Verdant Basin Dodgeball

Qvasir never had a plan. Well, his plan was to never have a plan. Life seemed to take him down narrowed roads, bumps, curves— all of it. But he still remained victorious— how could that be so? It had him chuckling to himself beneath his breath, though it died out once he made it to a clearing.

There he was met with a basin of water, but he was not alone. The roaming scent of bear glided through the air just as easily as a skunk's message had. He recoiled, ready to turn the other way, but his throat went dry. Not from nerves ( perhaps ), but from sheer thirst.

With a grunt beneath his breath, he stalked forward. Head low to the ground, he'd attempt to keep his muscled stature as friendly and non-threatening as possible. Only he, the walking hubris, would think he could take on a bear.

Toes soothing in the water, he made a low noise in the back of his throat. They had a meager distance between them, but still— no one wanted to poke the bear.