Blacktail Deer Plateau Fade away

Making some assumptions about his situation with Spring ~

After spending some time hiding out in a cave, protecting a distressed stranger, Renoir was finally urged out of this dark place by the quiet of morning. It was a more unnerving sound than the chorus of bugs he had quickly adjusted to; if there was no sound of them, what could he expect outside the cave? He slunk out while Spring was still asleep, hoping not to rouse her as he made his escape. She seemed like a sweet girl, but the fact remained that she was not alone, and she would be cared for once her pack found her again. He had stayed with her for as long as he felt comfortable. Then, upon emerging, saw the new world for what it was.

There was nothing left. Renoir paced outside of the cave, wound his way back down the cliff side while he inspected the surroundings. Gradually he migrated south-east, until the dead forest became an empty expanse of dead field, and with a mournful little sound Renoir felt his spirit wither. Where were the beautiful green grasses? Where were the intricately grown trees and all the birds which loved them so? What was worse than the lack of greenery was the lack of life. By taking one, the locusts had eradicated the other. Renoir heard no bird song as he crept along the nearby ridge, and this hurt him the most.

Eventually he came upon a speck of color on the horizon, and this brought some life back to him. He hastily sought out that blazing orange, wondering if it was a rare plant which was immune to the locust swarm. Maybe they had missed it somehow? Maybe he could make it spread - cover the new world with golden leaves and red grasses - and things would  be alright again? Except when he was close enough, he saw it was not a simple blob or bush. It moved, it talked, it was a living entity - a wolf.

This too excited him, as he had not seen any living soul after finding Spring. Renoir bayed a sharp call to her - noticing more as he approached, at least two more subdued coats, two more entities with which he could converse - and with a happy wag to his tail he sought them out among the ruin. As he came closer his posture slackened in the guise of submission, but Renoir couldn't help but let his tail wag contentedly, pleased as he was to find these wolves.