Blacktail Deer Plateau We all sell our souls sooner or later.

The other boy was quick to turn after Aningan had spoken, seemingly startled by this sudden company. An apology was hardly a second away from being given when a wad of gunk came firing out of Reyes’ mouth, dropping unceremoniously to the ground in front of him with a nice, audible plop. His brows immediately pinched together with confusion and a hint of disgust as he stared down at the clump; he sent out an onslaught of silent thank you’s to the spirits of his ancestors for preventing said collection of gunk from hitting him directly. Outwardly, he stepped to the side and moved around the pile, trying his best to keep it out of his sight, and therefore out of his mind. Thankfully, it wasn’t long after that he was given an answer, which gave him even more footing for escaping any mental replays of what had just happened.

“Yeah, there sure are a lot of trees,” he remarked. “They’re not as tall as the ones back home, though.” These trees were ones that he was more accustomed to seeing, having been born into a woodland and then raised in the mountains. He had come to appreciate and respect the sequoias for their immensity alone but, with equal measures, there was a part of him that had feared them—especially with the ocean’s malice grasping at them, he worried whether or not their magnificence would lead to their literal downfall. And if that were to happen, he didn’t want anyone to be anywhere near them.

“We’ll be able to go home eventually,” he tried to assure him, swallowing his own dubiety in favour of nurturing hope. “I don’t know when but we will. As soon as the ocean is happy again and everyone is ready.” Although, for some, would they ever be ready? The ocean had stolen from some of them things which are irreplaceable, lives that could not be revived. And then the earth had stolen again, rumbling with rage and ridding their range of sustenance.

Just how more trying may the times turn?

Aningan peered around at their surroundings, searching visually whilst also drawing in any presenting scents. He could not take them back to the ocean right now, and he could not tear down even a single tree, but perhaps he might be able to find a small meal. Another deep inhale and he swore he could smell something, little but edible nonetheless; the faint traces of a rodent lingered, hardly a trail to follow, their being so small. But… “Did you smell that?” he asked anyways, hopeful that his nose was not simply tricking him. Hopeful, too, that a wolf might be able to catch a mouse without a feathered overseer.