Phoenix Maplewood my buddies, they drink liquor; sometimes I'll go along

There was something about the woods that'd always struck the rambler as stifling and sad. He wanted to see the sky, feel the wind comb its cool fingers through his pelt. All that was better sited to the open tundras and grasslands he'd enjoyed further north. Failing that, Kin found that he didn't mind the smaller, bowl-like meadows that cut up the landscape in the taiga and the valley.

So no; the forest did not exactly suit him, even though he thought it was a rather fine one, as forests went. There was good hunting, at least, and cover from some of the harsher elements — not that Kincaid was unused or unsuited to cool weather. No, it was the rain he'd come here to escape.

The male was in something of a sour mood as he criss-crossed the woods, ping-ponging between two packs that seemed to grow ever-closer together on the trail of a troupe of talkative turkeys. (Here, the author also contemplated inserting 'gaining on a group of garrulous grouse'.) He was growing slightly alarmed with the way the two borders were beginning to close on either side; he could only hope that it was a bottleneck rather than complete overlap, and that the turkeys stayed their course and did not venture into either adjacent territory.

He humbly followed a trail.
Stalked it, even.
He'd found it in a woodland area, away from his old home. Dewlling. Sespit of anger and disgusting thoughts which won't be delved into here.
He was average sized, like himself. He wondered if he too was broad or slim. Hungry and wasting or full and fresh.
Earp stopped again, looking at the print marked into a small patch of mud.
Not a very deep impression, so he'd assume the man he followed was much like himself.

Earp trotted now, catching up.
Gaining.
A new scent now.
Birds. Some sort of fowl he didn't care for the name for.
Food. He was hunting a hunter.

Ahead, the crow could see a lupine form moving through the trees, and started to stick the the shrubbery, away from deer paths and the like. He wanted to stalk this one.

Being that he was a wolf and a top predator (even if something of a middling one), Kincaid was unused to being stalked. If he'd scented any wildcats in the area, he might've been more vigilant, but as it was, he had no notion of the creature trailing after him. His focus was to the east, and to the north and south where the pack wolves might be coming from. After all, he imagined they'd face him head-on if they wanted him to depart.

The turkeys were straying too close to the northern border, where Kincaid was reluctant to follow. He was hungry, but not hungry enough to risk moving any nearer to an active pack, even if it didn't seem to be an overly large one. Anyone might still be patrolling on that day, and there was every chance they might be a good deal bigger and stronger than him.

Cutting his losses, Kincaid turned away from the narrowing bottleneck and began trotting back the way he'd come, still without any idea of the company he now kept.

His prey slowed.
Thinking. Earp didn't care about packs. So why should he?
His brows furrowed, backtracking a little, fearing he was too close now he'd slowed. Had he been sensed? Was he too loud?

He paused, looking to see the wolf turning aswell.
Scared of the packs, probably.
Earp quickly scurried ahead like some beetle, and moved towards the path the man was walking. Slowing his stride to one matching a deer, standing to his full height now.
And he emerged, looking like a stranger crossing a path, oblivious to the wolf to his right.

He looked ahead, nose to the ground, like he was searching too for the flock.
He wanted to decieve the man, not wanting him to know he was being followed.

The ruddy male was startled to come across another wolf — especially one his nose told him did not belong to one of the two packs. The humidity in the air made both their scent thick, and Kincaid wondered if the other wolf had been on his trail, perhaps looking for company. Regardless, he seemed not to realize Kin had turned back in his direction, so the male alerted him now with a quiet,

"Evenin'."

He slowed his steps, giving the male ample space, and swung wide around him to broadcast his willingness to be on his way. His black eyes, however, were bright with interest, and he was willing to stand and be sociable a while, if that was what the other was after.

He paused. Words.
A voice.
It was deep and smooth, like a good whiskey. Rich. Earp swung himself all to easily towards the man, repling with a grin and a " 'vnin'," of his own.

He approached the man, looking to fall into step beside him.
Drawing in his scent, confirming that this was his target. And he wanted to avoid Earp.
"Seein' dem birs?" He asked.
Trying to be less conspicuous.

As open as he was to company, Kincaid didn't appreciate how quickly the male approached him. He swung his arc a little wider, so that there was still a respectable buffer between them, and lifted his lips in clear warning: Step back, Jack. But no sound or action accompanied his gently defensive body language. If the male heeded his desires, he would be back to easy but aloof friendlines.

"Good look with that, partner," he replied, not unkindly. "I lost 'em in the packlands."

The man swung away from him with a cautionary lift of the lips. He slicked his ears back in response, but let him keep his imaginary protection.
He carried on, letting him reply. He was surpised the other male didn't just try and bomb off.

He pursed his lips, letting out a quiet, "shit."
He fell silent for a few steps, letting the guy stop bristling at him. Probably.
"Name?"
He looked to the man, wondering how he'd react.

Kincaid stopped, and turned his body to face the male head-on, now that he had proven his desire for interaction and had showed his lack of respect for personal space. Kin was a patient man, however, and easily forgave the minor trespass, even if he did not forgot, nor quite relax in the other's presence.

Kincaid, he replied, wondering if the other was as slow-witted as he seemed, or if he was perhaps just taciturn by nature. Neither were crimes in his book, but something about the other man was beginning to put him off. He could not fathom what the other male might still want to do with him, unless he was hoping for a hunting partner.

And you? he asked, hoping for an introduction. And then, without missing a beat, What're you after, partner? I ain't stoppin' over anytime soon. Got places t'be gettin' back to. All this was said earnestly, but not without a good measure of growing suspicion.

They stopped.
Or rather, Kinkaid stopped. Earp kept walking, and then realised it wasn't just a natural pause to sniff some scat.
Earp stopped, looking at the man, facing him too.

"Earp," he replied, speaking over him asking.
Ach, he'd fucked up then. He glanced away from him, cursing himself in his head.
He wasn't stopping. Passing by on a short hunt.
"Novhere," he replied. He wasn't expecting pity. The truth.
He stared at Kincaid. Just...kinda watching him.

The answer didn't make any sense to Kincaid, who was becoming annoyed by the wraith's unhelpful presence.

Well, if you're lookin' for trouble, I'd say you jus' about found it, he warned, scarred ears pushing forward atop his head. So whenever you get t'feelin' like a jackrabbit, mister, you jus' go ahead an' jump.

A little more of Kincaid's accent came out in the invitation, as it often did when he found himself riled up. He wasn't angry, per se, and rather hoped the brash tone he was using would cause the other to lose interest, and that the male would not take him up on the offer — if he did, however, he would find that Kincaid was not bluffing, nor was he an inexperienced brawler, even despite his very average size.

He spoke like he wore bigger boots than he could fit on his feet.
Earp blinked. It wasn't worth it.
Not worth it.

Earp didn't fancy brawling. He was a man that took oppertunity when it arose. A sly asshole.
He swallowed, taking his gaze fully away from the man.
He grunted softly, lips lifting in disapproval.
And turned to leave the man to his own.

He didn't fancy being hung in the jaws of a wolf like a jackrabbit.

Kincaid watched long enough to assure himself it wasn't a ploy before turning to go his own way, glancing often over his shoulder. He wondered still what the male had been about, and felt a little bad for being harsh, on the off chance the poor fool really had been simple, and just looking for someone to talk to.

In the end, however, he could not give much thought to it; his mind was consumed with future plans, and with a certain miss from distant willows.

Kin walked on, and lived to tell another tale.

Thank you for the thread!