Cricket Creek Bog hippopotamus

he raised a brow at the man, submerged deep in water. he had the right idea, aditya supposed, though that was where the mosquitoes seemed to linger most. it was a shame that the weather had forced their hand, made them choose between oppressive heat and biting bugs. even he, who normally liked some extra warmth, was uncomfortable.

is it cool beneath the water? he asked, half-rhetorically. when he came across a less-fetid river or stream, he'd take a dip. for now, he was content to observe from afar. 

without waiting for pharaoh's response, he went on. it's good to see you again, aditya mentioned, smiling. i assume you've found a home here, among other wolves?

he did not begrudge pharaoh's departure—not when he, himself, had chosen to depart.

in a different world. . .

or, hell, with a different man, for one as flighty as aditya would never be able to keep a pack together, not for any great length of time. charisma and persuasion only went so far.