Emberwood i wanna be anywhere but here, always

He probably shouldn't feel so satisfied to find the Emberwood empty. He'd taken the long way around, avoiding Swiftcurrent Creek when he'd finally realized how close it really is to his new home and skirting around the huge mountain in the early hours of the morning. @Kratos had been asleep when he left, so he'd made sure to mark around the entrance of the cave as a clear sign he plans on coming back. He'd wanted to make this discovery on his own, especially if his father was still lurking around.
But he isn't. No one is, it seems, and Zephyr can't help feeling a little smug — if only because that means whatever new beginning his father and Lainie had found crumbled as thoroughly as his own. Even now, his resentment lingers. He pauses his trek into the woods to sniff a dead rodent, not fresh enough to smell appetizing but not quite rotted enough to carry a powerful stench. Still, it doesn't smell pleasant. After a moment of thought, he picks it up by the tail, and carries it with him as he explores the rest of the forest. For some reason, the thought of flinging it at some unwary soul amuses him.

Evien was... unsure what he felt for his new pack. Fields was there, which was nice, but Merrick was unsettling to say the least, and he hadn't run acros anyone else yet. But he shouldn't be surprised by that - he'd only been there for a couple of days, and he had time to make more connections.

He'd come to the forest to try and seek some herbs for his small stash he had in their territory. It wasn't much, and he didn't have a den for it just yet, but he was working on it. He'd get there eventually.

Blissfully, he remained unaware of the circumstances that might befall him - circumstances in the form of a half-decayed rodent.

small pp here for flow, let me know if i should edit <3

Eventually he catches a fresh scent, a wolf scent, and his focus is quickly pinned on following the trail. His steps are careful, slower than usual, posture dropping into a slinking crouch as he tries for the first time to "hunt" another wolf. He's always been rather silent in his movements, practiced from a childhood spent in hiding from demons lurking in the shadows and invisible monsters prowling just past the trees. This comes naturally, unlike so many other things in his life.
Unfortunately, the next part is less clear to him. When the mottled brown wolf comes into view, all possible plans vanish from his thoughts, and all he knows is that he's going to throw the damn thing. He draws close enough for some sort of assault from behind with the tiny corpse dangling from his jaws, and realizes he has a dilemma: throwing it at the stranger's butt would be far less amusing than he'd hoped, but he can't exactly yell to get his attention with the tail still between his teeth. He freezes for a moment, and then a lightbulb appears.
A deep rumble starts to grow in his chest immediately, voice purposefully pitched a little lower as he tries to channel his inner Kratos, if he has one of those — he thinks so, after how much time they've spent in each other's personal space. Whether he manages to be as intimidating as his mate or not, he at least manages to make some noise, which is his ultimate goal. When the stranger presumably turns to see who exactly is growling at his back end, he lunges forward and swings the rotting rodent with as much force as he can manage. He forgets to let go of the tail, but it works out alright; it simply pops off, sending the tailless corpse spinning through the air toward the unfortunate stranger.

If there was anything Evien had expected from the day - and his mind did tend to wander - it was not to be growled at and then have a fucking rotting carcass thrown direct center of his face. Green eyes squeezed closed sharply and his senses were overwhelmed with bad smell. Some kind of juice from the thing - rot and blood and nasty gross ew, fucking ew! - splattered across his fur, and Evien felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest. Stomach churning and eyes widening, the brown wolf looked around for the culprit. 

When he saw them - a small silver thing, not too different from his own size - the disgust immediately switched over to indignant (and righteous) rage. 

"Oh my fucking god, do you have any idea how many germs could be fucking festering in that fucking thing?! Like, like rabies or mange or parasites or something!" the boy snapped, fur bristling as he walked forward. Not too close - it was a stranger after all - but stiff-legged and vehement. "You don't pick up goddamn rotting corpses off the ground, what the hell is wrong with you?! And you don't fucking throw them at people, it's on my face, oh my god..." Evien's voice rose in pitch, growing thicker toward the end as he choked on a gag. "I'm gonna throw up."

The reaction he receives is even better than he'd expected. From the first words, Zephyr can't stop himself from laughing; it only goes downhill from there. By the time the stranger announces that he's going to puke, Zephyr is breathless from laughter and nearly in tears, not at all perturbed by the mottled boy's stiff-legged approach. He barely hears any of the actual words past his laughter, but the longer it goes on, the more it amuses him. At the last words, though, he manages to take a step back. Not on me! He says, fresh laughter bubbling up with the last word. At this point, he's half-convinced the overreaction is a joke. Even Phillip hadn't been this ridiculous.

arriving next round?

Wandering upon their own is a norm that Kratos falls in easily. Both of them are the sort that need their breathing space, alone, no matter how much they care for each other—and he thinks they are finding a happy medium between the both. Sometimes, however, Kratos is a dick. Well, a lot of the time.
So he ends up searching out for Zephyr, following his mates scent that wraps so awkwardly around the creek instead of through it, until the woods of ember appear on the horizon and the hills are alive with laughter; a voice unmistakable.
A twist creeps upon his lips, as he lumbers through the woods without any true rush towards the noise.

"Oh, if I vomit on anyone it's going to be on you!" Evien snapped, green eyes flaring with anger as he rounded on the silver coywolf. The laughter stung his pride and just served to further stoke the flames of the anger in his chest. 

Still, though, the brown wolf was mischeivous in his own right, and an idea popped into his mind. It wasn't to be funny, but instead to give this other wolf a taste of their own medicine. 

Lunging forward, Evien aimed to wipe the disgusting juices from his face onto the light gray fur of the other wolf. He wasn't very fast, but his assailant had allowed him to get closer, so perhaps his sneak attack might work.

His laughter starts to hurt, lungs burning and throat aching from the newness of it, but he can't stop himself. He'd meant for the stranger to be mad, of course, but this is much more than he'd expected. This is really, really mad. He disregards the threat thrown his way, and opens his mouth to taunt the other boy more — only to be interrupted by the sudden movement. His laughter ceases abruptly.
He doesn't even take a moment to think about it. His hackles ripple as he lunges to meet what he assumes is an attack, teeth bared. It feels wrong the moment he starts to move, though. There is no flash of teeth from the opposition, no signs of aggression aside the sudden approach, and it all hits him a second too late. His own jaws snap shut, and he crashes into the boy heavily with a surprised grunt, likely landing them both on the ground in an uncomfortable tangle.

Further tracking down the scent, Kratos perks dark rimmed ears at the sudden cease—abrupt in their curtain fall, as if something is afoot. The languid pace of his picks up just as swift, marching ahead with the power of a raging bull. His teeth are his horns, and his muscles flexing underneath his coat of rust and black.
The nickname of Firestorm suits him well—for he arrives as one, blazing full and ready to mar. Pale gold eyes happen upon the scene with lips pulled in defense, yet they weaken as the tussle goes about without true teeth and blood. The only stench of rotten flesh nearby, and Kratos slows his pace, languid again as he lazily walks towards the two.
He is not exactly gentle when he goes for the scruff of the mottled brown boy in attempt to pull him away from Zephyr. Don’t flirt with what is mine.

The connection was jarring, but Evien regained his bearings quickly enough to shove his face deep into silver fur and wipe the foul-smelling corpse water onto the wolf who'd put it on him to begin with. Pride and satisfaction welled into his chest, and he did find that he was laughing. Odd. There were so many emotions warring inside him - disgust, for starters. Anger. And now he was almost having fun.

But not for long. 

Teeth caught in his scruff and suddenly Evien was being lifted like he weighed nothing. The brown wolf probably should have been scared, but really, Evie was just angrier. A furious screech escaped him and he struggled, muddled paws waving in the air. "Put me the fuck down! They've gotta pay for what they did!" he shouted at the big wolf that was holding him. "Seriously! Who throws a dead body at someone?!" That was directed more at the silver wolf, but it was also more a theoretical question. Perhaps only god knew the answers, if there was one.

He hardly notices the boy wiping his face on his fur, though he does notice the laughter, and he finds that rather strange. There isn't much time to ponder it, though. Kratos appears, looming, and then the other's weight is lifted and Zephyr finds himself free to rise back to his feet and take a step back. He snaps at the other boy's muddy toes as he flails, only harsh enough to sting a little if contact is made. You eat dead bodies, He informs the hysterical stranger, forgetting to greet Kratos in his amusement. Now that the initial excitement of it all has worn off, he's settling back into his usual flatness, though a faint grin still tugs at the corners of his mouth. A moment later, he glances to Kratos. He's flipping out because I threw a mouse at him.

From there, the encounter doesn't last much longer. Zephyr quickly grows bored, and increasingly impatient as he clarifies the situation for Kratos. Thankfully, his mate either gets the hint or shares his desire to leave; he drops the boy, and soon the two continue on their way. Zephyr remains unrepentant to the end, of course.