Redhawk Caldera beti

Willing himself to get in better shape before the winter hit, Bronco began picking up his patrols a bit more in an effort to put on a bit more muscle. So, he picked his way down the slope, and began to range in serpentines along the border, so he could re-establish important markings and see who was visiting beyond them. 

He picked up the scent of blood and followed it as it led to the borders. A call came up- and he assumed it might be from the same one who bled. When he caught sight of him, he was in awful shape. Bronco could smell the beginning stages of infection, he thought. 

The wolf was a stranger, and while he appeared otherwise very regular, Bronco thought he saw a hint of age about his shoulders and the coarseness of his fur. Sage, but sad eyes. About his neck was something odd, something Bronco had never seen before. It was just above a deep wound, that had bled through the moss packed into it. He thought he recognized the shape of the gash.

He too called out. He’d stay well out of reach- injury sometimes led to madness, after all- but he spoke calmly to the stranger. ”We’ll have help on the way soon. I’m Bronco, this is the border of Brechelient. Can you tell me who you are, and what happened?” he asked.