Nova Peak göçebe kalp

lorcan is getting the boot soon so mayhaps old man can come gripe at everyone! (and the children need a grandpa)

 

what has led kürsat here? 
it is surely not the climb. back in his youth, he had been sure of foot, eager even, to climb such terrain. now? hmmph. he mumbles curses beneath his tongue as large paws step cautiously upon rock. 
despite the thick scent of pack, the old man has crossed into the borders with ease! and with little care for any repercussions, batty-minded. 
wearing the hide of muskox, the same he has carried with him for high on five winters. it is worn, old, and smells only slightly of piss. overall, he and the fur are due for a wash. 
eventually he stops atop a bed of wildflowers and makes himself comfy, settling to his side with a loud huff and letting eyes slowly shut. listening to the sounds of the peak and tasting the scents of spring noon.

are you ok with taking this into the present? <3

It was Ayovi’s first true breath of spring. Contaminated by the fact that something had climbed all the way up into their foothills only to die.
She could scarcely make out the body of a decrepit old wolf, crusted and graying beyond the measures of time. But the smell made it clear: he was certainly dead.
“You poor old thing,” she sighs. Winsook would give this wanderer a proper burial, but for now she seeks to abate the smell of decay by covering his rotten orifices in earth.

yes!!

he hadn’t realized he’d dozed off—the old bat. flicking an ear, then twitching toes; the faint feel of dirt being scattered around went ignored for several seconds. his mind lost to a dreamworld; basking in the warm of the sun upon his matted hide, enjoying the pleasant scents so much that he hardly noticed the new one.
then his eyes fly open. he’s met by a pale woman, who had begun to decorate his fur with dirt. kürsat looks upon her with a singular maddened eye, nose scrunching up.
i ain’t dead yet! the bastard gripes, fussing wildly with a gesturing paw for her to back up and begins to try and rock himself back up to his feet.
he collapses back onto his side and guffaws in what he will never admit is embarrassment. the legs didn’t work like they used to. to deflect, he begins to mutter angrily.
ye’ damn young wolves. bothering your elders. can’t take a nap anymore. try to enjoy the sun and all of a sudden ye’ got a burial ye didn’t ask for.

A voice! She reels! Startled as much by the bark of life as the rank stench untombed from gritty jaws!
“Gods! I’m sorry I—” she stammers, staring, weighing whether the man’s deranged or simply ancient. She huffs through her mouth. The huntress is accustomed to the scent of the kill on her husband’s pelt, yes, but this was much more than grime— it was bodily. “How did you even get up here!? This is pack land. Guests must announce themselves… sir.”
Perhaps he hadn’t been able to scent Winsook’s ownership over his own foul musk.