Firestone Hot Springs life will be all like what.

the hot springs smelled like ass. well, brisbane corrects his mental assessment of the sulfuric smell that lingers in the air, heavy with moisture, specifically it smelled like decaying seaweed. which was a massively unpleasant smell and one that he'd grown, to his dismay, intimately familiar with while growing up in blackshark bay. it was a chore that the pups were sent on with the pack's naturalists: to rid the beach of leftover seaweed that wasn't taken by birds for nests, healers for wraps or those that enjoyed eating it as a treat. brisbane'd never had a taste for the stuff himself personally.

his nose wrinkles in unbridled disgust as he weaves around the foaming and steaming pools. the steam curls the tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck as they collect moisture and he worries that the saltwater residue in his fur will be removed by the steam. it was a dumb, vain thing to worry about — shouldn't he be concerned if the air was toxic? it certainly smelled like it could be toxic. he peers into a pool as he passes absently around it, pondering if the water itself was toxic when he heard the yip. his ears cup forth, alert, and he quickens his pace as he sees another army crawling closer to one of the pools.

oi! whaddya doin'? he barks after her. that water could be toxic. brisbane isn't sure why he cares aside from the fact that he really isn't in the mood to see someone's face be melted off by potentially acidic, decaying seaweed smelling water.