Otter Creek Does it hurt to feel so high?

Dusty Rose was there because I said so. He's got legs and all, y'know? They're long and they like to be moving so he used them to walk his fluffy ass over the mountain and just happened to find Otter Creek.

And he was just a little lost. Sure, he could retrace his steps, but the route he'd taken had been frustrating and dangerous, and he was hoping he could somehow get back without going through that headache again. More specifically, he was hoping some kind soul would direct him, because fuck if he was going to put all that work into poking around, doubling back, and poking around some more. That sounded boring, and Dusty Rose did not weather boredom well.

When he caught sight of that distant figure, he opened his mouth to scream-shout a coyote greeting: HEY, YOU! — but something brought him up short, and instead he stood there and watched, and after a long moment, he realized he was watching from a lot closer.

'Cause — y'know. Legs.

"Etienne," he said, jogging the last dozen yards. The sight and scent of blood made him hungry uneasy, but he came close without much thought. Once there, he found he had little to say. Clearly the other man was not alright, so he didn't bother asking. He also did not bother asking if Etienne wanted help or company, so as not to give him an opportunity to say No — because fuck that, too.

He squished himself close, his head and ears swiveling to check their surroundings before he scrunched down himself.