Blacktail Deer Plateau Fade away

@Gavriel is with her in the background. LOCUSTS! :)

Tagging @Renoir and @Chosovi since you both mentioned possible interest in this locale.

The swarm made traveling incredibly difficult, though Wildfire and Gavriel gave it their best shot by sticking close to the river, where the locusts were slightly less congested. Then night fell and it was like being rendered senseless; they could not see, hear, smell or feel anything but locusts. They had no choice but to seek refuge at the foot of a plateau rising over the riverbank. The yearling swallowed her fear of caves as they huddled together in a small one among the rocky terrain, relieved to note that very few of the locusts followed them in there.

A restless night passed. The two of them didn't talk much, except to ponder how long this plague would last. When the sun rose, they reluctantly poked their heads out of the makeshift den. Wildfire felt like someone struck her in the gut as her amber eyes roved over the adjacent plains. The locusts were slightly sparser than before—they were leaving!?—but it quickly became clear why. There was nothing left. The earth and trees were stripped of grass and leaves, respectively, and there was not one speck of green in sight. The wilderness was a wasteland.

"This... isn't good," she said lamely to Gavriel (repeating his very own words), feeling an uncharacteristic flare of desperation, frustration and anger well up in her throat when yet another locust smacked right into her. She lashed out, snatching it out of the air and crushing it between her teeth.

Chosovi broke away from the Ridge to explore other walks of earth because, well, she had to know what the heck was going on. Was only the Ridges greenery effected? But as she dashed away from the Ridge, she had her answer. Nope. Everything green was grey, now. And so she ranged even further... Chosovi wanted to report back to Saena and let the alpha female know her findings. What this meant she wasn't exactly sure; she wasn't a naturalist, and consequences of no-more-green really didn't hit her yet.

She was also assaulted by a strange locust, which she unceremoniously gobbled down since it smacked her in the muzzle. And when she heard another groan in the distance, Chosovi made her way toward the noise until there was an ember of a wolf in the distance. A shade of color, at least. She said to the two of them, What the heck happened to the world?

Making some assumptions about his situation with Spring ~

After spending some time hiding out in a cave, protecting a distressed stranger, Renoir was finally urged out of this dark place by the quiet of morning. It was a more unnerving sound than the chorus of bugs he had quickly adjusted to; if there was no sound of them, what could he expect outside the cave? He slunk out while Spring was still asleep, hoping not to rouse her as he made his escape. She seemed like a sweet girl, but the fact remained that she was not alone, and she would be cared for once her pack found her again. He had stayed with her for as long as he felt comfortable. Then, upon emerging, saw the new world for what it was.

There was nothing left. Renoir paced outside of the cave, wound his way back down the cliff side while he inspected the surroundings. Gradually he migrated south-east, until the dead forest became an empty expanse of dead field, and with a mournful little sound Renoir felt his spirit wither. Where were the beautiful green grasses? Where were the intricately grown trees and all the birds which loved them so? What was worse than the lack of greenery was the lack of life. By taking one, the locusts had eradicated the other. Renoir heard no bird song as he crept along the nearby ridge, and this hurt him the most.

Eventually he came upon a speck of color on the horizon, and this brought some life back to him. He hastily sought out that blazing orange, wondering if it was a rare plant which was immune to the locust swarm. Maybe they had missed it somehow? Maybe he could make it spread - cover the new world with golden leaves and red grasses - and things would  be alright again? Except when he was close enough, he saw it was not a simple blob or bush. It moved, it talked, it was a living entity - a wolf.

This too excited him, as he had not seen any living soul after finding Spring. Renoir bayed a sharp call to her - noticing more as he approached, at least two more subdued coats, two more entities with which he could converse - and with a happy wag to his tail he sought them out among the ruin. As he came closer his posture slackened in the guise of submission, but Renoir couldn't help but let his tail wag contentedly, pleased as he was to find these wolves.

She savagely obliterated the insect's carapace with her teeth, only to regret it very much a moment later. Wildfire spat a mouthful of spindly body parts and hemolymph onto what used to be the grass, fighting back against a rising gorge. She steadied herself with a deep breath, then glanced upward when she heard a sound other than the incessant vibration of millions of locusts.

The yearling was too caught up in the stress of the situation and the camaraderie it inspired with fellow wolves to experience any of her usual misgivings as not one but two strangers arrived on the scene. It took a minute for Wildfire to realize she had actually met the latter one in passing, shortly after running away from Moonspear. She couldn't recollect his name, if he'd given it, but she did remember his feminine looks and his sexy accent.

"They ate it," Wildfire answered the she-wolf dully. "Where'd you come from? Is it this bad everywhere...?" she wondered, glancing between the two of them before exchanging a quick, companionable look with Gavriel and adding, "We're Wildfire and Gavriel, from Sleeping Dragon."

The question was met with a flicked ear and a distracted, Huh? Oh, as it translated, and then she errantly gestured in whichever direction, saying thataway, while clearly not paying that much attention because, well, the damn apocalypse was upon them. That was the first wave! Some god damn preacher-wolf warned her of this shit...

But Chosovi was a nonbeliever in that crap. It was too intimidating. This was not the hint of 'The End of Days'. Wildfire introduced herself, and Cho looked at her for a minute, at least processing that. Chosovi. Of, well, nowhere, now. They'd been displaced, but that wasn't important. It looks like it. She grimaced, at that, and gave a mildly constipated look. It wasn't so terrible near the ocean, but she wasn't going to give that protip away! Because the more that knew about it, the more that would flock to the sea, and then... then would come the end of days! Looks like it goes on and on for miles. Wonder what it means. You don't think like, its hinting toward the end of the world, do you? Damn it all. She had to ask.

Please skip me as needed!

The more they travel, the less they find. The greenery is gone, as expected, and there isn’t much left other than the stubs of grass beneath their feet. The trees have been stripped bare, and these territories he’s never seen before, isn’t even sure what they should look like. They often had little to say, drowned out by the swarms around them, occasionally being pelted with a large insect here and there.

Their two newest companions, however, kept Gavriel on guard. He watched as they spoke, and Wildfire already introduced himself, but he felt no particular desire to speak up. Even as Chosovi spoke, questioning their livelihood and whether or not everything would end, he doesn’t find words. The thought doesn’t settle well in his stomach and he casts a glance to the other canine that hadn’t spoken up yet, before he remains quiet in the background.

Renoir thinks he sees recognition flit across Wildfire's gaze, and gives her a smile - or as much of a smile as the sad sack could muster, given the circumstances. Then the wolf just beyond them is talking, prattling on about the end of the world, and Renoir feels himself grow nervous. What if they are right? If the land has been stripped bare everywhere, then what good is this place to any of them? He would bring this news back to the Donnelaith and tell them of the great misfortune; perhaps they would choose to escape the wilds? Participating in a great exodus would be difficult, but surely living here among the dead lands would be worse?

He thought of the fine young girl, Deirdre, and the few others he has met among the wolves there — and with a small sigh, Renoir shakes the thoughts from his head. Although Wildfire posed a question to both himself and this stranger - Chosovi she calls herself - Renoir cannot help but answer the gray woman's comment: Mond lan is still here, it is just diferan.

Then with his eyes upon the red girl, he explains, Da coast is not safe eider. Mwen come from Donnelaith; da trees be bare, and no grass grows. Da green, li se ale,  this last phrase he says sorrowfully, and even if none of the wolves present understand the phrase exactly, he hopes they can identify his sadness with the admission. If the world is empty from the coast all the way to the mountains, then what is left?

Under normal circumstances, Wildfire might have been intrigued by Chosovi's ambiguous words. Was she a fellow gypsy rover? But now was not the time to wonder about such idle things. It was quite possible there might not be anything much left to explore once it was over; a wasteland would not capture the imagination the way the wilderness would have formerly. That thought sent an involuntary shudder of horror and sorrow down the ranger's spine.

Just as with Chosovi's possible wanderlust, the other stranger's accent did not have its usual alluring effect on Wildfire. She was actually slightly annoyed that she couldn't understand him very well. There was an understated sense of urgency to everything, a sort of low-grade panic at the back of her mind, that made her feel impatient, frustrated and anxious. Fortunately, she did not act on it, though it made her skin feel hot and overly tight as she glanced briefly at the guarded Gavriel.

Focusing, the yearling blinked in Chosovi's direction and rather dumbly (and belatedly) repeated, "Wait. The end of the world?" She had never even heard of such a concept and, what with everything going on around her, she had a really hard time wrapping her mind around it. "The world can end?" she whispered almost as if to herself, feeling a new flush of disquietude wash over her.

The question asked caused Chosovi to blink. She looked to Renoir, pretty boy frenchman, and then to Wildfire, and honestly was so ADD that she didn't know what exactly to focus on at the given time. I mean, I heard it can. The apo-kay-lips. The end of days, she answers, utterly butchering the word 'apocalypse'. It just... it sure looks like the end of the world. Or like, a 'first wave' of the end of the world. Whats next, earthquakes that really break the world apart? Volcanoes erupting? She hadn't experienced the latter, but had experienced small tremors earthquakes would give at home.

hope its ok to skip @Gavriel just to get this thread going

Renoir had nothing to say in regard to the end of the world. He did not want to think of it, because to think of it made it real in some sense. To never again see the green of the trees or the fine details of newly opened flowers? It would be hell, surely. The world would continue but it would not be his world. The words of the stranger rattle him immensely, so much that he is silenced, and stares forlornly at the emptiness around them; his eyes eventually find their way to Wildfire where they linger, filled with sadness and worry, but then they drop to the dirt at his feet.

Chosovi's words unsettled Wildfire, even though she didn't really know what an earthquake was like or what exactly happened during a volcano eruption. She shuddered slightly, exchanging a heavy glance with the taciturn Gavriel, before her gaze flicked to Renoir. She saw him gazing back at her, forlorn, but then he dropped his eyes. She bit her lip. This whole encounter hadn't done very much to reassure her at all. It had had quite the opposite effect, actually.

"I hope it's not the a-pock-o-lips," Wildfire said to Chosovi, unsure whether she'd pronounced that correctly. But what did something like proper pronunciation matter at a time like this? The yearling frowned. "We had better get moving again," she added, once more looking at her companion. Despite Renoir's earlier mention of the coast being no safer than elsewhere, that's where they would head next, she knew. "Ummm, good luck, you guys," she said a little awkwardly, offering both Chosovi and Renoir a tight smile before motioning for Gavriel to come with her to the northwest.