Mr. Peanut Butter sighs. Everything is starting to hurt. His shoulder burns and hardly stays scabbed, filled with infection. His tail and feet hurt. His stomach hurts! Ugh. And he’s always thirsty, the muscles in his face have started to sunk and his waist has started a tuck, though former glory days of fatness remain, yet to be put to use.
Is he ever going to find his people? It’s been so long. He hasn’t seen a single thing familiar. It’s all trees and plants and shit like that. There’s not a single building in the area.
As he steps into the glen, looking over the expanse, he stares up at the bright sky. The wind is cold against his fur and he shivers a little, aimlessly wandering the open plain.
Kingbolt chuckled to himself as a couple of geese flew overhead, for some reason headed Northeast rather than South. He paused for a moment, as he was often prone to doing, and took a moment out of his day simply to observe the humorous spectacle. He could hear them honking to one another, and in his mind he jokingly translated their honks into an argument between the lead goose and the one to its flank, who insisted that they were going the wrong way, Jerry, and that they should have stopped for directions. Needless to say, the lead goose wasn't having any of it, thanks Karen, and they'd be just fine, they've made this journey seven times before.
He didn't speak out or imitate the gees but continued on, until an unfamiliar scent caught his attention. It was canine, but it didn't belong to a coyote or a fox; nor did it belong to a wolf. He trailed it for some time, until he was able to pick up trace scents of blood mingled in with the canine's scent. He hastened his speed, ears flicked forward and nose thrust in the air before him until he managed to track the canine down, and saw a creature that was vaguely wolfish, aside from a few manjor differences.
His ears were floppy, folded at the middle and tuliped to soft points that amost touched his head. His face was softer, kinder than a wolf's, and his eyes were dark and sweet. His body was a funny shape as well, and legs looked as though they wouldn't be capable of carrying him very fast at all. His shorter, less feathery tail was sagging, and the canine's injury was clearly infected. That would explain the sullen look on his features, which caused Kingbolt concern. This wasn't a wolf- but it was a canine, and was wolflike enough for him to worry for its wellbeing.
"Good sir," He called out, tone sympathetic. Kingbolt had seen others close to their end before, and this canine was nearing that same threshold. He was a healer...But he'd tended to enough wounds to know when some weren't going to be healed. He wasn't sure how the canine would react, so he waited for a reaction, trying to weigh the canine's options in his mind, but finding nothing that pleased him terribly.
When another comes into view, his ears twitch and fall back on his head. God. There are SO many wolves. There’s not enough dogs. Or any dogs. And none of the other animals want to hang around him either because he also wants to eat them, because there’s nothing else to eat. Anyway. He hasn’t like any of the wolves, really, since Blackbear and he’s starting to think she’s the only nice one.
The tone is nice enough but it doesn’t make him move any closer. If anything, he takes a few steps back and stares across the way. All the other wolves het met were just bumbling with questions with very little help and he doesn’t know what to expect here. Regardless, he wanted to be left alone because there was no way this wolf would be any different!
“Go away,” he announces, standing his ground with another sharp pain at the sudden stance.