Redhawk Caldera in a field of broken antlers, i'm holy

The sound of footfalls pounding the hardened and chilled earth was thunderous against Baal’s ears: like the frantic and furious beat of a war drum in his skull. They were coming. His fight or flight instinct rears up and he feels the familiar itch in his paws to give into the strongest of those instincts: flight. He resists. He stays down in a posture of prostration because he is here and he’s summoned them and now he must deal with it. He must face the judge and the jury and allow his worth or lack thereof to be judged. He will not survive long on his own, he knows this, he has told himself this over and over. A few more hundred times never hurt, though. He cannot rely upon Hann anymore. His brother is murdered. Nothing more than a rotting corpse and his sister might possibly hold a grudge against him for the rest of their lives. He doesn’t know for sure that such would be the case but he’s ready to always assume the worst of situations in preparation.

The wolf that approaches the borders as Baal tentatively sniffs at the air is male. He relies upon his sense of scent not daring to look at him. Eye contact…eye contact was not something that Baal ever did. He couldn’t even recall the color of his own brother’s eyes — red or silver? Let alone his sister’s. Avoiding eye contact was instinctual: it was safe. “I apologize. I-I didn’t mean to worry you.” Baal winces at the the other male's sentence even though a giggle of relief preceded it. “Hello,” Baal returns in a low murmur but it is a knee-jerk reaction. Lagan is how the guardian introduces himself. Baal tucks it away, letting his gaze rise to the guardian’s paws. “Baal. My name’s Baal.” Hannibal? That would imply that he reminded himself, in some way, of Hann and he didn’t. He never would.

“Ok.” Baal responds in case Lagan required an answer to his statement that until his parents arrived that they could talk. There were at least two topics that Baal most definitely did not wish to talk about and would omit because he did not wish to rehash grief that is still too fresh and because he didn’t want to have to face the nightmare that lives beneath his skin.