Greatwater Lake Or something better, I could care less

The lake would have been a prize find, if there had been anything to scour from it. It was far too broad for Valtari to wonder over, more nuisance than anything for a wolf who had grown up loving nothing more than being seaside. Here too, he had hoped to find some trace that would lead him to a holy grail of sorts—prey, namely.

But it was not to be and never once did he counter his thoughts with the concept that perhaps he was simply not that decent of a hunter. Yet if the very thing had been suggested to him, he would have laughed; he had survived thus far, hadn't he? His induction to Rusalka was still a relatively new thing, but before that he had managed well on his own or in the passing company of others.

Very much on the hunt still as he rounded soft soils, he heard the coughing of something.

Or rather, someone.

It was a brittle, hoarse sounding thing; a lesser fool may have thought it a death rattle, but Valtari's thoughts immediately darkened towards the concept that it was a continued omen. A specter lost in the reeds and weeds, mocking all who came near with their bellies knotted by hunger.

Only it was in his estimation that a specter did not take a form, though perhaps if it were to then it would be what he witnessed at a distance—pale and autumnal, a tribute to the season that was swiftly withering away and casting them well into the throes that started many a hardship.

He called out to the wolf—"Are you dying?"

If he seemed the slightest bit hopeful, he was not, yet his eyes lit against the morning sun... and his distance was kept from the fit the wolf seemed to be having. Perhaps if he were on his last legs, so to speak, then Valtari would do him a favor.