The skinwalker was getting restless. He’d expected that. Too, too long he’d remained in one place. It wasn’t a dislike of Sam, he doubted he could dislike Sam. Even the cabin that had seemed barely habitable for a human had become… homey.
He just couldn’t keep himself in one place. Gabriel hadn’t been able too since he’d abandoned his pack, and that just didn’t make for any sort of relationship because what would always happen was this.
He’d had his damnnightmare again- the one where he was with his family and then he’d been alone, covered in his own blood and wracked with pain- he woke up shaking with a whimper dying in his throat, glad Sam wasn’t awake. He’d had a rough time sleeping until now, and it was around five in the morning.
His chest ached dully as he plodded past where the young hunter, his steps silent as he reached the door. He’d done this before, gone on wolf-runs and left Sam alone just to get some energy out— he tries to convince himself that this time he’s not going to give into that urge to bolt as far away as possible. He drops the folded clothes— eugh those need to be washed.. or he needs to stop wearing them— in a neat pile near the door.
A moment later there’s a white wolf rushing down the drive. he only stops to look back at the cabin, blinking once, twice— he vanishes, not sure of direction, but he’s getting there fast.