Fairspell Meadow Keep me running, running scared

Hm, he does not trust this individual will succeed.

With a roll of his eyes, he watches the orange clad woman wander in a fruitless search. Amongst a meadow of wildflowers, it is unlikely for those unfamiliar to find the one he is seeking. The red male turns his crossed paw skyward. He bows his head, licking and nibbling lightly at the dried blood crusted across it.

Minutes tick by with him debating whether he ought to slip away. Body weakness and a dizzy mind keep him where he is, however, and soon enough he spots the woman approaching him with not one flower, but a mess of them—covered nearly head to toe.

Lifting his head and placing his paw back gingerly, he narrows his gaze. The majority useless, yet by some luck she has the one he is searching for. “Hm, seems you are not incompetent.”