Blackbeak Bluff Rogue

In his wanderings, he passed by pockets of scent - heavily concentrated and mingled with the smell of many individuals. Diaval knew nothing of pack life and call him stupid, he would likely agree, he didn't connect the two very well. If he were to be sat down and told the obvious relationship between heavy scents on the wind and packs, he would have found the information obvious and the lesson unnecessary. In practice, he was clearly an idiot as he traversed between two local territories without any idea that either existed. 

He'd found himself in a weird place, too. The sheer drop made him dizzy and he wisely stood far away from the edge. He was surprised by the amount of green after being on the beach. He preferred it, but the coast was still too open for his total comfort.

When he came upon another - who he saw first, rather than smelled (was that thing even working?) - he pulled up short and stood, staring. He was happy to see another wolf, absolutely, but that didn't make them happy to see him. Would he be happy to see him? Doubtful. He frowned. They seemed to be searching...or something. Shifting uncomfortably, Diaval finally trotted his way forward, his quiet loneliness pushing him forward and toward the she-wolf. 

"Hi. Uh..." he trailed off, glancing at her, then away. His voice died on the breeze as he didn't follow up with anything more and seriously considered turning around and simply leaving.