Stavanger Bay I. The flames climbed in to the clouds.

Sleep had come to him easily once his body landed in the gully, but it was waking that brought the issues. His blood may have stopped flowing so mercilessly but he still ached, his muscles stiff from poor care and too much strenuous activity the day before. The boy sat up; he hoisted himself free of the dirt and pine needles in time to see a flicker of white among the shadows. He would have bristled if he'd had the energy, and instead trailed after that pale shape with his sleepy eyes until it was closer, and it had formed itself in to a face. The stranger drifted nearer and their close proximity finally roused a response from him — a ripple of movement as he lurched to his feet and an array of platinum fur spiked along his broad shoulders.

Are you well? She asked — or, he thought it was a female's voice, and he thought he heard a note of caution. The boy's gaze dropped from the stranger for a split-second as he inspected himself, unsure of how to answer. The dried blood had caused his chest fur to tangle in to a mess, bits of leaf-litter stuck to the coagulated mess, twigs and pine needles twisted throughout his densely furred underside. Things ached, but that was all. He was not worried. When he looked to her again, his nose tipped in silent acquiescence; I am fine, he was conveying.

Then he took a breath and tried to stride confidently away, but as soon as he was moving he was struck with an acute vertigo and swayed to a stop, blundering against the wilted ferns which had caught his hefty body in the first place. Okay, not so good.