looks like black fur over a skeleton, and Wolffe sighs. “Scared me, pup,” he says, and it flinches away.
He should just go back to bed. He should, really. Wolffe gets halfway across camp before he stops and sighs again, changing course to get some of the scraps from what Comet had made for dinner, leftover viscera and bones. He shouldn’t feed the thing, it’s not a pet . Still, he can’t just leave it out here to starve, can he? It’s cruel, and cruelty isn’t in Wolffe’s nature. He’ll just toss some of the scraps away from camp, and go back to bed.
Somehow, he finds himself crouched next to a set of crates, tossing scraps in the pup’s general direction. When it thinks he isn’t looking, it darts out of the underbrush to steal the bits and drags them back to eat. It watches him warily, but Wolffe doesn’t move a muscle. He’s grateful, not for the first time, for his training in staying as still as possible for long periods of time. Slowly - painfully slowly - the pup edges closer and closer until it can take the scraps directly from his hand. He still doesn’t reach out, just keeps feeding it, letting it snuff at his hands in between bites. When he finally needs to stand up, it skitters away into the shadows once more, and he sighs. It’ll probably be gone in the morning. Wolffe decidedly doesn’t think about the pang in his chest at the thought.
Except it isn’t. It doesn’t come into camp, but the scraps they leave disappear when they aren’t looking, and there’s a patch of darker shadow at the edge of the circled tanks. Wolffe makes sure to leave a bowl of water too, and no one says anything when he slips out of his bedroll that night when he can’t sleep, to sit near the pup and talk quietly to it. Plo joins him sometimes, and they talk about anything from troop movements to the Force to the galaxy itself. It’s… nice, really. He could get used to it.
When he wakes up on the last day of camp, Wolffe is warmer than he can remember being when he fell asleep, and he doesn’t think it’s entirely from the sunrise that’s starting to turn the forest golden. “Vod?” he asks, before he opens his eyes, “Y’gotta get up, c’mon.” He’s used to sleeping in a pile with the rest of the Pack - it started after the shitshow with the Malevolence, and it just became habit.
“Not us, Wolffe,” Sinker says, right next to his head, sounding way too amused for how early it is, “You made a friend last night?” That gets him to open his eyes, and he looks down, only to be met with the wide, dark eyes of the wolf pup from the night before. “She won’t let us close to you.”
Wolffe grunts as he sits up, the pup skittering to its feet. “Udesii, pup. ‘s alright, I’m just getting up.” He holds out a hand, and it cautiously makes its way back to sniff his fingers, licking at them. “That’s my Pack,” he says, tilting his head at the others, all of them watching with varying levels of amusement, “Sinker, Boost, and Comet, to start with. Plo’s our leader, dunno where he is, meditating, probably.” He chuckles as the pup tilts its head back and forth as he talks.
“You’re really talking to it?”
“I’m making introductions. It’s called manners, di’kut, maybe you ought to learn some.” Wolffe shakes his head as Boost laughs, wandering off. He pushes himself up slowly, making sure he doesn’t spook the pup as he does. “Well, c’mon then, let’s get some caff and breakfast.” It’ll be leftovers or rations, eaten quickly before they start the march again, but he’s just glad they have time to get some sleep and food. The pup trots alongside him - out of arm’s reach, but close enough that the intent to stay nearby is clear. Wolffe pours himself a cup of caff and a bowl of stew, settling in to eat. The pup slowly makes its way closer, finally resting its chin on his knee with a sigh. Wolffe reaches out, resting a hand on its head before he scratches behind its ears. “Good pup.” He doesn’t finish the stew, just puts the half-full bowl on the ground for the wolf to finish. They’re going to have to leave it behind, but he doesn’t want to.
When they march again, he tries to ignore the way his chest aches as the pup drops out of sight - even as fast as it chases after them, the tanks are too fast for it. Wolffe takes a breath and turns away, trying to ignore the pang of regret.
He doesn’t have long to regret it though - the Separatist ambush springs on them only a few miles away, and all his thoughts go toward surviving the clash. It’s a brutal fight, fast and ugly; they’re outnumbered, but holding their own, and he doesn’t have time to be grateful for that as he sees a droid take aim at Plo’s unprotected back. There’s no chance he can duck in time, so Wolffe does the only think he can think of: he shoves himself in front of Plo. The bolt is too close-range for his armor to protect him, and he can’t bite back a cry of pain at the fire searing through his back as he goes down. His last conscious memory is Plo’s shout and a blur of dark fur just before everything goes black.
When he wakes up, it’s to the low hum of a ship’s engines and the steady beep of monitors. Wolffe manages a confused grunt before he opens his eyes to the hazy outline of Sinker, his silver hair gone shaggy and falling in his eyes as he sits up, carefully shifting Boost and Comet onto each other instead of having both of them sleeping on top of him.
“Wolffe, kriff , took you long enough. We were getting worried.” Sinker leans in, pressing the call button. “Hang on, it might take a little longer, we have to get live medics in here.”
Wolffe manages another grunt, raising a brow. His throat is dry enough that talking is off the table, so he hopes Sinker starts explaining soon.
“Your new pup followed us onto the transport, she barely let us or the medics work on you. Took an arm off one of the med-droids too, won’t let any of them get in the room. Think she doesn't like 'em in general, you should've seen her taking them down after you went down, tore through 'em like they were made out of flimsi, went straight for the neck.” As Sinker talks, the wolf in question crawls out from under the bed and rests her chin on the blanket next to Wolffe’s hand, whining softly. It takes a little effort, but he manages to lift his hand enough for her to shove her head underneath, and he slowly rubs her ears. She stiffens as the door opens, but sits back down, ears pricked and alert as she watches the medics and Plo approach.
He hadn’t expected the bolt to do as much damage as it did, and really , it was better that it hit him instead of Plo. Not that he’d say that out loud, especially when he can read guilt practically dripping off his general. The pup can sense it too, and she makes herself small as she crawls over to his chair to rest her chin on his knee, looking up at him with wide dark eyes. Plo falls for it in a heartbeat, pel’karta that he is, and he runs his claws gently through her thick ruff. “It seems we have a new addition to our company,” Plo finally says, and Wolffe can hear the amusement in his voice, “She’s already shown her bravery in defending you. What do you say?” He looks between Wolffe and the other members of the Pack.
“I think she needs a name,” Boost says, and Sinker and Comet nod their agreement.
“You should name her, Wolffe, you brought her in,” Comet adds, “And she’s already decided she’s your shadow.
As she pads back to the bed, Wolffe reaches out, and the pup butts her head under his hand again. “Shadow, huh… Werda,” he says softly, and smiles, “What do you think?” Werda yips, her tongue lolling out of her mouth, and he huffs a laugh, ruffling her fur. He could get used to having a shadow.