This first started as a glimmer about Morrigan, then while the story worked itself out, Tam, the mabari from my Two Sides universe, found his way into the story.
"But especially he loved to run in the dim twilight of the summer midnights, listening to the subdued and sleepy murmurs of the forest, reading signs and sounds as a man may read a book, and seeking for the mysterious something that called - called, waking or sleeping, at all times, for him to come." Jack London, 'The Call of the Wild.'
He loved his current master, as he had loved his former, with most of his heart and whatever genius some long-ago mages had given his kind. But deep in his blood and in the center of his bones, lived a piece of his soul that remembered the shape of the wolf, and the sound of the long wailing call that rode up the starlit sky and set the moon singing.
Tam stood at the edge of the flickering shadows cast by firelight, one ear cocked back. Behind him, the red-furred bard sang softly of men riding horses into battle, and his kind coursing before them. He glanced back and saw his master, sitting with his male-mate, their fingers entwined, and russet hair spilling into gold. The other man, who always smelled of metal polish and uncertainty, sat with his back against a tree, gazing into the fire, his hands still for once. The gray-haired one, about whom the scent of feverfew and mint, roses and fever balm always lingered, already lay sleeping in her tent. The tall, dark one who smelled of battle and unnumbered kills, kept watch on the far side, where the edge of fire-light twined with moon-cast shadows. Sometimes, Tam joined him, adding a sharper pair of ears and a keener nose to sort through the sounds and smells of the wild places. But not tonight. Tonight…tonight, someone else called to him. Someone who understood, better than any here present why the blood sang and the moon called on nights like these.
He slipped into the moon-cast shadows, and nose to ground found her scent easily. She smelled like wild things. Sometimes, like the red deer, heart beating fast and hard as she darted between the trees. At other times, she smelled of the gray softness of wings that sailed the air in silent flight. Strongest of all, she smelled like the piece of him that remembered running down the moon over snow-shrouded hills.
He stepped into the small round circle of light cast by her fire, within sight of the other camp.
"What are you dong here?" she said, frowning. "I've no treats for you to beg." He glanced at the dark forest beyond her and whuffed softly.
"Oh, and do you fancy yourself a wolf?" she said, smiling.
He sat down and cocked his head, his dark eyes intent on hers. He knew what he was in her mind, man-bred and trained, nothing more than an imitation of something fierce and beautiful.
He rose and took a step forward, whuffed again, then glided to the edge of her camp, where the tree shadows waited. Looking back, the flames danced in the dark depths of his eyes. He reached inside and found the ancient song, a long, low rumbling sound like water tumbling down an icy stream, or the wind sifting between the cold mountains.
Her eyes widened in recognition, then she frowned and folded her arms, uncertainty flickering across her face. He called again, a longer song as he edged towards the border of the forest. A smile, sharp as a wolf's tooth, replaced her frown.
He waited, while a golden-eyed and silver-furred wolf glanced back at the fragments of civilized life behind her. Warmth lay there, and meaty bones, and the comfort of a good belly scratching. But this night was meant for the wild things.
She loped past him into the woods, brushing her muzzle across his face as she passed him. Then together, under the moon-glazed leaves, they ran down the moon into morning.
