Porcupine Ridge i'm here to pick up a fossil.

hoping to figure out her character a little better. would love for a friend. set before the joining thread at MK.

Wind ruffles through the mahogany fur of the assassin, her eyes staring over the cliffs of this ridge. She wasn't sure where she was, but wherever it was it was peaceful. Wolves had lived here— maybe not recently but not too long ago. Dried scat was littered every so often around the area, but there were no recent or strong scents to suggest a current pack lived her. So she ventured forwards.

Her ears angled forward as she moved to sit, her paws graceful and careful enough not to slip over or disturb the ground that held up the edge so carefully. Then she sat. With her ears still rotating— in case of anyone trying to come at her from her behind— Natasha sat and stared over the landscape.

have a Roz, if you like! :D

Tiring of small game, Rosalyn had decided to try her luck in the slopes of the mountains.  Maybe she'd get lucky and some stupid sheep would have fallen off a cliff somewhere.  Or would wander across her path and lie down.  That'd be a decent thing to do.

It was an absurd thing to hope, but she went for it anyway, as per usual.  Wasn't like she had anywhere better to be, as she killed time and foundered before the prospect of joining a pack.  

"Priorities, Roz," she muttered to herself as she trekked upwards.  She'd look out for numero uno first and foremost, but more and more it seemed that would require again fettering herself to another egotistical head honcho.  Maybe one a little better suited than the last, she thought (unfairly, as her downfall had been entirely her own doing).

Speaking of downfalls...

She saw the goat, but failed to register much else as she lunged stupidly after it, hunger for substantial flesh making her desperate.  The change in grade between them took her by surprise, and before she could get there she tripped, slipping sideways into a rolling fall that ended with her letting out a sharp yelp and falling into space.

Fortunately the fall was a short one.  Less fortunately, she hit with a pop, and massive pain suddenly spread out from the shoulder she'd landed awkwardly on.  "Shit," she hissed, staring up at the ledge above with an almost betrayed expression.  She'd so wanted that goat.

Her peaceful watch was interrupted by a hunting woman. She could see her not too far off, staring at goats hungrily. Curious, the red mercenary dropped down a few ledges, careful and graceful on her feet. She slinks in the shadows, remaining hidden, and watches the reddish-brown woman as she moves. Suddenly, she leaps. Maybe at the goat— but it's so ungraceful it's hard to tell. She watches her land on her shoulders, a sickening pop sounding. Natasha takes a deep breath and stares at the woman for a moment before shaking her head.

She moves closer to the lady, eventually making her way to the top of the ledge that the other had so gracefully thrown herself from. She stares at her from up top, ears cupping forward. "I recommend landing on your feet," she says, then begins to descend via a much safer route. She reaches the bottom and stands in the shade of a large boulder, her tail swishing behind her, waiting silently.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it), Rosalyn wasn't completely alone in her troubles.  She eyed the strange wolf's approach warily, highly offended both by the way she so effortlessly made the descent and how she seemed to take pleasure in her predicament.  Understandable as the second was, it wasn't so much fun on the receiving end.

"Would you, then?" She drew the words out wryly, ears tipping back with annoyance as she gritted her teeth against the pain.  Against her better judgement, she knew her tone was tight with it.  "Maybe you can show me.  Get me up and I'll even push."

Natasha gave a small chuckle, tail flicking. "I doubt you're doing any pushing on that shoulder," she says, taking a seat where she stood. "Doesn't seem broken," she says from a bit away. She was by no means a seasoned healer, but broken bones tended to cause a little more pain that gritted teeth. 

"You got a name, Red?" she asks, a tiny hint of an implication hidden beneath her. Give some info, get some help— she seemed at least a little willing. She couldn't truly make fun of anyone for having such a November color-scheme, her own coat sporting everything from pumpkin-oranges to apple-reds... but a nickname never hurt anyone.

Despite not looking broken, her shoulder felt wrong.  The pain evened out, but as she tried to move, it intensified with a sickening lurch.  Still, she pushed herself up, resting on her haunches and trying to ignore the wobbly feeling it gave her.  The injured leg wouldn't respond correctly, and felt unwieldy.

Red.  It might have tickled her to hear the name she used for her own sometimes paramour applied to herself instead, but she was too uncomfortable to be too amused.  The other wolf was an attractive creature, she thought grudgingly as she appraised her, with a pelt a stunning mix of autumn. If it weren't for that smug superiority complex.

"Roz.  You?"  Pleasantries weren't exactly what she wanted to be doing right now, but walking away wasn't exactly an option either.

"Nat," she answers swiftly. The other sits up, but seems pained. She didn't know much— if anything— about wounds, but maybe she could fix it if it were just popped out of joint... that wouldn't be too hard, she didn't think. 

"Want some help?" she offers, raising an eyebrow. She wondered if the woman was too prideful to accept help, even though the help was unprofessional and most likely useless. She was feeling generous today.

Nat.  Short, sweet, and to the point.  And the statement that came less, if she was to trust this wolf, could prove to be sweeter still.  

What options did she have?

"That'd be lovely," she responded, though her demeanor was slightly uncertain.  What help could she give, and would it allow her to walk from here? Or would she be stuck with a leg non-functioning until she finally worked up the courage to drag herself elsewhere?

"Sure," Natasha says, coming over, she watches the red-head with a cautious gaze before dipping her head and sniffing at the shoulder. What good did that do? No good. No good at all, but did Roz know that? Nope. Not at all— she assumes, anyway.

"Yep," she says with mock certainty, "Looks just, popped out of joint, I'd say." She stares at the shoulder once more before nosing it a bit more. "I need you to turn this way," she says, pointing with her muzzle. It did seem a little off center, so maybe she could fix it by forcing it back. She was gonna jump on it.

Popped out.  Oh boy.  Logic said that if it was out, it needed to go back in, and this sounded like an entirely unpleasant ordeal in the works. 

She was a whimp when it came to unnecessary pain, but this was unavoidable.  So she clenched her jaw and shifted the direction 'Nat' told her to, ears tipped back with trepidation at what would be happening next.  "Whatever you're going to do, do it quick," she said reluctantly, hoping once it was over at least the pain would stop getting worse.

And she did.  With a jolt of indescribable pain the stranger shifted her joint back into place, both the sound and the sensation sending Roz reeling.  Shit.  It took a while before she was collected enough to move on, but she probably wasn't too pleasant of company for the little bit before they parted ways.