Fairspell Meadow smells like teen spirit

Brittle brown grasses poked above the iced-over snow, atop which Voodoo ranged easily, though not without complaint. His feet hurt, he was hungry, and he was cold. He had come a long way to see these Teekon Wilds, and thus far he had seen nothing to impress him but snow, snow, and yet more snow. If he had wanted to see snow, he'd have stayed home like Hex.

He muttered as he walked, a bitter diatrabe about his own bad decisions and the horrible weather. Somewhere in the middle of the field over which he walked, though, the sun had melted the snow just a little more. One of his paws fell through, causing him to topple over onto his face. Fuck me! he shouted, loud enough to scare off several nearby birds.

The seasons wavered between hot and cold, end of summer one day, depths of winter the other. It only served as a reminder of what they had lost, and what they were to see coming. It only made him anxious, and the soft, showing body of his niece even more so. They would be born in the depths of winter, and they needed to survive until spring.

He went out to hunt, though the melting snow made things difficult, he pressed on, knowing that it was better for him to try than to do nothing. 

A voice in the distance caught his attention, and he trotted over to where the speaker was sunk into the ground. Miraak chuckled softly.

Not too often that I meet someone so desperate, He rumbled, approaching the unfortunate male, a half smirk on his face, Though I am happy to oblige,

The minor inconvenience was just that, but it was enough for Voodoo's patience to break. He wanted to be somewhere warm and dry, and he wanted to be there now. Not to mention his stomach was not quite empty, but it was uncomfortably tight, a precursor to a rumbling stomach. Already he was thin and worn from travel and poor grooming habits, he didn't need to become emaciated and ugly.

As Voodoo extricated himself from his paws' icy doom, a wolf approached. In his sour mood, Voodoo was more interested in ignoring the guy and going on his (not so) merry way, but then the asshole had to go and open his mouth. Immediately, Voodoo rounded on the male. I'm not desperate for anything, he snarled. And I'll sooner rip off your cock than let it anywhere near me.

Miraak laughed heartily at the boy's snappish response. Oh, I do think you're desperate, He said with a smirk, rounding the wet puddle the boy had sunk into. He might not be wanting for sex, but he was in a sticky situation. Kneedeep in cold wet sludge, matted and mucky fur, a burning hunger in his eyes that could only be satiated by one thing: food. You're desperate to eat, to get out of the cold... He hummed almost sing-song, sitting as close as he could to the wolf without getting soaking wet like him.

The male came closer, closer. He was trying to get the best of Voodoo, and it wouldn't work. This was a game, a challenge, and Voodoo did not yet know the rules. He tossed his head, snapping warningly as the male sat beside the puddle. Voodoo pulled himself from the mud and muck, every inch of him tense. I've never been desperate in my life, old man. I'm not about to start, he spat, every bit as cocky as he could be in his position. Still the boy mantained a safe distance, letting the water drip from his coat as he stared down the man.

Miraak bent his head down to nibble at the mud trapped between his paws, ignoring the boy for a moment as he pulled himself out of the muck. His eyes lazily drifted up towards him. He sighed, rolling his eyes — why did he always come around arrogant boys around here? It was irritating. A bold claim. He smirked again, Then, since you have never felt any sense of desperation in your life, I assume you are well stocked for winter then? A warm place to sleep, food to last for months...

Voodoo was not nearly as skilled at ignoring wolves as Miraak was. For every moment Miraak spent in silence, Voodoo spent glaring. And when the old man spoke again, Voodoo redoubled his efforts, as though he could set the man aflame merely through sheer force of will. What's it matter to you, he demanded. He didn't have plans, not yet, but it didn't matter. He'd find a way, he always did. If he had to find a pack to stay with for a few months, so be it, but he refused to settled down with any permanence and he refused to ask for help.

The male shrugged. I am simply making a suggestion. My pack is close by and we have some space left; we need wolves to help us through the winter, From this male's sullen personality and stubbornness (so similar to the boy he met by the lake), he doubted he would get far past Nemesis' scrutiny. But he had been surprised before. He could be again. It is up to you if you want to take up my offer, He met the wolf's mismatched eyes for a moment, then casually looked away to somewhere else in the distance, the dark blob that denoted the Woods.

Not only did he steadfastly refuse help, but he greatly distrusted this man and any other stranger. His distrust was instinctual, and it ran deep. Voodoo couldn't imagine how he would be useful to a pack, and so he didn't understand what this guy's pack would get out of him. And everyone always wanted something. Keep it, he spat, turning on his heels. If the other wolf didn't give chase, Voodoo would continue, his mood fouler than it had been before the encounter.

He was refused. Miraak faced the news without disappointment, instead watching the boy quietly leave. He sucked his teeth, then turned back to his forest. They would be better off without such insolence, he supposed.