Black was the night that covered them, terrifying and lonesome -- there were no comforting city lights, no familiar lance of steel on flesh. Dogmeat found himself pining for familiarity, and steeled his resolve sharply.

As morning rose soft and blush pink across the bruised landscape, the leviathan stirred as well -- hunger gnawed his belly and dulled his good will. The scant limb he had dug up for his brethren had been devoured swiftly and he was left to battle his own panning appetite. He found himself drawn back to the scene of the crash, for reasons unknown to him -- and as he drew close all semblance of hunger withered as acrid flesh and death assuaged his nostrils.

He was surprised to see his journey was not in solidarity -- ahead a russet dog was ruminating through the ruins. Dogmeat was about to warmly hail this creature and draw him back to their group when he realized the thing was no dog at all. Distinctly he felt terror seize him, though he stepped forwards all the same. "Get back." He snarled protectively, stepping over one of his dead kin that had perished by routing steel lanced through the chest. This wolfdog shared many features similar to him, yet Dogmeat felt earnestly he was not one of his own.

Dogmeat was not cowed by the stranger's stature -- and as the towering hunk drew close to him, he recognized the waft of wolfscent flush on the male's coarse fur. His hackles bristled and he stiffened, his thick lower gum curled back in disgust.

His triangular ears remained cupped forwards in assertion -- and he readied himself for any blow the large dog-wolf supplied. "These dogs have been subjected to otoko hands." He replied readily, his curled tail held confidently over his broad backside. Quick was he to glance at the felled dogs about them -- most who had been sick or consumed with malaise well before the van crash. "You may eat them -- and you may die." He growled lowly, his blunt muzzle lifted upwards.

It was up to the dog-wolf to decide then his recourse -- Dogmeat was not lying -- it was evident most of the corpses possessed an unpleasant odor about them entirely unrelated to the advent of their death.

His coldness somewhat dissolved as the dogwolf lost his interest in the dead -- and while he did not yet let down his guard, he no longer tensely leaned forward. His ears pulled upright as the male mentioned the humans -- were there more of them here? Would their band be seized behind doors once more? Dogmeat's gut flipped -- he could not and would not fall prey to their whims again.

"Yes." He answered curtly, his expression sorrowful as he recalled the events that had happened in this canine graveyard. "Where is there food?" It was clear he shared no fondness for banter -- and pointedly, he looked at the much larger dog as if imploring for sustenance.

Considering the veritable girth that the tawny dogwolf boasted, Dogmeat was sure he would point him in the direction of food. Yet his gaze and ears alike fell in disappointment as Audrey offered little but common sense -- and pointedly, Dogmeat's gaze strayed along the male's curvaceous sides with sharpness.

"Where can we find a cache?" He leaned forwards, his gaze intense with both distress and a gnawing hunger it appeared Audrey had never endured. "Who are you?"

Dogmeat could tell the red brute held no compassion for his kind -- and with that realization poignant on his mind, he saw no further use in conversing with the unsympathetic male. He would swallow his disappoint -- as he had swallowed their misfortune -- and chalk it up to the irresolute misery of the world.

There was a gravity to his tone as he supplied an answer: "Dogmeat." It was without any sort of garrulity. With one last glance to the dog he turned and limped away -- cursing the brute's reprobate nature. He half hoped the pig would eat his fallen comrades -- at least that way, he would fall ill and feel the despair that consumed Dogmeat's dwindling heart.