Phoenix Maplewood i've a notion that poetry is the highest form of self-deception

Truth be told, he didn't know what he was doing this much south of the Sanctuary. Zamael's master said jump, and he said, How fucking far down the map, boss lady? Teekon Wilds was sometimes devoid of any physics or even common sense, so if there was a wolf that usually kept close to home that was found suddenly with a yawning gap between himself and all he held dear. . .well, you know--

Okay, fuck y'all, Zamael just felt like exploring today.

The grayscale man slipped through the trees, the shadows cool and refreshing on his sun-warmed pelt. Breathing slowly, steadily, he extended into a trot, enjoying the feeling of confinement after so much open space. Didn't it usually work the opposite way? No matter--Zamael had always felt safer, in a forest. Anyone could mess you up, out in the clear.

But safe was situational, and he soon felt considerably less safe as he nearly tripped and fell over a bulky brown form, hunched by a tree. "Fuck--" he spat out, trying to regain his footing with a series of scrabbling motions before coming to a stop. He turned, irritated, glaring at the stranger. "What the fuck--" His eyes then lowered, to land on the flower at his paws. A stark red, against the earth.

"What the fuck," Zamael said, in a completely different tone. He tilted his head. "You okay, man?"