Blacktail Deer Plateau spooky couch

Still intending to make good on his promise to Cicero the Weirdo, Goober had made the trek north based on the boy's directions to Blacktail Deer Plateau. He was supposed to find out what had happened to the pack that had previously lived there and report back. He had every intention of doing so. Besides, it would get his mind off of Smash, Eshe, and Wildfire. Having a purpose was good for Goober.

It was nearly impossible to miss the darn thing. Surrounded by mountains in the east, and with a flat top, the plateau stuck out like a sore thumb. Figuring he should look for clues, Goober sucked in a breath and began to climb the steep slope upward. It wasn't the easiest climb, and he was still sore, but he managed it. Once he'd made it to stable ground, he looked out over the land to the west. There was an odd beauty to it.

After his romp on the shores, Warbone found himself backtracking towards the heart of Teekon, eyes on the peaks nestled there in the distance. He skirted the north face of a mountain pack's territory, oozing through the adjacent woods as he approached the plateau that would lead him to a way up the range. Or so he surmised. The wolf was mostly mapping out the place, moving in one big circle until he would find his way back to Thuringwethil, and her Drageda.

He prowled across the plateau, exploring it deeper if only because the greatly degraded scent of a former pack piqued his interest in the place. Faintly, the scent of another wolf touched him— another male— and in an unconscious choice, he headed in that direction, ambling swiftly until he spotted the drab, average wolf. He rationalized that he did this to find out about a pass through. Certainly this was easier than meandering around until he found something. He padded towards the male, pausing in his unbothered way just a few feet away.

"You know a way through?" he asked, motioning vaguely up towards Porcupine Ridge, blinking languidly as he looked for a response.

Goober flinched when the cracking of a stick alerted him to somebody's presence. For a split second, he feared that it might have been somebody he knew. A sigh of relief washed over him when it was a stranger, and he focused on what said stranger asked. "Not yet," Goober replied, "You know what happened to the pack that used to live here?" Blacktail Deer Plateau had been its name, though the two year old wasn't sure if that information would be useful.

"They moved, but I'm not sure where to. Looking for my friend Cicero." And while Goober wasn't quite as excited about finding this pack as he had been about finding Smash's friends, he did intend to find them. He would keep on asking until he had something to give to Cicero. Weirdo or not, the guy had helped him find Phoenix Maplewood.

"No," he said, curling and uncurling the tip of his tail repeatedly as he listened to the male's unwarranted explanation behind his question. He tipped his head slightly, dull eyes regarding the (not so) harmless wolf in quiet study before he decided to speak again. "[b]I know nothing of the pack but if I should cross your friend I will tell them that you are looking for them. What does Cicero look like?" [/b]Warbone asked, having misunderstood the reason he was here. "And your name?" he thought to include.

It took Goober a moment to realize the misunderstanding, and he giggled a little bit like a small child. Regaining his composure, he replied, "I am looking on behalf of Cicero. He helped me find another friend's old pack, Phoenix Maplewood." Come to think of it, Goober hadn't asked Cicero why he wanted to find out what happened to the wolves of the plateau. Smash had been upfront for her reasoning, while Cicero had been downright odd from the very start.

Goober knew from experience that not everybody was as they seemed to be on the outside. "Don't feel obligated or anything," Goober suggested, "but if you did want to help, and you ever do find out about the plateau, maybe you could pop down to Blackfeather Woods and tell Cicero for me." The young male then realized he hadn't even answered the second question. "I'm Goober, by the way."

"Ah," he rumbled, seeing the situation now for what it was. The young brown wolf was not a concerned friend, but rather a tasked investigator. Warbone lifted his muzzle slightly, more fond of wolves with a purpose than those who moved with aimless footsteps, and his tail began switching back and forth as his comfort level rose. "I will keep an ear out for noise of the plateau," he assured the newly named Goober, though the remainder of that task felt improbable in his head.

"I cannot, however, imagine myself a courier of any capacity. Me delivering such news would have to be strictly.. coincidental." He simply saw no use in using his energy for something as mundane as seeking an unfamiliar party to deliver a non-consequential message. It wasn't important to him, but to wolves like Goober, who felt no greater pull in his life than busying himself like that, it must've been pretty determining. "Warbone," he introduced, and he didn't ask where Blackfeather Woods was— he had no intention of purposefully going— but the wolf was not completely disengaged. "Is Cicero a remarkable wolf in any way?" He should at least know this, he thought.

Goober nodded, understanding that Warbone wasn't likely to go out of his way to wander on down to Blackfeather Woods. Goober didn't hold it against the guy, nor did he attempt to convince Warbone otherwise. "Very," Goober replied when Warbone inquired on how Cicero might be remarkable. "He's gone one silver eye and one brown, and some of the craziest black and white markings I've ever seen. Weird white patches over black on his shoulders and back. Oh, and the dude is covered in scars. Talks about himself in the third person, too."

Cicero was an individual indeed. Warbone almost had reason to suspect that Goober was lying, but then he supposed he had seen stranger-looking wolves in his life. Albinos in particular, he thought, were to be treated with broad caution. His tail flicked and he had the wherewithal to appear a little perplexed. "Do all the wolves of Blackfeather look so odd and refer to themselves in third person? Because if that is the case it has just become about a hundred times less likely of me to deliver any type of news to them." Warbone knew himself after all, and violence was usually his answer for things he couldn't figure out rationally. He couldn't imagine himself feeling very comfortable in the presence of someone who referred to their own name. He had met only one wolf who did that before, and he'd done it out of pure, unadulterated arrogance— Warbone distinctly remembered wanting to tear his throat out.

Hopefully, if he ever ran into such a wolf again, their proclivity for third person would be for another reason.

Goober shook his head. "I haven't a clue," he replied, "I only met the one Blackfeather wolf." He had assumed it was just a fluke, but maybe he was wrong. Really, there was no immediate pressure to get Warbone to go to Blackfeather Woods and deliver whatever information he didn't even have yet. Goober was feeling a bit picked-over at this point, and decided to make as graceful an exit as possible.

"I gotta get going, though. Places to go and all." Okay, so maybe it wouldn't win an award for "most graceful exit of all time," but it would have to do. "See ya around," he added as an afterthought, though he honestly didn't think that was a terribly likely scenario.

The young male answered earnestly enough, but made a hasty exit thereafter so Warbone was inclined to take the information at face value. He would have to meet the Blackfeather Clan to find out himself, but the wolf simply wasn't interested at this point. Watching until the male had gone from sight, Warbone picked his own direction and continued to seek shortcuts through the Sunspires.