Big Salmon Lake every day is halloween

Weather: 19°F, Foggy.

After his visit to the mountain, Dune turned back toward the glen, but eventually ended up at a relatively large lake where the south shore was surrounded by a large forest. The lake had been frozen over, of course, and several inches of snow lay on top of the thick layer of ice. Noting several sets of tracks leading over the lake, Dune assumed it was safe enough to cross.

Good for him, he was correct. In time, Dune had crossed the lake and now stood at the edge of the southern forest. Here, he idled around, chomping on snow to hydrate himself and ponder where he should go next.

steals Remedy threads

Fog had settled over the earth in a thin veil. It had managed to leave the world in a quiet envelope, almost seeming to protect all who were nestled within. The willowy creature moved through it with careful steps. He had ventured far enough from his group that he had posed a potential threat to himself by being alone. Still, Longshanks welcomed the wrath of his god, should that be his fate. 

Moving around the outskirts of the lake, the Borzoi caught sight of a magnificent snow-cloaked figure. His pale champagne gaze lingered on the unnamed brute for some time before he slowly made his way closer. Tail flagging, Longshanks offered a graceful smile that tugged the edges of his mouth. ”Greetings,” he said in an airy tone. There was a peculiar lack of fear in his voice. 

The creature that approached him, Dune knew on instinct alone, was not a wolf. If it was a wolf, it was unlike any other he had seen, and it did not look well. Its face was deformed, its ears were folded, and it seemed to be emaciated beyond help. Dune, feeling these things were all signs that pointed to illness, let out a low growl when the thing approached him and spoke. The hair along his back and neck bristled to make him look even bigger than his large body was, and his lips lifted up in a warning snarl.

Come closer, and you'll regret it, was the general message he was portraying. He did feel a tinge of pity for the thing, but Dune valued his own life far more than helping one who was so clearly beyond help.

It was not altogether surprising that the pallid wolf would meet Longshanks with such an inhospitable flash of his fangs and bristling of his coat. The dog remained as calm as he could, still keeping an eye on a possible escape route if things should turn sour. Noting that the wolf did not like it when he drew closer, the Borzoi took a few small steps in reverse and lowered his head toward the ground to appear less threatening. Longshanks knew that it was not his demeanor that was frightening for the wolves, but the peculiar shape of his limbs in comparison to their own, and the sickly tapering of his muzzle against the rough snouts of the wild hounds. They were – without a doubt – from two different worlds, and the willowy dog was intrigued by this.

“I am sorry,” he spoke in a soft tone and averted his gaze. “I mean no harm.” Of course, Longshanks was not a liar when he said this; he only wanted to shed a light on the great revelations that he had experienced from Dune's kind. Without the kind touch of the wolf, he never would have found himself in such a place. First, he wanted to ensure that his life would not be threatened by the pale fellow.

The sickly(-looking) creature took a few steps back, but it did little to quiet Dune's nerves about the thing. It spoke, garbled even more than a usual wolf's words to Dune's ears. If a wolf's spoken word was Dune's second language, a dog's spoken word was his third. He could barely pick out a single word except for "sorry." The rest, Dune did not care to hear even if he could have understood it. This thing was clearly not of his kind, and Dune wanted nothing to do with it.

His stance did not change, nor did the growl ever leave his throat, but Dune began to slowly back away from the L O N G B O I, not trusting it enough to take his eyes off of it until he had a head start for his escape.

It was not uncommon for the dogs to cross the path of a particularly savage wolf. Some had been rather accepting of them. Others had been intrigued enough to allow the domestic canines room to linger longer than was normal for the predatory animals. Still, there were those – like Dune – who did not rely on such niceties to pull them through social situations. Longshanks was, of course, not bothered by this in the slightest. He understood well that he was on foreign ground. If Oqdis had been nearer to him, he would have attempted again – been more brazen in his efforts – to get the wolf to calm himself. He did not wish to risk a death by one of the savage beasts.

Bowing his head to protect his throat from an attack, the Borzoi took a few tentative steps in reverse from the white predator. His cool champagne gaze lingered on the other male's face for a moment, fixing himself in the ocean blue of Dune's eyes. The pale brute was a handsome specimen, but Longshanks knew better than to test his luck with the wild ones. “I will leave, if it is what you wish. Please, I ask that you do not harm me, waxen wolf.”

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The words he spoke went in one ear and out the other, and Dune merely took another few steps back, creating more and more space between him and the odd creature. Once he felt he had enough space, Dune began to trot away, glancing back more than a few times to make sure he was not being followed.