Chimera Fields let the rain fall down

Arlo has never been one for traveling. He will guard when he is told to, giving him purpose out in this part of the Teekon, or between his home and the other branches of their wolves, but his desire to go beyond the borders is few and far between. Free of his charge, he now has the world at his paws and the only thing he can think about is getting home. The weather changes drastically from one day to the next and there’s nothing consistent about his life on the road and he’d rather imprint his path on the borders any day than break through for new ones.

The field, from where he enters from the forest, is nothing but flowers from the moment he puts his paws down. He heads north, toward the sea, despite the overwhelming change in weather up ahead. The sky on the horizon is dark and growing and by the end of the day, takes up more than half the sky. What remains of the sun will soon be blacked out completely as the storm clouds take over. The wind turns and blows through his fur, changing the pattern this way and that, and leaving him with a new chill to air out the summer heat.

Rain has not fallen but he winds bring it in from a distance, dampening the air around him. The humidity causes his coat to thicken but he continues on. He’d been born by the sea and he lived there now. He’ll be able to handle a little storm on his way back, unaware of the severity he’s walking into.

Being vague as he's currently joining Moonspear.

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From the hills he can see the distant forest, and is called to it by reasons unknown. A force pulls him closer; then as he nears the fringe of the trees he detects a very stale - but familiar - scent. Tryphon doesn't know why the scent is familiar. Not because he's forgotten Scimitar, Bazi, or Kaskara... But because the scent is similar enough to them, but decidedly not them, at the same time. He takes some time to weave his way through the forest and studies the trails, finds old dens, and feels a great swell of loss blooming in his chest. This might've been the home of his old friends, but they were not here now. 

Beyond the forest, he is met with a field of flourishing wildflowers. The colors strike him more than the scent, which is itself almost unbearably pungent. Tryphon stops to investigate the flowers by nosing about them - sniffing, tasting, searching. The vibrance of a patch of pink-on-purple is so familiar that he is struck dumb with a sense of nostalgia; yet Tryphon has not seen the lupine fields of Duskfire since his puphood, and cannot place the similarities.

He looks around (in search of a path or some other clue) when he spies a pale figure a few wolf-lengths away. He has not been very subtle, but just to be sure he isn't sneaking upon the stranger - he chuffs softly, and makes sure to keep his posture slack.

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He’d been rather wrapped in the change in the sky that he hardly notices the change behind him. The sounds of footsteps and the other’s scent are lost with the constant wind changing directions. The last few steps, however, he is able to note the closeness and turns just as the chuff reaches his ears. Arlo cups them forward and eases his position when there’s nothing threatening about the other ahead.
 
For a moment, he forgets about the change in weather to assess his newest companion. His scent is familiar but he does not remark on it, more invested in the odd color patter the brute seems to have.
 
“Hail,” he responds gruffly, keeping his posture similar to that before him. His tail hangs low and head evens out with his shoulders, but he does not make an effort to close the distance between them. The word has become universal since Trigeda, meeting more wolves that do not know his tongue and his adaptations can sometimes give him an advantage. “Are you headed into the storm, too?”

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The stranger is amicable enough - and it surprises Tryphon initially. He's accustomed to moody creatures, feral things, and loneliness. It is a change he hopes will persist through the coming days. Although it feels strange to be friendly with someone he's just met, he waves his tail behind him and smiles wolfishly.

Storm? He hadn't picked up on that scent yet, being so overwhelmed by the flowers rather than the sky. He looks skyward now though and notices the deepening of the clouds, the far-off bands of gray, and takes a deep breath to confirm. I suppose I am. Honestly didn't see it - the flowers here are so plentiful and pleasant. Realizing he sounded a bit like a pansy, he smirked and rolled his shoulders, silently apologizing for himself even though it wasn't necessary.

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When the other does not realize the weight of the world ahead of him, his ears fall back against his head and he looks up. It seems difficult to miss but if his attention had been fully focused on something else, perhaps it could have been missed. Arlo had noticed from the start but he’d been focused on the sky for some time. He mentions the flowers, and their preference for his attention, he glances down at the field that he’s immersed himself in. The only attention the ground had gotten was where his feet were going, and if anyone was upon approach, but how pleasant and pretty the flowers were hadn’t taken up residence in his thoughts. “We can go together if you want,” he comments, offering a friend to the brute. He seems capable enough if he’d paid attention to his surroundings but Arlo wants to get back sooner rather than later.

Perhaps I should turn back? He mused aloud, but cut himself short when the pale stranger also spoke. Going together? Was this wolf from the mountain pack as well? He didn't look familiar nor smell remotely like Charon; perhaps he merely meant towards the storm as previously mentioned. Tryphon sucked in a breath, tasting the air and thinking, then remarked: I'm not against investigating, but if the weather turns I'll have to double back. What do you think? Going on a sight-seeing tour with a stranger through perilous weather? No sweat.

The exchange itself feels awkward but it does not push him away. He is a homebody and interacts more with his clan mates more than those from the outside. This wolf is a mystery to him and a little unsure of himself, maybe, but their goals are entirely different. “It is the way I must go to get home,” he informs with his ears cupped forward. If his company tags along, it won’t be for long, but he won’t force the trip. He simply offers companionship should they bth be going the same way. “I’m Arlo, by the way.”

To get home -- he wasn't a Moonspear wolf then. Arlo soon introduced himself and Tryphon felt a bit awkward; or maybe he was clueing in to the awkwardness already present, and wasn't sure what to do next. Instinct told him to abandon this wolf. He was not family, he was a stranger from a rival pack. But the storm looked to be severe and would be touching down soon. The boy wanted to witness that at least. I'll... Go with you, I guess, until it gets bad. A few paces later, his head lowered and tail-tip wagging as a sign of friendliness, he added: I'm Tryphon, from the Moonspear mountain.

excuse this stupid post?

The commitment seems a little misplaced but he already has a place to call home and is willing to walk with him straight into the storm. It’s going to get bad before it gets worse and if he gets lost while he’s out there, he can’t hang on to a stranger and lead him back if it’s too much. He sets his jaw and looks back over his shoulder, then steps back and opens up for him to come forward with him. “What is Moonspear?” he asks. Beyond a mountain, it sounds like it has more to it—especially if he is from it—and it’ll give them something as they continue onward. Perhaps it won’t be so bad.