Rosewater Oasis The plagues

The faint scent of eternal desert roses greeted his nose and lured him in, drawing him further across warm sand and into the embrace of the oasis. Andalib knew, with all this greenery amid smudges of orange and yellow, there surely was water to drink from too. He had been wandering, trekking the land on some high-strung adventure, and talking to himself all the while.

It had worked up quite the thirst, and as the water revealed itself before him, his thirst leapt forward to make itself known.

His eyes reluctantly drifted aside to the figure reclined there, taking in judging eyes that reminded Andalib of his own folks. Andalib drew up, his head tipped high, chest puffed, a glint of delight in his eye.

At the invitation, he merely bowed dramatically, a flourish of fur and gangly legs before he was up again, bounding to the edge of the water and drinking his fill. He licked his nose, letting water drip off his whiskers as he lifted his head, glancing back to the lavish stranger.

Is this your home? Andalib was the picture of curiosity, sauntering closer like a fox more than a wolf. I've never been this far south before.