Ouroboros Spine he has hands like the apocalypse

@West

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It was the unbroken ring of short and squat mountains that initially drew the empyrean into the Spine but it is not what bids him to stay. He sticks to the coniferous forest — or rather what is left of it — the moss and loosen bracken of the once impressive now withering forest soft and spongy under foot. The Spine is almost nothing more than a massive mud pit of which a lake has swallowed near all of the forest. A small, pertinacious bit remains but Mato cannot help but wonder for how long? How long can it keeps it’s defiance against nature? Mud covers up to mid-leg and stains the ends of his belly fur from where he wades through it to reach his destination. The forest offers some protection from sinking and sucking mud but not much. The druid’s attention turns from the remnant of the coniferous forest to the lake now, verdant gaze touching upon the insistent, still waters. He turns to it not to bathe — for he would only trek back through the mud pit to get back out of Ouroboros Spine but instead to sate his thirst. He head bows towards the calm surface of the lake and begins to lap at the water.

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She hadn’t intended to find her way into the spine but, here she is, covered in mud and rather disgruntled. She’d gotten a little confused when she’d attempted to leave the forest to find the glen for a few herbs she can’t find in Neverwinter. When the ground began to become soft and, eventually, wet, she realizes she’s in the wrong place and it is too late to get out without making a mess. West sighs and scrambles her way up the length of a fallen tree that gives her a view a little more elevated. In the distance she can see the lake and, a smudge against the backdrop, a wolf in the distance that dared to brave the muddy grounds.

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The druid cannot claim to be overly fond of mud and while he does not consider himself vain he does like to keep his visage clean and kept. Still, though mud sticks and dries to the tendrils of his belly fur it is less of the bath he will have to take later than the concern of finding a spot of mud that will act like quicksand and will pull him into it’s suffocating depths. He has never came across one but he knows they exist, possibly something he has heard in idle passing he thinks for he does not remember ever talking about it with someone; for he knows he would have more (or at least) some answers to the phenomenon. He laps at the cool, refreshing water for a few more moments as his ears swivel to the side of his head, picking up the sound of approach. His head rises and he glimpses over a shoulder and after some time (for she is somewhat camouflaged) he can make out a canine shape in the distance. He is mildly astonished to see another out here and though there is yet plenty of distance between them a chuff of greet spills from betwixt the empyrean’s lips.

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West keeps herself easily balanced on the fallen tree. The girth is enough to support her and she doesn’t have to work too hard, able to travel the length until another crosses over it. Her options are limited and she looks at it, debating how she will continue. She can travel through the mud to get to the lake and see what’s out there, to meet the other wolf, but she keeps in place instead. She hears the gentle chuff on the wind but looking in the distance, even as she works to climb the second tree trunk and gets just a little bit closer. He seems young despite his salt and pepper frame and she wonders how far he traveled to get here. West simply chuffs back, a little louder to carry the distance, and waits to see what he’ll make of it.

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The stranger’s pelage is of cenma; of earth, he notes as she draws a little bit closer to him and his verdant gaze sweeps over her. The druid observes to simply observe, with holding judgements. The empyrean has learned that appearances mean little and can be as deceptive as the sinking mud. It looks solid enough but given enough pressure and weight it becomes a bottomless pit that deigns to swallow beasts whole. He moves towards her as she gives a chuff in return. He cannot be certain she wishes to converse with him but as it stands backtracking towards her is his only way out of the mud pit that has become the Spine. He wishes he could see it before it is changed, to see what it’s ruins offer in echoes of sorrow. That it was once glorious; and like all beautiful things it has fallen to ruin. “Hello,” The druid offers her as he comes closer still, hesitating when there is a respectful distance between them. He pauses long enough to see if she is interested in conversation not wishing to be seen as uncivilized.

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Watching the boy at her distance is comfortable enough but he begins to track back through the mud. Uncertain of his intentions (the mud has already swallowed his prior footprints) until he gets close enough, West remains stiffened on the fallen tree. Her feet are still coated in a thin layer of mud, having been off the ground for some time, but she rubs them against the rough of the trunk in time for him to slow upon his approach. She looks down from where she stands, tail curled around her rump, and offers a nod of his head. “Where are you from?”