Blackfoot Forest let me fly fly fly

The old familiar aching static in his head had been bothering him now and again lately, but the weather was too pleasant not to use it to travel. On a day clearer than the one before it, he simply could not keep entirely to the cavern any longer and he flung a short howl up before departing. This time, he went south to scout into the wilds skimming the range Eventually, the silver Rikudou wished to go west of the mountains, but he had no concrete directive, so could afford to be lax on the route he carved out. He trusted he would get there after.

Every hour pulled him further from the dragon's cave. He was mindful to keep his travels light and swift the entire way. Nothing but the basics diverted him, and he had a feeling that he was making good time—although what actual good this may do him, he did not know. The satisfaction it inspired in his heart was richly undeniable, and for now, it at least felt like enough.

As dusk crept, a forest loomed ahead and the Sukauto knew where he would take his solace for the night. The last light of the day still hung on by the time he threaded into the treeline's cover, but it was fading fast. He kept his pace a steady jog as he searched for a traveled trail and a waterway for a drink, if he could be so lucky.

for @Surma

When Surma had been attacked by the cougar, it hurt every square inch of his body to move and he’d gotten where he needed to be to heal (though he does not remember much of it). Now, the memory of pain is a phantom from what he remembers but his mind is much more aware of every fiber that sends waves of electricity through his body. He’s barely able to put his toes on the ground of his back right leg and blood pours from various points of his frame, clawed and bit over the remnants of the cougar months ago. This time, however, he doesn’t have anywhere to crawl back to and his stomach has been empty long enough that all his energy of surviving is easily zapped to keep him standing.

The brute does not even notice the wisp of a wolf ahead at first, focused more on trying to keep his legs firm and on all four feet but it is soon that they crumple, sending him to the ground with a growl and whine he can’t fight back. Surma heaves a sigh, closing his tired eyes for a moment, but it is mostly blood that returns on his inhale. The rays of moonlight break through the overhang of trees, causing Inari to soak up the bright light from the clear, illuminating sky, and remains silent as the ghost of a wolf continues to move closer.

It's dark in here with night deepening, but he finds comfort in the steely glow of the moonlit that does break through. What does concern him, with time, is first some scent. Familiar, somewhat, and that was what bothered him. He threaded on through the trees carefully, closer and closer until his nose burned with the coppery odor of blood.

He is unsettled to realize in full who this is, yet now in sight of him, he wishes it weren't true and that his mind isn't remembering right somehow. With blood this prevalent on his senses, it has him on edge but he does finish his approach. It's him, and he can't help but feel so compelled, even if every better sense told him to just leave it alone, then move along off into the night.

Inari whined softly as he hesitated over the final strides to his side, and most of all, it was disbelief, worry, and sorrow that come rushing all at him when he can better see the extent. Although the scout stayed ready to recoil and flee should he have to, since it has been so long, he moved in to gently nudge his cheek and wish there was more he could do. He had a decent understanding on how to help keep them clean, possibly ease some of the worst of the pain.. but he had no stocks, and had not put effort into such a notion in many moons. He would have to do what he could to help; the woods could make for shelter, there were creeks near, he could find something. 

But, when his contact is not repelled, he found himself easing into it and wishing the circumstances were not these. Another soft whine, and he reached to see the wounds with sorrow etched into his green gaze; they worried him badly, perhaps rightfully so, and there were not enough questions that could spill forth from his quivering lips to get the answers he would need. Instead, he found a curious acceptance, and a wherewithal to move forward--with him, if he may.