Luneshale Pass libertad en cadenas

@Beau

Thiago moves with purpose now, his steps deliberate as he ventures through parts unknown. The air is cold, thin, and tinged with the metallic scent of shale and dust. The pass is narrow and winding, flanked on both sides by towering cliffs that cast deep, jagged shadows in the moonlight. The moon itself hangs low, a silver crescent that lends an otherworldly glow to the rocky terrain.

He pauses for a moment to steady himself, then kneels down to inspect the ground. His eyes, accustomed to the dark, catch a faint trace of movement—a thin trail of crushed grass and disturbed stones leading off into the shadows. His heart quickens. It could be them. It could be Juarez. Or it could be nothing.

If he cannot find anyone, he seeks herbs; he knows a little about medicine—after all, he spent much of his youth caring for Carlos, learning the basics of herbs, poultices, and remedies out of necessity. Maybe there was something here he could mash together? Juarez couldn't be the only one with the recipe.

He needs something with a stronger kick, something with the potency of "green."

There were many things Beau had chased after in his life, but a woman? That was a new one for him. He could be charming, he could be sweet - but he still found himself lost. If he had come all this way with the hopes of finding her again, she must be special. He couldn't treat her the same as the other's.

'Leto'

He had been repeating her name in his mind since she departed, unwilling to forget. There was little that he knew about her in reality - but she had struck something in him. Her beauty was one thing, but her personality clicked perfectly with his own it seemed. He couldn't let go of something so precious.

Walking through the pass, his wandering mind left little room for an awareness of his surroundings. His demeanor carried a carefree attitude, his steps purposeful.

Thiago’s ears twitch at the sound of footsteps echoing faintly against the narrow stone walls of the pass. His heart skips, a sudden rush of adrenaline flooding his veins as he presses himself closer to the ground. His instincts flare to life, a sharp warning bell. He takes a slow, measured breath, feeling his chest expand against the cold earth. He listens, his body still, ears straining for more—there it is again, a steady rhythm, deliberate but… carefree?

The world tilts slightly, and a wave of nausea rolls through his stomach. He swallows hard, trying to steady himself, but his throat feels dry, as if sand has been poured into it. His vision blurs at the edges, the moonlight smearing across the dark rocks like paint. His fingers claw at the stone, seeking something solid, something real to hold onto.

Beau's form comes into view, illuminated by the pale moonlight. Thiago notes the wolf's size and the relaxed way he moves, seemingly without concern for the danger that might lurk around any corner. His hackles raise slightly. A stranger. And a large one at that. He knows better than to trust appearances—especially now, especially here.

Tú ahí, Thiago barks, stepping closer, though he keeps a fair distance between them, his posture taut and ready. Qué estás haciendo aquí? His gaze is hard, focused, searching for any sign of threat or deception in the other wolf's face—at the same time, Thiago looks a little unsteady where he stands.

The sound of another snapped him out of his daze. However, he found that was unable to completely understand the other.

Staring momentarily, he soon spoke. "Pardon?" He blinked, stopping in his tracks.

Beau took a moment to analyze the stranger. They appeared unsteady, and he couldn't help but worry for the other. "You feelin' alright?" He couldn't tell if they were ill or simply nervous; it would be a pain if he fell ill himself, so he hoped it was the latter between the two.

Thiago’s breath quickens as he tries to steady himself, fighting against the wave of dizziness that washes over him. He hears the wolf’s reply—English, a bit of a drawl—and it takes him a second to process. The words feel distant, like they’re coming through a thick fog. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but it only sharpens the pounding in his head. His muscles ache, twitching with fatigue.

His ears flick back against his head, a subtle gesture of submission, his tail lowering slightly. He’s wary, but he doesn’t want trouble—doesn’t have the energy for it.

The stranger speaks and Thiago doesn't understand, but he hears the concern in the tone. Thiago’s gaze flickers over the other wolf, searching for any hint of mockery, but he finds none—just genuine curiosity. It unsettles him, this unexpected kindness from a stranger—made worse due to the language barrier.

Hierba. Planta. Medicina! ¿Sí? ¿Entender? He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t dare to mention the "green," doesn’t want to seem weak. But his stance wavers, and his legs feel like they could give out at any moment. His vision wavers slightly as he searches, but the ache in his body forces him to pause. The dirt is dry, almost lifeless, and any trace of what he seeks seems elusive, like a mirage slipping further away the closer he gets. He swallows back a wave of frustration, feeling the desperation clawing at his chest. He needs something—anything—to ease the gnawing ache.

His head snaps back up, eyes locking onto Beau’s with a glare that’s sharp despite the fatigue weighing him down. The hunger in his gaze is unmistakable, a flicker of something fierce and unyielding.

Medicine. He must be sick then, Beau assumed. Damn. He couldn't leave without attempting to help him at the very least. "You need medicine?" He asked, an attempt to clarify. Beau knew little to nothing about herbs unfortunately, but he could do his best.

They looked pretty bad - if Beau didn't know better he would have reached out to give them a shoulder to rest on.

He wondered just what they had been through to have come out like this.

Thiago's breathing becomes more ragged, a mixture of pain and exhaustion weighing heavily on his body. He watches Beau closely, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, but there’s a flicker of something else—hope, maybe—at the mention of medicine. His ears twitch slightly at the word, his mind grasping at it like a lifeline. For a moment, he considers whether he can trust this stranger, whether he should take the chance.

He nods, slowly at first, then with more urgency. Sí, sí! he mutters, his voice cracking. There is a language barrier but, the stranger's version is so close to what he's said, it can't just be repetition. There was a glimmer of something between them, then. An understanding.

His body is trembling now, his muscles twitching involuntarily. He takes a hesitant step closer, his stance still guarded but less aggressive. He bows a little, almost like a child begging for a game of chase—and he whines softly, putting forth an invitation that doesn't require words, but action.

Turning then, Thiago goes back to the patch of grasses he had previously been studying and shuffles along, checking anything growing among the stones in case it can be used. Maybe the stranger would help him look.

After a moment of hesitation he followed after the other. What an odd situation he had found himself in. He could only hope that the other knew more about plants than he did.

Poking through the patches of green for anything that looked remotely useful his confusion only grew. all this just looked like a bunch of grass and weeds to him.

Despite this he began to pick a few that looked unique; maybe the other would know what they were.

Thiago watches Beau warily as the wolf moves through the patches of greenery, picking through the sparse vegetation. The other wolf’s confusion is apparent, but at least he’s trying. Thiago’s body is trembling, his paws cold against the dirt as he forces himself to move, to focus, his eyes scanning the ground.

He spots a few remnants of the summer flora still clinging to life: a withered dandelion here, the dried-out remains of fireweed there. Useless. He kicks at them with a frustrated snarl. The nausea is getting worse, a twisting pain in his stomach that makes it hard to think clearly. His eyes flick over more patches of grass, most of it yellowed and dying from the cool autumn nights. His mind feels foggy, and he’s not sure if it’s the withdrawal or the thin air, or both.

Then his gaze lands on something. A small cluster of leaves—dark green with jagged edges and small clusters of red berries. Holly. He knows enough to recognize it as something dangerous. Poisonous. His ears flatten against his head, and he makes a mental note to avoid it. His eyes continue searching, desperate, but his vision keeps blurring, making it harder to focus.

His paw brushes against a different plant—a low, creeping vine with three distinct leaflets. Poison ivy. He recoils quickly, recognizing the threat. His fur bristles in irritation. Why does it all have to be so difficult? Why now, when he’s at his weakest?

Deciding that he had a decent bundle of plants he lifted his head, calling out to the other through his muzzle muffled by greenery. "Any of this useful?" He asked, placing the bunch on the dry ground a moment later.

He hoped that they would soon find what the wolf was looking for - the clear panic they displayed was making Beau rather nervous.

Thiago’s gaze shifts over the bundle of plants Beau has gathered, his eyes sharp despite the haze of fatigue.

Yarrow, first. Not useful for what the addict seeks; but useful for something. Fireweed, dandelion he scrutinizes next. They're better than nothing.

Eyes land on the garlic shoots mingled among some weeds. Thiago recalls tales of its power to invigorate the spirit. To ward off dangers he knows to be real— and he hastily swipes this for himself.

He examines the pile more closely after that, trembling. With a grunt of frustration he draws his fist through the pile and crushes what he hasn't already taken, breathing raggedly and withdrawing in to himself after that. Erupting with expletives: ¡Mierda! Maldita sea. Seething.

It isn't enough. It isn't anything close to the "green".

He needs Juarez.

He sighed, tail flicking. "You need to calm down - you want somethin' to eat? I can do that much for you." There was nothing else he believed he could do for him. Beau had his own places to be, he couldn't stay here caring for this crazy man.

"What do you need?"

He furrowed his brow, looking down at the wolf.

Thiago’s eyes blaze with a mix of frustration and desperation as he hears Beau’s offer. The suggestion of food seems almost absurd to him, a stark contrast to the intense need gnawing at his insides. His hands clench into fists, knuckles white as he fights to maintain control over his emotions.

He takes a shaky breath, his anger bubbling beneath the surface. ¡No! ¡No es suficiente! Necesito… necesito a Juárez. Esto no es nada. Esto no ayuda. His words come out in a jumbled rush, a mixture of anger and pleading. He’s pushing against the confines of his own desperation, his mind racing as he tries to hold onto the last threads of his composure.

Thiago’s body trembles, a combination of withdrawal, exhaustion, and frustration. He turns away from Beau, pacing in short, erratic steps as he tries to fight against the overwhelming need for the "green" and the gnawing realization that he’s far from where he needs to be. His frustration boils over, his usual passivity giving way to sharp, desperate manipulation. His voice hisses through clenched teeth.

¡No eres de ayuda! Sal de aquí, tonto. He tries to push Beau away. His body shakes with the intensity of his emotions, the cravings making him more volatile than usual. The unspoken command is clear: he wants Beau out of his way so he can focus on his search for anything that might alleviate his suffering.

Brow furrowed, he had reached a dilemma.

He did not feel as though he could simply leave the other, worried that they would be hurt, or worse, in his absence. Beau didn't want any blood on his paws. "If it's someone you're looking for I can help you search."

"What direction do we need to go?"

If he was lucky, they needed to go the same direction. It would be a good excuse to stick to the other.

Thiago's mind is a frenzied storm, thoughts colliding and breaking apart like the hot wind stirring the dust around them. His gaze darts to Beau, then back to the vast, unyielding landscape. His breath is quick and shallow, each inhale a battle against the tightening coil of panic inside his chest. The stranger's offer echoes in his mind—search together, find direction—but the words are muffled, muted by the relentless drumbeat of his need.

The name spills from his lips again, a fragile thing carried on the wind: @Juárez… His voice wavers, thin and brittle, like a thread stretched too far. He doesn’t know if Beau understands, doesn’t care if the stranger sees the raw edge of his desperation. His body aches with the hunger for relief, every nerve alight with the aching need for a hit of the drug.

His eyes dart back to the horizon, then to Beau, pleading without knowing how to bridge the gap between them.

Thiago circles the small pile of greenery, one hand clutching the garlic and berries possessively against his chest. He snarls low in his throat, like a cornered animal, eyes narrowing with suspicion as he measures Beau, trying to gauge the man's intentions. The withdrawal is starting to twist his thoughts, making every moment sharper, more painful, more threatening. He gathers them closer, clutching them like a lifeline, like some talisman that might ward off the gnawing void within him.

He takes a half step back, still unwilling to let go of the precious finds but uncertain of what Beau might do. The stalemate between them stretches, taut and uneasy, a silent standoff in the heat of the sun. His voice cracks as he tries one last time, a hoarse whisper, No entiendes… no entiendes… He knows it’s useless, knows that they’re trapped in this moment, two strangers with no way to reach each other.

His head jerks towards the horizon again, fear and frustration warring in his eyes. He feels the urge to run, to flee, to leave this pointless, maddening situation behind, but he cannot; he has nowhere to go, no direction but the one inside his head, the one word burning in his mind like a brand: Juárez.

Desperate, Thiago takes another step back, edging towards the direction he knows he must go, his eyes darting between Beau and the distant, empty expanse. He does not trust this man, but he cannot afford to linger, cannot afford the luxury of caution. Vete, he hisses again, a futile command to a man who cannot understand. He knows he has to move, even if it means dragging his starving, frayed body across the basin alone.

Unsure of what exactly the other he wanted, he began to turn away, some caution now in his step. He continued his walk through the pass.

If the wolf wanted to, they would follow, and if not then it would be by their own choice if they were injured.

He could not stay here - he had places to be.