Moonsong Glacier fəˈnediks

He finished tending to his sore leg and swiped his tongue over the dirt to rid him of the taste. The metallic bite of the soil here wasn't much better, but at least it wasn't laden with memories. He felt that if he could only rid his fur of the lingering reminders—the apocalyptic smell that clung to his follicles, the heavy cloak of dust and grime, the greasy feeling of each hair on his tongue from stress—then he could outrun it all. The memories would disappear, too.

Aquarius lifted his tapered head away from his foreleg and froze in place when a new scent disrupted his atmosphere. It was a more earthy smell, colder and crisper somehow, and he parted his lips to drink it against his tastebuds. A hint of pine and sun-warmed stone. Nothing familiar, he noted with a flurry of relief.

Still, his tail gave a tense and nervous lash when the bronze-brushed fellow came into sight and a twitch of his limbs brought him to bear. He seemed on the verge of bolting but kept his paws grounded, calmed by the gentle sway of Cortland's tail. He hadn't survived by being bold and brazen, surely, though interest was destined to someday put the nail in Aquarius' coffin. He shifted his dark paws, straightening as best he could despite the thundering of his heart, and said, in a voice soft and limned with helpless hope, "hello! Are... are you from here?"