Firestone Hot Springs filled with cancers and poppy tarts

@Peregrine

Fuck off ya dirty buzzards!

Their charging footsteps may not have shook the earth, but that scream sure did, or so they’d like to think. Well it didn’t matter how inflated their ego was in the moment, the holler and the other incoherent roaring/screech-y noises was enough to send those birds running to the hills (or flying. whatever). Mission accomplished. Almost accomplished. There were a few particularly stubborn birds that didn’t want to share the kill. Five or six of them maybe. Buzzard couldn’t get an exact number, the fuckers were already pecking at them.

The constant poking and squawking was so damn annoying, but nothing the skilled scavenger couldn’t handle. Not the first time they pissed off some birds. It’s all part of the job. Buzzard growled and snapped at each bird that came near. They snickered as they all flew away or stood by the sidelines one by one. God it felt good to show them who’s boss, even if it wasn’t much of a challenge. But that’s the fun in it. Scavenging so damn fun. 

If only their siblings were here to enjoy the action. It wasn’t the same without them, but Buzzard sure did pretend like it was. Anytime a hint of a memory surfaced, they’d laugh it off and chase some birds or took a quick bite out of some mystery meat (this one was more soggy than the usual shit on the menu, but whatever. food is food). It’s a pretty effective strategy.

Once the remaining birds got fed up with their shit and flew away, Buzzard trotted to the carcass and buried their face in it. They made this spot look like a battlefield with all the blood they flung around. Buzzard was the lone survivor. A scrappy, thin, blood and flesh covered survivor.

it wasn't fair.

the blonde boy missed it. all of it. the den, the sea, the sand — his home. peregrine was still a bit too young to truly understand the difference between his island home and the inland location of the plateau; all he really knew was that it wasn't home, and it wasn't right. it didn't smell right or look right or even feel right. the wind tasted different on his tongue, and the ground beneath his paws felt far too soft more often than not. and to top it all off, prevost was gone. his favorite sibling (or at least, he imagined her as such, in the wake of her absence, though it would be impossible to decipher whether this was really the case prior to her disappearance), stolen from him as cruelly as his home. so he went around with a sour look on his face, and a perpetual biting edge to the youthful tones of his still-developing voice. to those observing, perhaps peregrine came off as an ill-tempered child; a boy cursed to begin life as stormy and cantankerous as any crusty old man whose golden years were more yellowed and dusty than anything.

but really, he was just angry all the time. angry, disgusted, overwhelmed — and perhaps, deep down, a little sad too. wheeling gull isle had made him happy. and now nothing did, it seemed.

so it couldn't have been a surprise to anyone when he started to wander from his family. he sought some sort of reprieve from the perceived grime of the plateau, if only for a little while. he didn't really want to leave forever, though the idea was certainly appealing when he felt at his lowest.

but then he made a wrong turn — or five. or ten. it was hard to tell... and he didn't care as much as he should, truth be told.

part of him sort of assumed that his mother would find him. she always did.

but that clearly didn't happen; while peregrine had no way of knowing exactly how far he was from the plateau, he'd ended up quite a bit further than any pup his age should be from the adults in their life. lost, actually, but he would never admit that. presently, the most he was willing to accede to was the gnawing demands of an empty stomach, which demanded sustenance he certainly could not provide on his own. but that was another thing peregrine would never admit to, of course. he was nearly a man grown, after all! more than capable of taking care of himself, surely. this in mind, the 3-month-old confidently marched into the unknown with an unearned confidence, certain that he'd return to his family victorious. whatever that meant.

he took it as a sign when he started to smell blood. meat. his mouth started to water almost immediately, and he took off running without a single thought spared for the possibility of things like strangers or danger — much less the infamous combination of the two, stranger danger. after all, he'd never had a real reason to think about any of those things.

so he didn't think twice when he barreled straight into the legs of some random brown wolf. he didn't really care, though he yelled and huffed quite a bit as he righted himself. food was at the forefront of his mind, so of course he went straight for it without even a glance at the stranger. naturally, he assumed they would let him eat. everyone did.

There was one thing that bothered the coyote anytime they ate alone and that was the silence. Sure there was the distant chirping and the hot ass summer wind and the gentle bubble of the water nearby, but that wasn’t enough. They were so used to the sound of their siblings as well as their own. Bickering over who’d get the first bite, talking shit about wolves they’d seen that day, even more bickering. God they fought a lot didn’t they? Terrorizing their little sister and brother was always great dinner entertainment. Now they could only terrorize themselves, which wasn’t nearly as fun but they did it anyways.

This tastes like shit, Buzzard muttered between bites. Yet they ripped off big chunks at a time and proceeded to chew very loudly with their mouth wide open. Food’s too hot and mushy. It’s too damn quiet. Never eating at this shithole again. They gulped down the (possibly rotten) meat. One star.

They hit the nail on the head with most of the description apart from the quiet part. It was quiet until someone came barreling towards them. Then it got real loud real fast.

By the time they looked up to investigate the charging paw steps, someone’s little rug rat nearly knocked them off their feet. Hey, hey, hey, watch where you’re going! Buzzard shook their head before looking the kid over, who was now digging into their lunch.

Oh there’s no way some scrappy wolf pup’s taking my shit right now. They circled around the carcass so the two were face to face. Well sort of. Kid’s face was buried in that food.

Buzzard waved a paw dangerously close to his face. He could bite it if he really wanted to, but how much damage could he really do? Dude’s smaller than them, and that’s saying something.

Hellooooo? Don’t you know anything about finders keepers?

it became apparent rather quickly that something wasn't quite right with this particular meal. there was a sour tinge to the typically metallic flavor, and it felt a little too soft — slimy. it was easy enough to ignore the stranger's indignant words, and the paw looming in his face, but peregrine simply could not stand for such a grotesque meal. he lifted his head with a haughty snort, mouth blood-slicked and words slightly lisped around the grume and gristle clinging to tongue and teeth.
what does that mean? he spat out first, bloody bits flying with each word. the foundling didn't wait for an answer before he continued. this is disgusting. what did you do to it? it tastes like someone peed on it. it only took a moment or two for the boy to realize the implication behind the statement, a realization which promptly pasted his ears to his crown. n-not that i've ever tasted pee! the addition arrived with an honor guard of intense aggression, as if the stranger had already accused him of it. in peregrine's mind, they might as well have. but before he could follow up with more unwarranted aggression, he felt something rise up his throat with an alarming speed. it all happened too fast for him to stop it, or direct himself elsewhere. within moments the pup had vomited up his scant meal right back onto the source with a horrible retching sound like nails on a chalkboard. the resulting mixture was equal parts chunk and liquid, releasing acrid fumes into the air on contact and further aggravating the pup's already-tender stomach. he continued to retch loudly, despite his best efforts to force his throat to stop contracting so violently, and quickly descended into misery.

Lucky for them, it seemed like they had a picky eater on their hands. Not surprising. They were a wolf after all, and a kid on top of that. A corner of their mouth pulled up into a smug grin as the boy spat out blood and guts. Most of it shot right at their face, but it didn’t bother them too much. They’re already covered in blood, and they’ve wallowed in much nastier shit. They just shook off when the kid was done with his spit fest (it didn’t get much off).

Buzzard raised an eyebrow when he questioned them about an age old saying. Whaaa? How do you not know what finders keepers is? Every kid knew what that was! Well they did at least. Well, to be fair this guy was probably raised waaaay differently than they were. If he’s spitting out food and questioning basic shit then he had to be pampered.

Hey I ain’t that gross! It’s just gone a little bad that’s all. It ain’t-

Wait what. Did he just say? That he’s never tasted pee? Buzzard snorted, and their grin grew wider. Sounds like something someone that’s tasted pee would say. The only thing that was keeping them from bursting with laughter was the pissed off look on his face. Wouldn’t want to lose an eye over this, but boy was it hard to hold it in. 

Buzzard wasn’t the best at holding back though. When the kid started puking it was all over. They laughed profusely as it just kept coming and coming. He brought them to tears. It was funny enough to forget the fact that he just vomited all over lunch. Jesus, they haven’t laughed this hard in forever.

Holy shit kid. They collapsed on their side and cackled some more, though it was slowly (very slowly) coming to a stop. You don’t get out much do you?