The Bracken Woods seeing him hiding in plain sight
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#1
All Welcome 
the forest that kandros moves through, not quite exploring and not quite hurrying through, is a tangle of conifers and deciduous trees. the forests' namesake ( though kandros is ignorant of what the locals call this particular territory ) litters the floor of the forest, crunching and at times rustling under foot. avoiding the thorny brambles is only a hair easier — the spectre manages to avoid stepping on them but a few defiant thorns slice against his hocks leaving small and shallow cuts in their wake. he notices it in the way that any creature finely attuned to their own body does but he does not give it much of his attention. he is foreign lands and though he errs towards the west of the territory, steering as clear as he can from the pack scent that wafts from the eastern side of the territory; clearly he has bigger things to worry about.

navigational skills kick in, using the position of the moon and stars seen just barely through the thick canopy of the unwelcoming forest to ensure he's heading in a direction as opposed to helpless circles. it's a far cry from ideal, admittedly. he lets out a small snort — a brief expel of air through black, leathery nostrils. even through the thick shadows that've swallowed the forest in the waning hours of day, kandros thinks he draws close to the tree-line as the forest around him begins to thin and fan out.
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Sleep has become a more constant companion than any he's ever had. There's a heaviness over him, suffocating and all-consuming in a way he recognizes, but he's no less helpless now than he'd been all the times before. He's just too tired to deal with it. In a way, it's the suddenness that hurts the most, the lack of explanation. It's just another reminder that he'll never be anything but a failure.
He hates himself a little more than usual today. When night comes, he finds himself restless, and at some point gently detaches himself from Delight. He drags himself from his den, bleary-eyed and shivering and suddenly wanting nothing more than to go back and curl up with his partner. But he shouldn't. So he wanders towards the Bracken Woods and he thinks maybe I'll... plants. Don't be useless, Alarian.
He scents the stranger and follows the trail on impulse. It takes him farther than he might normally go, and he considers turning back just before he catches sight of the other wolf. It's too dark to make out much. He's starting to have second thoughts; actually, maybe he's too tired for strangers right now. But he's here, so he draws a little closer and chuffs, thinking he's probably an idiot for half-hoping the other will ignore him.
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kandros' interests lie in departing the rather unwelcoming forest he finds himself currently haunting. there's a slight build-up of anticipation, that question of what awaits him on the other side of that tree-line? coupled with the every present and lingering consideration that there was something in these wilds that held arturo's interest ( kandros is understandably very behind on all that happened to his half-brother ). he does not realize that arturo departed some time ago. in all honesty, even if he had kandros personally didn't much care. he'd never had any sort of interactions with arturo and only knew his father's favored son by word of the mouth strictly. how someone could favor a child and take credit for said child's accomplishments when they'd met for only a few moments was beyond kandros who nurtured little more than resentment for his sibling ...no thanks to cynbel. and on the rare days where kandros didn't loathe arturo's entire existence he thought that arturo could have cynbel as a father. kandros didn't want him.

the sound of approaching footfalls draws kandros out of his contemplations of memory lane and the coywolf's own steps slow to an eventual stop. he's no interest in attempting to outrunning ... and though he doesn't fancy a fight — especially not when he's a lone wolf and is unfamiliar with the flora native to these lands — he will stand and hold his ground if the need arises. but alas, he'd much rather charm and talk his way out of trouble. the chuff breaks the encompassing silence that has settled over them, there is a slight bristle of the coywolf's hackles, more of a ruffle than anything hostile as they smooth back down in the following moment as he turns to face the owner of the chuff.

there is too much distance between them for kandros to draw any details in particular; yet his pale gaze slides over the stranger lingering in the shadows of the trees nevertheless. "hello." the spectre offers in greeting. the scent that travels upon the calm breeze is that of the pack that kandros gives a wide berth to. perhaps this is all a coincidental meeting as opposed to a confrontation; kandros prepares himself for either case nevertheless. some packs were more territorial and hostile than others and, at times, this extended to neighboring territories. outlaw ravine was a prime example of that level of forceful territoriality and violent hostility. thus, kandros opted for playing it safe as he worked to deduce which way this would go.
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The stranger stops, then turns, and all he receives is a simple hello. Easy enough. Hi, He offers, lingering uncertainly for a few beats before drawing a little closer. He can make out more details now; tall, a slim build, perhaps handsome.
Alarian, He tells him without preamble, noting no pack scent on the man, nor anything he recognizes. A vagabond, he assumes. When he speaks again, there's little but mild friendliness to his tone (even if he's not actually sure he wants to be making small talk with a stranger in the dark). Nice night, isn't it? What brings you this way?