it was an impressively unfortunate place they’d found themselves in. from waterlogged field to waterlogged field, and well, didn’t that just figure?

how lovely, that every place here was equally as miserable as the last.

this unfortunate little forest didn’t even have the dubious honor of being blessed by his siblings. no, it was just him, and trees, trees, and more trees. a flooded pool or two to spice things up. thrilling.

in fact, the only thing it appeared to have going for it was an impressive number of burrows, which had led to an impressive number of fleeing animals. but ugh. chasing things around (for food, not for pleasure) was for other people; he wasn’t that desperate yet. no, if he was eating something, it would be something that was kindly taken care of for him.

and unlike buzzard, he’d generously refuse being picky. he didn’t even care if it was the stream. though they weren’t not all wrong (except about him lacking taste, honestly –); it was absolutely more fun to yank your next meal right out from under someone else’s nose. that wasn’t even a question.

if it was, they might even have been back at the canyon, enjoying some nice warm sun. but where would the fun be in that?

and in perfect answer – the sound of laughter swelled, accompanied by chattering birds. so there was one nose around after all. condor reversed on the spot, ears swiveling forward, and went trotting right after it. he might not have his siblings – an unfortunate shame – but who would he be if he wasn’t making his own chaos? surely buzzard had already found a pack to harass. vulture…well, he’d prefer not to think about what she was doing. toying with someone, no doubt.

no, in the meantime condor had this ungainly thing in front of him, head thrown back and laughing at the sky, and most certainly not toting a delicious meal along with him.

“and what are you up to on this fine afternoon, darling?” it wasn’t hunting, more was the pity. sigh. he’d have to find his meal elsewhere.

the tank of a man smiled back. he might almost be a coywolf as well with the ears, but no coywolf was his size, and a sniff revealed that he did not smell right at all. such a shame. ah well – not everyone could be a coyote.

ah. but coyote he might not have been – at least someone outside his siblings had a dedication to banter. none of these gloomy, boring wolves snarling in the mud.

“oh, just taking a walk. seeing the sights. but this weather...just miserable.” condor sighed. well, perhaps it wasn’t entirely the weather, so much as the mud and rain and cold and the lack of food offered before him.

and that response. was this not just some new sort of wolf hybrid but another buzzard he’d found? eugh. buzzard was only tolerable by virtue of their shared blood. condor would kill for them, and in the meantime he’d complain every single time he even thought of their filthy coat. but buzzard, at least, found the mud and rain just as disgusting as they should.

condor shook his head. “don’t tell me. you enjoy this.”

Every word in that reply drips with sarcasm, riiight until the confession of misery, and even that pours out in a defeated sigh. And for extra confirmation, judgment is laced through every word of the question. It rolls off Dakota’s shoulders like rain on a duck, and he responds first with a shrug.

“No point fighting it, is there?” The question is punctuated by a head tilt, as if he’s been asked if he wants a treat. Which he does, in a sense. Stranger already talked first, didn’t they? Least Dakota can do is invite his company to take a load off. “Don’t need an extra storm inside your head. Besides,” he adds, bouncing his forelimbs down in a play bow, “it’s nice in here.”

A head tilt in the opposite direction ends with a nose swing up to the branches above, from which all the birds have long since vacated. That leaves the ground—dens, maybe, or those ever-flowing streams. “Howsabout a little chase?” Dakota asks, deliberately leaving the chase-ee vague; he’s happy to volunteer himself. “Live a little.” Wink wink, nudge nudge.