Blackbeak Bluff who alone but he scapegraced and goated me?

Driftwood was wandering somewhat aimlessly, his feet as restless as the frequent spring breezes that wafted and skirled across the only-vaguely-familiar landscape. This near to the coast, while the faint tingling taste of snow could be scented on that wind still the rise and fall of the verdant lands were largely unmarred by any patches of white. Though if he squinted, Drift thought he could see one small dirty patch tucked deep into the recesses of the craggy rocks jutting from the earth some distance away...or, well, maybe that was just an impressively sizeable heap of bird poop. The feathery little critters were thick as midges in numerous spots hereabouts after all, much of the time; thankfully right now the skies were mostly deserted, however, and the air carried few if any birds' cries along with its own soft whispers.

Though perhaps it wasn't all that fortunate a lack this day: Driftwood had to admit as he stalked along, brow furrowed and head lowered and only haphazardly scanning the ground before him, that his heavy thoughts might have been able to use a few more distractions. They were eddying in circles and going nowhere, over and over returning to his beloved island and the pack that piece by piece had been dissolving since Seelie had so urgently departed and taken much of her immediate family with her. Driftwood understood the necessity, admired her for departing with such alacrity to help her extended family, but nonetheless he missed them all already. And like a sore tooth, he kept returning to thoughts of them, to wondering how they were faring, and, well, to Moorhen too he had to admit. All of which meant that he tripped over a long gray log that inconveniently placed itself just before his left forefoot.

Driftwood stumbled, but managed to recover before he did a full-on faceplant at least. But it was a close thing. He half-folded his ears back in embarrassment, coming back to himself with some quick blinks just before scanning the horizons to see who else might have seen this little gaffe of his. He wasn't entirely thrilled to at second glance spot a female in purposeful motion not all that far away. He moved half a step sideways and only then did the uncooperative breeze bring her scent to him: no one he knew, and gee little zephyr couldn't you have warned me just a little earlier of this anyhow? Driftwood hesitated a second, trying to take the lady's measure from afar, but what started him taking a few cautiously concerned steps involuntarily in her direction was the suspicious lump in her profile. Drift's feet picked up into a trot of their own accord as the furrow in his brow changed a little, having a new source of worry to distract itself with now. Hey are you possibly— he started aloud as he obliquely approached toward her rounded-out side with his head and voice kept moderately low, and then caught himself. Perhaps he shouldn't be asking too-prying questions of strangers. If he could help it. I mean, uh, are you all right? Can I, uh, assist you somehow?