Golden Glade in a house that's not a home

Collision wasn't certain of what he expected. Golden eyes observed the stranger. He was large like himself. Held the same darkened cloak. And according to the standard of the species--a nameless vagabond. His voice was a raspy croak. Perhaps he was dehydrated. Perhaps, also like himself, the abandonment of home rendered him alone for too long.

Legs reclined so that he could sit before the stranger. He meant no harm. Judging by the almost casual stance the foreigner held he doubted he was of malicious intent. While perhaps his words could be mistaken as a justification for his arrival it was also safe to assume he was explaining he sought no rivalry. Collision nodded in understanding, "I didn't mean to stall you on your way to--wherever," He gestured his head in the direction he had been travelling. As if to grant him permission to leave if he so chose.

Toes prodded the Earth and he found himself urged to engage in at least mild conversation. To ease the drumming silence he carried with him every other day, "I simply don't find too many loners. Pack wolves and their comrades--more so," He stated this matter-of-factly, "Where are you going?" Was there a destination? Collision found himself wondering if he was the only one with no direction whatsoever. Additionally, he considered if he was being rude, "Apologies, my name is Collision,"