Jade Fern Grove we were caught up and lost in all of our vices

Outlander had been content to settle down into a domestic lifestyle within Easthollow. He had Alarian's care and the support of a pack now. Healing would become much easier in the next week. If winter didn't swallow them whole. Snow had dusted over the earth as he traveled into a forest close to the pack's lands. There was an undeniable chill to the air (duh Outlander, there was fucking snow) and he regretted leaving his resting place.

A heavy huff escaped him as he leaned against a tree, with a pitiful attempt to catch his breath. His sides expanded and collapsed with each long breath. He should have been better at exploring already but he still had his bad days.

What could be expected?

He shouldn't be following Outlander, but he can't help it; the last thing he should be doing is leaving the pack's territory. Honestly, does the guy think he's invincible or something? Unfortunately for both of them, Alarian is hyper-aware of his friend's mortality, and his skin starts to crawl the moment he realizes he's gone. So he tracks his scent past the borders, feeling a little irritated and a little guilty and a little creepy.
Outlander, He calls when he finally spots him leaned up against a tree, trying not to sound too alarmed. Damnit — he should have come a little sooner. Idiot's probably strained himself too much, he thinks, unable to fully mask the expression mixed between concern and exasperation written across his features. What are you doing out here?

He knew it. He knew he could not find silence for a few minutes. While he appreciated Alarian's help, this was overboard. Outlander had barely gone far enough to warrant any worry. Or so he thinks.

Nothing. He replied with a grimace on his face as his head turned to examine his smaller companion. Can't go for a walk? I'll turn into a blob if I lay about all day. It was the truth. Outlander was self conscious enough about looking so shitty already, he did not need to turn into some fat blob who just lazed all day. No one would want him then. Not strangers, not Easthollow, not Alar— no one.

What are you doing? He pressed back a response with a touch of teasing his tone. The answer was going to be good, one way or another. Either he was being stalked or looked over like a toddler. Their crossing was no coincidence like the first time.

Immediately he's irritated with the response, and he prepares to bite back with a number of things: you're still healing, you're not safe out here, and besides it's cold as balls. But before he can get the words out, he registers Outlander's question, and his ears flush with heat. I wasn't — Oh fuck. His ears flatten to his skull and he glances away from Outlander, voice rising slightly in pitch. Nothing.
He sucks in a breath and reaches desperately for something to say — So, um, you — like walking? He wants to sink into the ground and die; he doesn't even know why he thought following Outlander would be okay. Obviously he's not dead or dying. Ugh.

"So, um, you — like walking?"

Outlander thought he was going to fucking lose it. Yet he didn't totally lose it. He did, however, let loose a deep chuckle that rumbled in the open for a few seconds. Yeah, Alarian. I like walking. Love it actually. I think I was made for it even. Look at all these legs I got that I can use for walking. Just for emphasis he stuck out his front left leg and wiggled it a bit. The look he gave was very easy to read. "See? Look at that walking leg."

With that excessive moment over, Outlander let his features return to normal. No teasing or mocking look was present. He sharply raised a brow. Did Alarian want to start over or were they really about to discuss walking?

His embarrassment only grows as Outlander speaks, ears still pinned back. Okay, he gets it — it was stupid. He's stupid. The reminder doesn't make it any easier to come up with something to say in response, though. Um, He manages after a few beats of silence between them, but his voice dies in his throat and refuses to come back for another brief stretch of seconds.
Sorry, He says finally, uncertain and almost questioning in tone. He's not sure what he can say to make this interaction end, but that's all he can focus on now. He feels stupid, and he doesn't know why he's having such a hard time thinking properly. I can um, leave you to... that.

He felt bad once he saw Alarian's reaction. Outlander was finally feeling well enough (mentally, not physically obviously as he was still leaned against a tree) to get a little chipper and it backfired. Nice, jerkwad. He inwardly scolded himself.

Wait. The large male said as he moved to get closer to Alarian. Walk me back? He asked as he lowered his head a bit. I mean...I'm not as great of a walker as I brag about being. A crooked grin settled on his worn face as he looked towards Alarian.

Outlander was well aware that his companion had been smart to come out here after him. He probably would have pushed himself, gone too far, and died had it not been for the voice of the smaller male stopping him. Granted he didn't want to admit that out loud. Yet.

He sucks in a breath as Outlander moves closer, unable to stop a slight smile from tugging at his features. Don't worry, He murmurs playfully, turning the direction of Easthollow and gesturing for his friend to follow. I'll show you how it's done; I'm a master walker. Really, he's better at running, but that's another conversation entirely. For now, he'll just focus on enjoying the walk back to Easthollow — and trying to ignore the heavy feeling in his chest that says this dynamic is just a touch too familiar for his liking.