Chimera Fields it's cool

It was common for the wolfdog to travel on his own. It was decidedly a passion of his to seek new landscapes and scramble for distant locations. Still, the mute always returned to his dark sibling on the coast. Seelie had always been beside him, and so no matter the yearning he felt, Oxtli found his place beside her. He felt as though his spirit were tightly bound with her own. If he should wander too far, a gentle tug would return him to the dark feather of her coat and the calming blue of her eyes. His need for nomadic travels seemed to be quenched by his short comings and goings. Already, the willow had put a good deal of distance between the lapping waves and himself. 

The western side of the field was pitiful to the mongrel. His fiery optics peered at his surroundings with a glow of melancholy. He had known the land to have been ravaged by the locusts, but Amoxtli was certain that they had not done the damage to his particular end of the fields. It did not appear to be much, but it was enough to bring the Corten male to a mood of quiet sadness. It had been the scent of prey that had lured him to the field in the first place. Each step was beginning to deter him from advancing further into the terrain. A quiet breath was emitted through his nares and the sea dog paused, catching the aroma once more. 

A vole darted from its hideaway in the earth and drew the attention of the wolfdog. Ears swiveled forward, Amoxtli found himself in hot pursuit. He followed the small creature as quickly as his paws would allow before the vole disappeared into the earth again. Tired and heavy of breath, he scouted the earth in search of his meal. Another vole attempted it's luck just beneath his paws, and was not as successful as the first. Oxtli clasped the creature in his mouth and looked up triumphantly. His surroundings had changed. The field was no longer painted in devastated colors. It was green and beginning to bloom. Quite suddenly, he was bewitched by his good fortune. Roaming the fields with no more than a sweeping look, something caught the halfling's gaze. A dark figure in a sea of green. 

The wolfdog was wary in his approach; vole clasped in his jaws, he peered wordlessly at the inky form of the male. In a moment of concern, the mute managed a raspy whine as if to say "what has happened to you?" But of course his voice had been stolen from him, and so he waited to catch the eyes of the slumped wolf of the field.