There was something about how dire this whole situation was that was distinctly alluring to him. He’d traveled through a lot of different areas—through plains that seemed to stretch on as far as the eye could see, across mountain ranges that pierced the very heavens, across stream and copse and river and glade. He’d seen plenty, of things flourishing and falling into retrograde. He’d never seen it to an extent that the Teekon Wilds possessed, though. He could tell that it had once been a place of grandiose beauty, but now that had been carved away to leave only a bitter husk of what it once was—just the same as these locusts, the harbingers of the destruction, who had died and fallen to the ground.
 
And yet he stayed. He supposes it’s the morbid curiosity, the kind which wanted to see what happened when the wolves around here started to feel genuine hunger. Packs were held together by mutual bonds of respect and familial ties. He remembered, sure, even all that time ago. But he had never fit in with that kind of kumbaya bullshit, so there was part of him that wanted to watch it all go up in flames.
 
He’d roved to the western reaches of this area and was now going back, wading through the runoff water of the Floodlands even as it reached up towards his belly. Chilly, but he’d found a hovel to rest in just a short distance away, so he’d be able to warm up a bit before continuing on. Except, well, he’s not alone out here. It was the sound of exasperation that caught his attention before the scent, as the light misting rain seemed to bog everything down. Ears alert, he started to slowly wade his way through the pooling water to the shallower areas, where the girl was standing.
 
It’d just started raining, so he has to guess that’s what she was complaining about. He gives her a bit of a crooked smile. “You’re in the wrong part of the world if you aren’t fond’ve water, miss.” Maybe she’d be happier going back the way he’d come, south and south and east until you met the bright, warm plains of Kansas and Oklahoma.