The Teekons.
He'd heard talk of these lands for years; from his parents, some siblings. And at some point, members of the clan had started to roll back in like a crashing saltwater wave.
Admittedly, Slaney was one of them.
He finds himself separated from them, now, a man still in his prime; a solo wanderer through open fields that seem much too vibrant to be real. The Sunspires create a backdrop to the far East, only the faint tips of them visible from the vast, empty grassland before him.
What is he even doing here? Is there a point to all this? It's hot, he's tired, and there's no fucking trees to even shade him.
Lazily, he slumps onto his back amidst a patch of wildflowers, crushing them beneath the weight of a ghostly figure. He'll just rest his eyes, that's all.
He was better. Kind of.
A new development began to show in the recent days. Maybe it was the distance he'd traveled, or maybe it was directly caused from his fall. It was..gross, to feel like something was popping under his skin when he walked. But it didn't hurt. What was hurting him, however, was his decreased sense of smell. He figured it would return shortly after the initial hit to his head, but it hadn’t. Not fully, anyway. He was solely relying on sight and sound for food and..it wasn’t turning out great. His already slim body seemed to be getting slimmer with his reduced success in finding food.
Had he picked up the scent before, the wolf would’ve found another path—one that didn’t involve him encountering a stranger, but this was the situation he found himself in, approaching some sleeping wolf. He seemed to be sleeping, and Fenn wondered if he could leave before the wolf woke up.
The rustling within the grass could have easily been mistaken for the wind had he not also felt the footsteps shake the earth. One eye cracks open. Uhm,
a lift of his head, a swivel, and then he lands upon the stranger.
Frail, smokey, and seemingly unaware of his own surroundings. Just his luck.
You need help there, dude?
he calls out with a flick of an ear, a concerned knit to his eyebrows. He is gentle in his movements as though not to scare him. You don't look so good, buddy.
Well, there went that thought. The wolf seemed to notice him pretty quickly. He could bolt, but didn’t want to risk aggravating his injury.
He needed to rest anyway, and now thinking about it, conversation wouldn’t be the worst thing.
He was good though, mostly—certainly not seeking pity from the stranger.
”I’m actually amazing,” he said, almost petty. ”But you should see the other guy.”
A joke. A rare occurrence for the blackened wolf, but given his current situation, he needed some relief.
Oh, and now he's a jokester. A puff of air falls from Slaney's nostrils as he forces himself to his feet, using his elbows for leverage. Aye,
his head shakes as he takes a few steps closer, slinking through the wildgrass like a pale smokesprite. He's not quite sure what to make of this fellow.
Who are you, anyway?
chromatic eyes narrow as the stranger is studied. An instinctive urge to check for wounds, signs of illness, and overall muscle mass — the fact that he'd been so brazenly approached now had him on edge. Name's Slaney. Frostfur Clan.
"Fenn," the wolf replied, feeling no need to expand further. It wasn't like he had anything to add, anyway.
"I didn't mean to..intrude," he assured.
Fenn. His name is Fenn, and he's a jokester and apparently not very talkative.
Slaney chuffs. You weren't intruding,
one eyebrow raises inquisitively. I'm just wondering why you approached me, of all people. Sure you don't need something? 'Cause if you don't, I'm gonna go back to sleep, if you don't mind.
A leer; waiting.