Bramblepoint Lost... Again.

Peering around for some clue as to where he was, attempting to obscure the very obvious fact of the matter: He was lost. Again. 

With attention divided between mind and feet, he failed to notice the subtle signs of a the forrest ground giving way. His mind didn't quite catch up to reality before he was tumbling down the slope, feet and mind all tumbled together. 

*crunch* 

The sound of the dry wood cracked as his body came to an abrupt halt by the tree stump. He got up quick. It didn't really hurt, not on the body. Being a young wolf, a tumble like that didn't do that much. Being a clumsy wolf, this wasn't his first tumble by a long shot. 

It hurt his line of thought, being tumbled around like that. It hurt his sense of direction. And his pride - whatever little he had left. 

He peered around, eyes darting, taking in quick wiffs of the smells around him, searching desperately for something that could help to disprove what would be terribly obvious to any neutral observer:

He was lost. Again.

Charles decided he needed a little bit of time away from the territory of his pack. Maybe not being around the scents of the object of his... fascination, at the very least, would help him a bit. He had left Firefly Glen to check out the nearby forest. Once he got there, Charles realised it was very brambly, which he wasn't all too excited about. It reminded him of someplace. Had he been here before? Soon, Charles realised that what he was thinking about was the glade near Easthollow, where he'd met the weirdo that had scared him a lot. This place had an equally eerie atmosphere about it, or was he just imagining that because the glade had left such an impression on him?

The yearling coywolf heard some crunching nearby and he flinched. Large ears perked up and he turned them towards the direction of the sound, where he saw someone on the ground. By the looks of it, someone roughly his own age, who was staring around like he sure hoped nobody had seen him take a tumble.

Charles trotted towards him, no longer afraid now that he realised there was no one around except someone who looked more lost than him. Looking for something? Charles asked, his body neutral and a cheeky grin on his face, as if to say that he'd seen the whole tumble and everything and he wasn't afraid to use it against this dude if it came to that.

As lost in his thoughts as he was on his feet, Spot failed to notice the stranger approaching. At the sound of a voice he spun towards the sound on reflex, fast like a drawn bowstring being released, head down and ready. 

All this tension vaporised away like morning dew in the sun when he saw the one before him. Visibly relaxing, he lifts his head and relaxes his shoulders as a smile spread across his face. He could not believe his luck - another wolf! And not just that, a wolf that wanted to talk.

He studied this newcommer as his mood clearly brightened as he subconciously imagined how he'd finally find help, hospitality and home. His eyes fall upon the uneven fur and small scars covering this character before him, it looked like this one's life had not been smooth sailing either. Spot just hoped that he wasn't hurt. It was his soon-to-be friend, after all! 

 "He.. Hello!" Spot said enthusiastically, "I'm Spot". He stopped for a second, knowing that he was going too fast, too soon. He felt like simpleton, tumbling forward with his presentation as head-first as he had done his tumble earlier, the big spot covering his eye making his name as self-evident as it was uninterresting. 

He continued, his head racing to say just the right thing.

"I am looking for something!" 
dammit that didn't sound clever 
"... I think" 
... not making it better 
"Who are you?"
nailed it!

At first the dude seemed to be tense, but then he relaxed visibly when he laid eyes on Charles. Not something the coywolf was really used to, and he wondered now if it was because of his coyote blood. Then again, didn't everyone just run into trouble along the way? It couldn't be just him, right? Draper's words had made Charles consider this more carefully and he didn't realise how he was often met with negativity or scrutiny until Draper had pointed out that wolves hated coyotes. Charles had just always thought that he was treated that way because he was ugly trash.

Charles was just about to ask this dude what his deal was and why he was staring at him when he suddenly burst out in introduction. Spot? Charles repeated, caught off guard by the strange name. What sort of name is that? There was jest in his voice, but not without the undertone of a sneer. Making others feel bad about their dumb-ass things -- looks, name, actions, whatever he could latch on to -- always did wonders to make Charles feel better about his own.

You don't know what you looking for? Charles asked and he squinted his eyes as if he might suspect that Spot was kinda daft. After another short pause he added: I'm Charles.