For anyone! Maybe some other Diaspora doggos ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ノ
The boy wouldn't admit it out loud, but he was relieved he had a group at his back once more. Even if they were only few in number; the members he had been told of seemed capable enough (except for the newest one who had apparently fallen from the sky — Redshank may be starved but at least he hadn't
incapacitated himself).
However, he supposed he should make himself useful and provide for their injured packmate, and to prove to Stigmata that he was making
some sort of effort (he really was grateful to man for bringing him into their fold). But of course, he would do it with the same dour enthusiasm that he did most everything with.
Slowly, Redshank descended the slopes into a snowy Vale he had once, long ago, called home. He scarcely remembered much of it, but it brought up a painful, angry reaction that he struggled to ignore. With his usual scowl, the Cairn stalked through the naked forest, searching for either prey or herbs he could return with.
He was not alone here. In between the trees, Redshank caught sight of a shadowy figure stalking among them - lean, large, and dusted with ash. The Cairn stopped in his own skulking stride, watching warily as the male came into sight fully and redirected his path towards him, dark tail raised in a show of dominance. Stigmata had given him a quick run down on who was who within the group, and had mentioned a man who was to be his second-in-command.
Humbled by his time up in the mountains on the verge of death, Redshank lowered himself slightly in respect, unwilling to be further punished by the world for his disregard of authority. He kept his flaring eyes trained upon the other, however, sizing him up. Tensions would run high until the dynamics of the group were figured out, and Redshank was determined not to end up on the lowest rung of the hierarchy.
"Huntin'," he grunted simply in an unspoken invitation for the lilac-eyed man to join.
He was glad the other didn't make a show of his dominant position in the group, seemingly satisfied enough with Redshank's own display. His impulses urged him to take an unnecessary stand, to immediately and needlessly challenge him just to satisfy his weak and battered ego, but self preservation quickly won out. The other male gave an impression that he wasn't one to be trifled with.
He then spoke, his thick, strange accent making the man tough to understand. It took a few moments for Redshank to decipher what he said before he replied with a shrug, "better than dyin'." At least, that's what he kept telling himself, anyway. He kept his gaze on the older wolf for a few seconds longer before starting forwards, taking the allowed lead and beginning to search for a trail. "Redshank," he added after a few beats.