Kintla Flatlands Oh, oh, oh

In the midst of the flatlands, a dusty wolf watched the horizon. The closer the sun came to setting, the higher July's anxiety rose. He wasn't particularly fond of fields, and the fact that he hadn't found food or shelter for the evening weighted his steps like trailing anchors. He had no destination and no looming task of importance, which only made him remember that the life of a loner did not suit him well at all. But he wore the burden with as much grace as he could manage, trying not to let his mind fill with a vast sense of uselessness and instead focusing on his own survival.

Except, singular survival was not a wolf's normal creed; so when he spotted another wolf— looking as lost as he felt— he approached without pausing to consider any detriment to his actions. He didn't need to. Any interaction, positive or negative, would be welcome by him.

July naturally brimmed with an unspoken confidence. He walked tall with his ears erect and his tail giving a neutral wag, but he hung back despite his eagerness to approach the grey creature. His hesitation seemed to be more for her benefit than his own, but he waited to see if she would take offense to his presence or not.