Ravensblood Forest making splinters

The past week had been a hardship -- in every way imaginable. Dogmeat's wound, suffered at the hand of Burke's fine teeth, had closed over into the most raw and bubbled malaise. His hind limb, fraught with some wild form of cellulitis, was swollen the size of a seacow. He favored it visibly; often avoiding any slopes or inclines where his strength would be tried.

He made towards the sea -- driven by a hungry desperation he had never known. He had avoided all living things, at all costs -- and as he came closer to the ocean's hum his discretion ebbed until at last he came upon a feral creature he had neither the name of nor the knowledge of. He set down on his haunches, squinting at the dark form and its... bird companion? He couldn't be sure. The wolf did not look like the wolves he had met thus far, but it was most obviously not a dog. Dogmeat, possessed of a great sense of self-preservation, did not call out to the creature. He winced as he shifted his weight off of his hind limb and sat down upon the sparse snow -- an audible groan given as he felt the cold earth make contact with his half-destroyed hind.

Perhaps this one would be friendly -- though thus far Dogmeat was convinced that the entire world had lost its kind charm.