Dragoncrest Cliffs island warfish

Awkward first post woo!

Sitting still was a difficult thing. The small-ish wolf wasn't often too into doing it, unless it was one of those few scenarios where it actually had its merits (i.e. naptime, bedtime, I-stubbed-my-toe-so-the-world-is-ending time, or any other scenario in which snuggles were required accompaniment). Artaax was otherwise far more inclined to be up and moving and doing, as he was currently partking in.

The boy trekked happily across the lands that belonged to his family, his gently wagging tail steering him along like a rudder as he wove between trees. He paused here and there to further inspect piles of completely mundane forest rubbish with a level of excited interest only known by those newest to the world, and a few lucky (or mentally addled) adults who managed to retain their sense of wonder in spite of how hard the world tried to jade them. It was a thrilling event for the young Goufa, and each new stick and fallen leaf made his little brows furrow with intrigue.

In all of his eagerness to explore, it didn't occur to Artaax just how far away from his siblings he had gone, nor did he realize he had found himself on a trail that took him straight to a less familiar packmate. He lifted his head to look around at his surroundings only upon realizing at the penultimate second that the crisp scent of water that permeated the air had shifted subtly away from the tangy sting of salt to a scent that was partially diluted by the smooth, fresh brush of lakewater. Clear eyes moved from water to wolf and the surprise of finding himself in these new surroundings melted to happy contentment as he strode confidently up to his packmate. Artaax remained gifted with the trusting innocence of youth that told him all individuals of his species were friends. So, he bounded right up to Arlo, tail wagging and eyes shining with amiable regard as he woofed a hello.