Felltree Marsh But the prince of any failing empire knows

a small twitch of badlands' lips are given; a ghost of a smile. at least tybault, if he thought the name 'badlands' was strange, was polite enough not to bring it to attention. not that badlands could ( or would ) disagree if that was ever brought up to him. he didn't pick it. or, at least, he thought he didn't pick it.

tempting as it is to let himself get pulled back along the ground zero memory thread, he keeps himself present. as grounded as he could be without solid ground underfoot.

he moves his paws a bit, shuffling slightly forward. there was a small blossoming fear of getting stuck in the mud, despite that it had yet to actually happen in any capacity.

tybault speaks of a fox. an albino fox specifically. though badlands might've been confused about everything surrounding himself, he retained knowledge of basic prey and other predators. finding an albino fox sounded a bit like an impossible task.

aren't albino ... anything ... supposed to be rare? he asks, offering tybault a small tilt of his head. i can't say i've seen one ever. but then again, that was probably par for the course for badlands.

kind of, badlands admits, struggling for a moment. he's a bit suspicious of groups per ground zero, but a pack could offer a stability that badlands was sorely lacking at the moment: physically and mentally. i wouldn't say no to a pack though. i mean, i can pull my own weight with food stores. unfortunately, that was the only skill he can offer, because it is the only one that he knows of. it's what kept him alive for the past couple weeks: being able to hunt.

that, thankfully, was a mostly instinctual skill.