Meadowlark Prairie mirage

This place was empty too, damned by the hand of an angry god, swarmed with what seemed like a blight as widespread as a Biblical plague. It’s been days, and now Cash is starting to get hungry. The rangy man is used to lean weeks—living without the security blanket of a pack made you used to such things—but now not even his iron nerve is saving him from the steadily increasing hunger pangs. The remains of what had once been a meadow seemed like a good idea, as maybe some small prey was still lingering around, but it ended up being a fool’s errand to come this way as well. Nothin’. Nothin’ but regret and sour frustration. Maybe he should rethink his little self-imposed challenge and get the hell out of this place before it claims more of him than he was willing to give up.
 
So he reverts to default, which is aimless wandering. A lot could happen when you weren’t necessarily expecting it—he could fill books with all the stories of trouble he’d gotten into through that selfsame happenstance. He didn’t think he’d be lucky enough to have a rabbit or vole or something scurry out into his path, but in the end he’s given a different type of fortune. The winds change, informing him of another wolf nearby. Something was better than nothing, and jawing kept his mind off of hunger. So he goes.
 
With as little ground cover as there was, his approach would be fairly obvious, all the way down to the easy nature of it. Cash’s gait was an easy lope, lips curled into a genial smile. He sits down a respectable distance away, maintaining a nonchalance that matched the stranger’s prone position. His jaw lifts a bit as he considers a greeting but he ends up flashing a chipped-tooth smile, giving a few gravely chuckles before saying in a deep, drawling voice, “I was gonna ask what the matter was, but that’s pretty obvious, ain’t it?”