The wolf was following the deer's track with his head hung low, trying to ignore the cold flakes of snow falling into his eyes.

He has to hurry before it covers the footprints and the scent with it. But it was so very hard; he hadn't eaten in days. That's why he missed the first lung, though he managed to injure the hinder leg of the deer.

It had been easier, once. He remembered a great room, long tables with people chattering around them happily, once or twice throwing a bone to the dogs as the friendly fire warmed the place in a hundred hearths.

It all seems like a dream from the hard truth of the winter forest now. He had been so very young, never parting from his mother for more than five minutes. She had always welcomed him with the same kindness and never seemed to be bothered by him practically clinging to her.

And there was another boy as well. With hair of gold and eyes the colour of the summer sky and always a kind word for him.

But there were others as well, who turned his kind words foul and hurting. He spent less time playing with him and more tormenting. The big, grey haired man who was also present at times rarely said a word, just sighed and shook his head, while he was trying to act as everything the blonde boy did didn't hurt him, as if it had been all fun for him too. So he wouldn't see his mother sad because of him. He had seen her sad enough times for the other one.

A twig snapped not far away as a small bird took off. He twitched as he spun around in surprise, baring his fangs at the harmless animal though it had been far from him by then. He growled at his own stupidity before turning and continuing on his way.

There were a few times when he let his guard down and it never ended well for him.

But there were good times as well. Once, he met a female of his kind. They spent three wonderful years together. Then, one day, she went to scavenge some food, then never returned. He found out later that she was caught by a trap which possibly immediately killed her. At least she didn't suffer long.

His path came to an abrupt end at a frozen lake, with the tracks going deeper in, before ending in a hole, already freezing over again.

Another day, another lost game. Another failure. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. But he couldn't let himself to stall for too long; there was a storm coming, a bad one. He could feel it in the wind. He had to get back to his shelter before it hit.

Somewhere, in the distance, another wolf howled. He didn't answer the call.

There was a strange smell around his chosen hideout. (It wasn't even that, not really. He had barely enough space to turn. But it served its purpose.) Foreign, but not entirely. His ears perked up as the wind brought the sounds of teeth chattering. A human.

It wouldn't hurt to check out how far he was exactly from his cave. Just to be sure he was safe.

The fire lit by the human was pathetically weak, threatening to go out any moment now, as the wind grew stronger and stronger by each passing moment. He was basically swaddled in thick layers of deer and bear skin, but it didn't seem to help much as he was trembling with cold, even though the worst of the wind avoided him, thanks to a smaller wall of rocks.

Clever choosing of place to stay, as far as possibilities went in this forest. Not as good as his hideout, but the man would not fit into that.

And behind him lay a piece of meat, just within his arm's reach. Another piece was being roasted on the fire. (Ha. As if it'd get edible enough for the human before it was extinguished by the combined forces of nature.)

What should it be? Return to his cave's safety, or eat?

In the end, hunger won. Big as he was, the man didn't seem to be in the best of healths, judging from the coughing, and besides, he was faster. He could tear his throat out sooner than he could grab either the hammer or knife lying near his hands would he notice the wolf trying to get the meat.

"I'm sorry, mother. It'd appear I failed, again."

It was hard to sneak close enough to grab the food without making a noise, but he managed. At least until he didn't knock a piece of rock over, too preoccupied by the target that was only a few steps ahead of him.

The great black wolf was ready to jump, but something stopped him as the man turned, the fur on his back rustling slightly. Was it the familiar scent that grew more noticeable with each passing meter?

Sky blue eyes looked into his own yellowish-green, the human's lips slightly parted, small clouds of breath escaping from his mouth that was surrounded by golden coloured beard.

They held that pose for some time, man and wolf.

It was long before the human spoke again.

"Loki," he said, reaching out, "Loki, is that you?"

He snarled, baring his fangs as a warning, before snapping at the man's outstretched hand, ignoring the feeling of something being stirred inside. The man pulled his hand back slowly, but his eyes didn't left him.

"It's okay," he was speaking slowly, "It's me. It's Thor." He smiled, as if the name should mean something to him. "Your brother?" he asked hopefully.

At his blank glance, the smile wavered.

"Ah, Mother warned that this might happen. What was it, sixteen years? Yes, indeed," he nodded to himself, before looking back at him. "I suppose you're hungry. Here," he picked up the meat lying behind him, offering it with one gloved hand. The wolf stalked closer, sniffed at it, before taking it out carefully from between the thick fingers of the glove. All the while the man continued to speak.

"There, there. I'm not going to hurt you. Although apparently others did," his eyes slid over the long healed scars left by some trappers from when he was still careless, "Mother would be outraged if she'd knew."

The wolf edged backwards, torn between going and staying. The fire though tiny it was, was still more friendly than the cave that awaited him. And apparently the man didn't mean to do any harm to him.

You thought the same about the others.

It didn't matter now, did it? He was apologising for something to his mother; and mothers were good. Warm. Their sons were rarely worse.

He settled down, and started devouring the meat as the man threw some wood at the fire.

"She is very scared for you, you know. Just like father. We all were."

The meat was slightly icy, but better than nothing.

"I guess, if you could talk right now and would not be so preoccupied with the meat, you'd call me a fool for coming here. Especially in this weather," the blonde male glanced upwards, "Let's hope the storm does not come here. That'd be a problem." For a time silence reigned. All that could be heard was him munching on the meat that slowly softened up under his breath and the fire crackly quietly. Then, after taking his own piece away from the fire, the human spoke again, "You remember when we were children? You used to climb every tree in sight," there was a chuckling sound, "I bet you don't much of that nowadays. Anyway, there was the time when you cut Sif's hair because she called you girlish. Remember? She chased you up a tree, but couldn't go after you, so she was yelling at you until her face was all red and you would just laugh. At least until Mother told you to come down. Then, you were the one who was red as an apple. You told her that if Sif called you girlish, then you simply wanted her to be a bit more boyish as she pretends to be one. That was one of the few time I remember mother actually scolding you. But you felt so bad for her in the end that you bought her a wig. She still has it you know," the wolf felt that the man glanced at him, "She wants you back just as much as we do, even if she'd never say it. Because she has nobody to challenge her intellectually, except for her King and Queen, that's her reasoning. As much a lie as the ones you used to spin for us after our adventures."

The fire crackled and an owl hooted not far away. The wind appeared to be growing weaker; it looked like the storm will avoid them. But it was never one-hundred percent sure.

"There was one time in Nornheim. The warriors just wouldn't stop coming and Fandrall and Volstagg were already already injured, so you conjured up some smoke and later told Eir that it was an especially foul-tempered bilgesnipe that did it to them."

He felt his fur bristle as something touched his neck carefully and started stroking it. He didn't even notice when the human moved.

"Or when we ventured to get back Mjöllnir from that giant. You said one lie after the other without even blinking. I think I'll never live wearing a maid's wedding dress down. I have you to thank for that." The hand stopped, now simply resting at his neck.

"And when an actual especially foul-tempered bilgesnipe attacked us and I didn't have Mjöllnir... It's only because of you survived," the man let out a choked noise, "And you had to flee because of me. I'm so sorry, brother."

Something warm rushed through the wolf's body.

"Brother! Brother, come look at this!"

"I told you ten times, Thor! I care not about another stupid sword trick." His head was pulled into the burly man's lap.

"It's my fault. I've been thinking about how could I make amendments ever since. Then, Mother and Heimdall both lost sight of you... Not even the ravens could find you. I'm sorry. For everything."

Something hot and wet fell onto his muzzle.

The man was crying. But why was he crying?

"Do you think you can forgive me? I know I could not."

His tongue flicked out, wiping away the tears that threatened to fall, causing the man to chuckle.

Whoever this man's brother is, he must be much loved.

"Can you even hear me?"

The wolf blinked. Of course he could. He was lying in his lap; he could hear him just fine.

"If you can; please come back to us. Please."

They slept like that, warming each other; the fire, however weak looking still blazing bravely into the darkness, scaring away the fears and monsters, at least for that one night.

The human slept and hoped.

The wolf slept and dreamt of a Queen-mother, a King-father and two boys, different as day and night, yet brothers in everything, but blood.

Loki's behaviour differs from other wolves because he is used to humans around him.

Obviously, as he could turn into one by will. He's a werewolf, ex-prince of Asgard, where werewolves are not exactly welcome. He doesn't remember Thor (well, not really) because he was in wolf form for too long.

This fic was inspired by Florbe91's small comic-strip-thingy.