Deepwood Weald even the heather's crimson red

The weald had grown quiet over the days. It had taken time for him to notice, the span of the forest far larger than the minute parcel he had taken for himself. But the evidence was hard to miss as he passed through the dense wood, leaving Dirge to wonder if perhaps the cooler weather had driven off those he thought he had rallied to his cause. Granted, it was a causeless cause—he had no end game in sight for how things would be, or how they would come along, just the premise that the willing would follow and the unwilling would see themselves out as they saw fit. It was the same story he offered again and again, to make sure of the forest so long as they needed somewhere to be, and perhaps that was what had become of the few that had lingered.

Yet somehow, it was somewhat disheartening; he hadn't anticipated the return of silence to bother him so. @Nyx was more than likely out on some excursion of her own, provided she wasn't some silent sentinel stalking after him in through foliage, and that left him to his own devices. Free to go wherever he pleased. Instead of the usual confidence and comfort he took in that, he felt a certain malaise toward it; how exhausting to range a bit further than usual when he had stuck so close to the timberland for the last few days.

The days felt shorter somehow, though the difference was a slow decline only measured minutely. He may have still rose when he felt with the morning sun, but his stamina had begun to outlast the daylight. He pressed on past the parcel of forest he had marked off and set out into the deeper reaches of the weald, a habitual trek that had become natural to start his day. It was early still, the faintest chill in the air lingered and mixed with the fog that ran thick through the wood, and he too disappeared into it and the ferns as he made his way.

tags are for visibility; open for anyone.

Just like that, he was homeless once again. What was left of the dwindling Ironsea pack had scattered to the winds when a bear saw fit to breach the borders seemingly intent on staking out a claim there for itself. Redshank hadn't been particularly keen on becoming a meal, so he too fled. His alliance to the band of pirates and their auburn-haired leader was shaky at best, and so the boy did not return afterwards, having a sneaking suspicion that the Bay was no longer a home to any save for a particularly savage-looking bear.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed, if only because winter would be upon them in a few short weeks, and the boy was not the greatest of hunters. Nor was he the sort to have any he could call friends. He had no choice but to simply resign to suffering through another season by the skin of his teeth.

The morning was early, and Redshank tread through a woodland draped in heavy fog which obscured his view. His wandering was aimless, mind on autopilot, his thousand yard stare set straight ahead. Though, his robotic gait suddenly came to a halt when his paw became ensnared by a stray root. It had caught him off guard, and the boy lurched forward, falling ungracefully onto his chest with a loud thump. He did not rise afterwards, instead simply huffing in defeat and staring ahead with a look of irritation.

He heard it first, the sound of someone or something rustling in the growth come to an abrupt crash. Up until then, the increasingly close cacophony of travel had only set his guard and slowed his progression; for as territorial as he wanted to be, there was not quite a rhyme or reason to make the attempt when he held onto so little of the weald as his own. It would have been just as unwise to accost the wrong sort and engage in a tangle that would have left him worse for wear, however inclined he may have felt. But the fickle wax and wane of his emotions were guarded, swiftly overrode by curiosity when he did not quite hear the imaginary fiend stir from whatever pitfall had rendered it fell, and it drew him in.

A few steps onward and through a gentle rise revealed in the haze not at all what he had expected. That was, if he had expected anything at all. Against the glistening greens and dark earth as an equally pitch wolf with a decidedly resigned look of simmering irritation that set his eyes alight. An amused puff of air escaped Dirge, who was all but out of the wolf's line of sight—it did not take much for him to find the cause of what left someone undignifiedly strewn.

"I knew I should have chewed that root the last time it caught me," he murmured, almost more to himself. "You all right there? Afraid to tell you that you'll only find more of that nonsense around here to trip you up." A drawn in breath turned up sea salt and without saying it, he wondered what would drive the coastal sort inland. All he had met seemed keen on staying there, anyway.

The boy could have very well lay there for the remainder of his life were it not for the stranger, drawn in by the sound of his fall (and consequent lack of movement thereafter). The soft rumble of a musing voice reached him, and Redshank's large ears perked as he looked up in the direction the sound came from, not bothering to move his head quite yet. He was in a state of apathy, uncaring as to whether this stranger was the dastardly or helpful sort. If he saw fit to put an end to his miserable life, so be it.

Fortunately — or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it — the man seemed to lean on the more helpful side. At least for the moment. With effort, the Cairn shifted in an attempt to regard his company who blended in well with the earthy colours of the forest. He was large, with a pair of gleaming golden eyes that stood out from the dark, muted palette surrounding them. "I guess," Redshank responded before mumbling in the next quiet breath, "fuckin' trees." The man spoke as if he lived here. He waited for a moment before further adding, "that a hint tellin' me to get off y'lawn?"

"I suppose if I had wanted that, I would have met you with tooth and claw. Now that I consider it," he went on to rejoin, "it's a tempting idea... but tiring. I just don't have the inclination to pick on the damned today. You seem like you've had enough anyway." He doubted he would be wrong, if the apathy and noteable disconsolate expression were spot on. His tail flicked at his hocks then, but he made no move to further investigate or aid the stranger—that apathy was infectious—beliving to some degree that he was still quite capable of helping himself.

"What brings you inland? The sea salt gives you away from quite a distance."

sorry for the delay and the tiny post. work's slaughtering me and i lack major time. :(