Blackfoot Forest What Did You Mean When You Said It's Destructive

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What Daighre liked the most, he had decided, about the forest he was in, was just how quiet and still it was. No hag of a mother to yell and nip at him to behave, smarten up. No bastard of a father to stare at him and sigh. But the best part—he was pretty sure—was how there were no nobodies to bother him. No friendly faces to run up to him and bark and wag their tails and ask his name. No pebbles that mistakenly believed they were the rivers instead of the rocks at the bottom of the stream.

It might have been the only peace and quiet he had ever known.

A shame it had taken a thorough ass beating and days of growing infection for him to finally be able to realize that.

He huffed.

Walked—dragged, stumbled—into the darkness beneath the tree. And with all the grace once could manage when wracked with an infection, fever, and chills, slumped to the ground. First onto his haunches, and then onto his stomach.

It was quiet, cold, and dark beneath the heavy cover of pine branches, and the dirt beneath his paws even colder, but Daighre felt like he was burning up. His body shivered and ached.

WELCOME TO WOLF i'm so glad to see you

Was it simply fate that led him so often to sick, injured, beautiful boys who might die without his help? Evien was beginning to think so. The forest had been so peaceful and pleasant to wander through, and he was enjoying his alone time, when the scent of infection began to thicken the air. 

It was gross - disgusting, really. Germ infested and festering, he presumed. 

But it was infection, and an infection that belonged to a wolf, so... he simply had to help. It was in his coding, or his soul, or whatever. Doomed to disgust himself with the injuries of other wolves until the day he died. 

So, Evien followed the sickening smell, his uneven pawsteps quiet through the dense forest. The air was cold, steam puffing from his nostrils as he walked. But the other boy stood out against the darkness - a large, pale-furred creature that Evien honestly thought might be Fields for a brief moment. 

His hopes - and sudden rage at what would be the reappearance of his old flame - were dashed as he approached the poor sap that lay on the icy ground. This was not Fields. He didn't possess the tall, willowy frame that the other boy had had. No - this one was far more muscular, and... spiky. And injured. 

"The fuck happened to you?" he questioned as he approached, green eyes narrowed slightly.

For just one moment—one peaceful, quiet, blissful moment—there was silence, the ringing in his ears interrupted only by the sound of his own breathing. But like most things in his life, it didn’t last. The scent of someone nearby filled his nose, and with it, the uneven fall of footsteps.
 
He huffed and hurried to push himself upright, his movements unsteady, his front right leg refusing to cooperate. The back of his head collided with the low hanging branches and pine needles above, and his back hit bark, the wooden grooves cold and rough against his fur.
 
Trapped.
 
He felt really fucking trapped, just then.
 
He growled, his ears rolled back and his red eyes narrowed into slits, his hackles raised and bristling from where he awkwardly stooped beneath the tree.
 
“Nothing.” Nothing had happened to him. He didn’t let things happen to him. It was all the other wolf’s damn fault anyway.
 
And then, with a sneer on his face, his upper lip curled back and rows of white teeth on display, his chin jutted forward and up—
 
“Fuck off.”

Oh, he had a mouth on him, too. Evien quirked a small smile at the other boy and shook his head, amused. He hummed and watched as the larger wolf bristled and got all defensive. It was cute, really, that he even really felt like he had to do that in front of someone like Evien - small, crippled, half-blind. Not a huge threat. 

"Yeah, yeah, you're so fuckin' scary right now," he drawled, scanning him over again. Not as one would appraise a piece of meat, but rather as a doctor would a patient. Triage. 

He took a deep breath through his nose and locked onto the guy's right forelimb. A deep injury, puffy and infected. It looked so gross, and he could only imagine the germs infesting it. Germs that could - and would - kill without proper treatment. 

Clearing his throat, Evien spoke again. "I'm Evien Kastner. A medic from a nearby pack," he introduced, figuring he'd cut straight to the point. "I could help you, if you need. That looks pretty bad."

Ivan Castor.
 
Cool.
 
Great.
 
He didn’t give two shits about Ivan, or the shitty fucking pack he had nearby. And when he thought back to the last wolf that wanted to “help” him, the same wolf that had gotten him into this entire fucking mess—
 
“I don’t need your fucking help.” He growled from where he remained slouched underneath the evergreen’s lower branches, the needles catching against the back of his head and the bark digging grooves into his back be damned. His tail pressed around his hindquarters.
 
He didn’t need his pity, or his attention, or anything else he thought he had to offer.
 
What he needed was sleep. And to be left the fuck alone.

"Lucky you, I don't care what you think you need. You're getting my help anyway - as a fucking gift," he informed, padding forward into the blond's space. His smile was forced - strained, trying not to snap at the poor guy - and he cleared his throat.

But this wouldn't get him anywhere with the guy.

"God, what am I doing." Taking a steadying breath, the medic shook his head and stepped back. No use threatening him. "What's your name?" he inquired, tipping his head to the side.

That was a good place to start... right?

Ivan stepped forward—
 
And Daighre, somehow, magically, impossibly, bristled even more, equal parts indignation and defense.
 
His hackles raised along his shoulders, neck, and back and his body remained wooden and tense. One of his front legs—the bad leg—was half raised to his chest in preparation to move. The top right corner of his upper lip was peeled backward and up, a pointed, twisted sneer, and a growl rumbled faint in the back of his throat, low and warning.
 
He didn’t relax until the bastard stepped back.
 
‘What's your name?’
 
He licked his lips. Settled, marginally.
 
And then, finally—
 
“Daighre.” All careful, subtle accent and stressed syllables. Not that anyone ever actually fucking heard. And then, dourly, “O’Connolly.”
 
He ignored the hot, throbbing ache in his leg, the limb still half raised and awkwardly dangling in front of his chest, in favour of warily eyeing the so called medic.

"Daii-ree," Evien pronounced slowly, his own accent not acclimating to the word very well. It was a lovely name - he wished he could pronounce it better. Perhaps he'd work on that. 

But his reaction was positive. So going slow worked on this guy. 

Great.

Evien cleared his throat and offered the other boy a small smile, less strained than before. Now he had a plan. That was better. "It's nice to meet you," he said, tail waving once behind him. "Where'd you come from? Been here long?" the medic pressed, settling down on his haunches.

‘Where'd you come from? Been here long?’
 
Fuckin’ small talk.
 
His ears dropped, at that, at the question, drooped and sagged backwards from atop his head. The top corner of his upper lip peeled back and up in a sneer and the bridge of his muzzle wrinkled, his chin jutted forward in defiance. And with a pointed, barbed, slowness—
 
“No.” No to saying where he’d come from. No to being there long. And no the question in general.

Oh this boy was infuriating. Evien huffed out a short sigh and shook his head, trying to keep his cool. What was with this guy anyway?

"I am trying to be nice to you," he gritted out, setting his jaw and keeping his fur from bristling. "What is up with you? You're refusing help when you obviously need it. I can help you, so you don't fucking die alone out here in the middle of nowhere." 

Why was that so hard to understand?