Iktome Plains There was truth, there was consequence

A high coastal wind sweeps across the scrub land, sending bits of dirt and debris flying into the drifting wolf's face. His eyes narrow against the environment's assault, but it's fruitless; another gust temporarily blinds him as the dry sand whips into a brief dust devil. From here, he cannot see the wide expanse of the ocean but he knows it's close from its stench. The wolf is nothing if not a terrestrial beast, so the first whiff of saltwater sends him southward, away from the coast.

He passes by a clump of grass that extends past the crown of his head, pauses to sniff around at its base, and decides to move on. Barren grass can't offer much protection from the windstorm. He slings his neck low, lining up his scalp with his shoulders and his rigid tail, and plows on through the sand-and-grass mix that makes up the ground here. The wind is at his back now, but it still aggravates him with every gust. It's not unlike sharp nails clawing painfully through his knotted fur, possibly the most uncomfortable wind he's experienced in quite some time.

The wolf coughs against a bit of dust swirling near his nose, a sort of combination between a dry bark and a sneeze. His visibility is cut by the windstorm, but he thinks he can make out a dark silhouette in the distance—a mountain, perhaps, or something totally different. It's impossible to tell, but for want of self-preservation, the male heads in that direction.

The agouti wolf is not the only wolf to be caught out in the windstorm. Roo also found himself at the mercy of the biting gale. His tall, pointed ears were slicked back against his narrow skull, his slim snout turned down. Through squinted eyes he peered ahead, his forehead taking the brunt of the gusts as he plodded forward. There was nothing out here to offer him protection, as hard as he tried to will a log or cave to materialize before and offer him respite.

He, too, was struck by a cough, and it is during this cough that he turns his head and barely makes out the brownish figure trailing along. It was no foxwolf, but then, Roo was not the kind of foxwolf that only associated with other foxwolves. He was quite happy to socialize with anyone willing, and he bounded over, his tail waving and posture nothing but affable.

"Mister! Are yous going somewheres to hide? Can I comes with you?"

His eyes narrow as the strongest gust yet buffets him. His balance is temporarily lost, but he regains it with only a corrective dip of his hindquarters toward the earth. In this split second, he realizes that what he thinks is the faint shadow of a mountain is far too small and is moving toward him. Soon he can tell through the mucky air that it is another wolf, and it's a wonder Farstep mistook him for a mountain: the approaching male is smaller than he, and stark red.

Whatever Roofox says comes out as grunts, grumbles and growls to Farstep's ear. The other's intention is unknown to him so while Roofox approaches amiably with his tail waving, Farstep coils away from him with a silent warning grimace. He bares his teeth quietly, sidestepping to put distance between himself and his fellow loner, and prepares himself for a posturing display. This is what normally occurs; one loner removes the other from his vicinity. It's usually males, but Farstep has been chased off by drifting females as well in spite of his interest in them. He cannot risk an injury, so distances himself.

Roofox's mannerism is friendly, though, so Farstep does not entirely remove himself; he stands a short distance away, head hung between his shoulderblades, with his eyes fixed on the male and his tail stirring slowly, uncertainty and caution evident.

Roo thought nothing of this stranger's lack of response, assuming that he had simply not heard him over the sound of the wind baffling their ears. "Mister!" He called again. "Dids you not hear the me?" The foxwolf took a pace toward the other, his head canting to the side. Naive though he was, there was something in the stranger's posturing, with his head held below his shoulders and the slow sway of his tail, that caused him to pause. Realization dawned on him suddenly, and perhaps not entirely correctly.

"Oh! Are you being scared?" he asked, his head tilting even more. "I am not scaring!" He giggled. "I am friendliness. We needs to find somewheres out of this storm!" His tail waved quickly to and fro, his look expectant upon the other wolf. Surely he understood and would agree.

Grumble whine bark, went the red-haired wolf. Farstep's face shows no sign of comprehension, though he understands the other wolf's body language well enough. The tilt of Roofox's head and the choppy wave of his tail dissuade any fears the drifter has about potential aggression. Now it's only rigid curiosity that keeps him rooted in place, enduring the slam of wind against his solid frame. Roofox's eyes are on him, expectant, but all Farstep offers him is a gruff noise from deep in his throat and a gentle swipe of his own tail through the wind that assaults them.

Then he's moving again, heading in the same direction he'd been going prior to Roofox's interruption. He presses back his ears and lowers his tail, silently inviting the other wolf along with him. He's not much for company, but if Roofox doesn't mind a wordless gargoyle for a companion, then Farstep will show no aggression. His only focus now is getting out of the wind, and then maybe he would take the time to inspect Roofox and learn his story through the scents on his coat.

But first, shelter.

Roo was nothing if not accepting. He accepted the other wolf's noise and the swipe of his tail to mean that he understood what the foxwolf was trying to say to him. That he walked on lead Roo to be even more convinced that his message had been clear. He did not hesitate to follow even before the invite had been given to him, trailing after the agouti male with his own ears slicked back to shield them from the buffeting wind.

"Bad winds!" He said. "I doos not know these places. Doos you?" He did his best to glance around, that he might spy a suitable place to wait out the storm, but he finds his eyes stung by the biting drafts and nothing stands out to him. No matter; he was not much of a leader, as he would tell anyone himself. He was quite content to follow and follow he did.

The unyielding wind continues buffeting the two males as they travel in search of shelter. His right ear drifts backward when the orange-haired fellow begins to vocalize again, and he utters a deep bark of his own in response. His meaning is unclear; whatever Farstep is trying to say is as lost on Roofox as the foxwolf's words are on him. Still, the companionship is appreciated now that they've established a non-threatening partnership. It will likely last only as long as the windstorm, but Farstep's mind hasn't gone that far ahead yet.

There's no change in the horizon to suggest any safety from the wind, but any discouragement the drifter might feel is quickly thrust aside. He isn't looking at the ground, so when he discovers the hole, it's by tripping over it. His paw presses into the soft earth only to sink, and he flops forward almost comically. In so doing, he unveils what must be the entrance to a former den. He struggles in the dirt for a moment, manages to flip himself onto his stomach and spot the hole, and immediately begins to scrabble at it until it's sizable enough to fit into.

He squirms in, discovering that the abandoned den is more spacious than expected—albeit a tight fit for two male wolves, promising a rather intimate atmosphere—and he growls warmly from within its depths. It might be tight, but Farstep isn't really concerned if he has to hang out nose-to-nose with Roofox for a while. It's sort of in their species' blood anyway. Nothing awkward about it, at least not to the wild wolf.

It was his custom to apply his own, strange reasoning to everything around him in an attempt to understand his world. So, Farstep's bark was taken to mean 'yes', as that is what made the most sense to the foxwolf at the time. 'No' did not come first because the naive boy was inclined toward a more positive outlook on things, little having occurred in his short life to make him think otherwise.

Suddenly, his companion trips. Roo freezes, looking down at the wolf with concern. "Are yous okay?" He asks, but as soon as the words leave his mouth he can see for himself the male's fine. In fact, it seems he has discovered something. Roo watches with attentive curiosity, and is compelled to move forward, his own paws itching to dig for some reason. But the male is quick, and before Roo could aid him, he has opened the entrance to a den and tucked himself safely inside.

"Oooohh," the foxwolf hums to himself. What a great find! A friendly growl invites him in. He hardly needs the invitation. He slips in to the den and coils himself into a neat ball, pressed against his companion's side. "This is nice," he said. "Good job, friend wolf— oh!" It occurs to him then, he does not know this feller's name. "I dids not ask. What is your name? I am Roo."

Roofox slid into the den after him, blocking out the rush of wind overhead as he settled himself. In the dark underground, nervousness began to itch at Farstep's brain, but he was able to shove it aside. Freaking out and biting his companion was unlikely to solve any problems, and besides, it was here or out there. The gentle press of the foxwolf's side against his own would have to do for now, even though it was a tight fight and he was closer to the other wolf than he'd ever wanted to be. It was safe here and quickly warming. A nice, cozy place to fall asleep if only he could quell his unease.

Before he could squeeze shut his eyes and try to block out the claustrophobia, Farstep's ears lifted to the sound of Roofox's vocalization. He still had no idea what the other male was trying to tell him, but he responded with a gruff growl-bark of his own. Their conversation could very well have been about different things.

How's the weather, Roofox's sharper sounds might ask, while Farstep's gravelly response might've been, banged any good bitches lately? for all either of them knew. In any case, they couldn't understand one another on that level but did on another level: that of the wild. In the dim light, Farstep's eye zoned in on a peculiar piece of debris caught in Roofox's fur near his ear. Bothered by its intrusion on the other wolf's coat for some inexplicable reason, and having already established a non-threatening relationship with his fellow loner, the drifter didn't hesitate to reach forward and begin preening the other wolf's fur in an effort to dislodge the offending object.

It did not occur to him that perhaps the brown wolf could not talk. The growling bark sort of sound that the other made he took as the answer to his question. "Grrbark," he considered with a hum. Then, "ok!" — total acceptance. His tail beat merrily, unintentionally flicking against his companion as he lowered his muzzle to blow at a small clod of dirt. It responded by rolling across the ground, leaving the faintest of trails. In this, he found amusement. Simple things for simple minds they said.

He was soon distracted by the touch of teeth near his ear. He did not flinch away, instead turning his head to allow Grrbark better access. "Ahhhh," he sighed. "Thanking you! I hates a dirty coat." He settled in, eyes closed, letting the other groom him. He would return the favor of course, but to move now to do so would interrupt his own spa session.

There was a strange, gravelly, almost mechanical iteration from the foxwolf's mouth—something teetering between Farstep's ancient language and Roofox's modern one—that he almost understood, but to his ear, the undertones were still the gruff noises of wolf. Their names would never be exchanged in the dark cavern, or ever, but Roofox would always stick in Farstep's mind as an image of an overly happy-go-lucky creature. The red of his fur and the striking blue of his eyes, details that would stick out vividly to other wolves, would fade from that image. Without the words for colours, Farstep noticed them without much comprehension and often did not commit them to memory. That the sky was blue and the grass was green was of no consequence in his world, and in fact, he scarcely noticed the difference. But even without remembering the brilliant red coat and the startlingly blue eyes, if he encountered Roofox again in the future, he would know him by scent and by that colourless image formed in his brain.

Though his manner was ever cautious and he was ready to draw back his head at the drop of a pin, Roofox didn't react poorly, so Farstep settled into the quiet monotony of pulling random things out of Roofox's fur. A stray feather had found its way into the slim male's ruff near his shoulder, and other, smaller pieces of dirt fell away from the idle preen of his teeth.

He was lulled by the other wolf's preening. His eyes closed to the feel of gentle teeth pulling through the fibers of his coat, and he was contented not only by the rhythmic grooming but by the satisfaction of having a pristine coat once more. As Grrbark moved down toward his shoulders, Roo's head descended to lay across his paws. The whirr of the wind outside and it blew past the den provided a steady droning background noise that, combined with his contentment, just about caused him to succumb to sleep.

But he remembered that he had a favor to return, and he lifted his head again to grin at the brown male. "Your turn!" he chirped, and then he shifted himself and reached forward, having spotted a small twig entwined in the fur of his companion's shoulder. His teeth sought this alien thing, providing Grrbark did not reject his reciprocation.

Satisfied that he'd removed a good portion of the debris he could reach, Farstep leaned back into a more comfortable position, and no sooner than that did Roofox chirp something (a high bark to his ears, which flicked back quickly at the noise) and reached for his own fur. The drifter stiffened with inherent distrust, but there was nowhere to run and he wasn't keen on starting a fight. Tight-lipped, he breathed rapidly through his nose, anticipating the cut of teeth against his flesh, but all Roofox did was disentangle a twig from his fur.

He let out a slow breath, then settled himself to be groomed in term. He didn't fight the drowsiness that came, and soon he was drifting on a weightless cloud of sleep, oblivious to both Roofox and the wind raging outside.

Gonna fade here! :)

He groomed the other wolf's coat as meticulously as he maintained his own, his teeth gingerly freeing any stray bit of leaf or dirt he could spy among the strands of fur, and his soft tongue smoothing down any unruly spots. He worked methodically and without pause. Grrbark fell asleep beneath his ministrations, and he himself was in a peaceable trance as he preened. But soon enough, the pace of his grooming slowed, and his chin came to rest upon the brown wolf's back, and there it stayed. His eyes were closed. He, too, slept.

In the morning, the wind tempered into nothing more than a gentle breeze, they parted ways primarily because Roo's stomach rumbled and he set off to find some poor rodent to munch on. Otherwise he might have followed the quiet wolf all over the country side.