Whitebark Stream displaced

Some sort of wildfire. An apt description with the perilous glow across the slopes of the mountain. Smoke grew thicker as time progressed and the smell only changed marginally, but for Larus it was too heavy, too rich. The wolf stared up at the murky mountain top and seemed transfixed for a long while; unafraid, and then suddenly, uninterested. He turned from the danger and faced the dark wolf and this time, he remembered he had company.

Perhaps talking was giving his brain a workout, lending the fragile network of synapses a focus. The wolf did wince, though, as if he held a pain in his head and around his eyes, and was unable to watch the dark shape for long—ducking and striding, almost to pass the stranger by with a soundless dismissal. But then he stopped and with a series of shy glances the wolf tried to speak again, to focus what he could of the mind and manipulate the tongue.

The... sea, he drawled, picking at words as they jumbled forth from his psyche. Sea, and.. salt. Where...? Where is the sea? Something tugged at Larus' memory again, wanting to shove him back in to that ice cave, but he willed himself away from that path before the idea could take root and sweep him aside; he refused to be locked in his thoughts again, and instead sought some new path with the aid of this dark stranger. He did not know what he was asking—for directions maybe, or some name to put to this thought, but it was too confusing to him.

I remember... blue, blue sky, clear... water. Salt... Sea? Larus squints and idly, lightly, shakes his head to dismiss his thoughts; they don't make sense and he knows his words will only confuse his current company. But he was trying.