Starglow Basin buscando

Soto's trail had gone cold - or, perhaps, Emilio had simply lost it. Somewhere between the mesa and the desert, the boy had found himself alone but here, at the cusp of a flat valley, his scent grew strong again. Would the man remember him? There was much to be learned about this place, for a boy of the mountains. 

His pelt was thick from winter, shielding him from the evening chill as paws come to kick absent-mindedly at a jackrabbit's skull. "@Soto?" came the crow's expectant howl. If the man was here, Emilio would see him - he would make sure of it.

though these days their operation has been routed to the shales, soto patrols the basin out of habit.

from afar he sees a silhouette pause and send something clattering with a kick; coming close, he recognizes the boy from the mesa. 

that cursed, empty place.

bom dia, he says almost jovially, in the stolen tongue of that once-boy tomillo. his mood as of late replenished with rare humour, for the ghosts of his past have taken to silence.

A shadow approaches, low slung and reeking of the man Emilio remembers. Soto. 

"Hola." He does not match Soto's humour, instead taking time to survey the basin. "¿Es tu casa? Es sólo palos y huesos." A distinctly unimpressed expression works its way onto the boy's face as his lip curls. Of course a scrounger like him would choose to settle in such a place

Stepping forward, he greets the man with a hard, expectant stare.

i absolutely suck </3 i'm so sorry for the wait!! would u like me to make us a new one?

none of his humor reflects back in emilio's patently hard stare. soto pauses, glancing about him as the boy asks of this place.

sticks and bones, he calls it. a laugh lunges from the man's scarred throat. if his enemies were still alive, he might be more guarded in answer -- but as it was, emilio caught soto in an unusually gregarious mood today.

cuidado, muchacho. soto warns, meeting emilio's hard stare with the humor draining from his predatory gaze. did emilio mean to challenge him? he let it be known by the rifling of his hackles he was not to be fucked with. son los huesos los que hay que tener en cuenta.

and then, the tension ebbs a little as soto edges another laugh into the cold air. emilio's lucky he's in such fine spirits. por qué has venido?::