Big Salmon Lake hooked on a feelin'

results from these rolls; this is #1, the fail.

After his impromptu acceptance to the caldera pack Dingo was feeling quite proud of himself. Damn proud, in fact. He hustled his way through the sparse woodland that was to the north of the range, and then settled along the bank of the giant lake where he had initially learned to fish. There wasn't much going on here; there were no birds in the trees, not even a wind between the branches of the bare trees, and he couldn't smell or see anything alive except himself, reflected in the still water of the lake. 

But Dingo wasn't about to give up. He did have a job to do after all, and to keep up appearances he'd at least bring one more pile of fish back to cache - probably for himself but who really knows. Maybe he'd find Panther and tell him the whole silly story, and watch him crack up (lets be real though, Panther sounds like some british dude so he probably  has quite a dry sense of humor). 

Alright! It was time to get down to business. Putting on a serious face, Dingo took a few steps in to the lake from the bank and poised himself there, waiting... and waiting... and waiting.... and after about twenty minutes of seeing little to no movement, he chuffed and murmured, For fuck's sakes, where the heck have all you fish-faces gone?

The further Mac went in the region, the more desolate things seemed. The cheery Winters wasn't perturbed yet, though. Perhaps he should've been, given his track record with hunting his entire life, but the big man was currently wrapped up in intrigue and the charm of a new land, and even dire conditions couldn't send him away until he'd had a taste of it. The life of a loner was hard but he was determined to add to his collections of facts and tidbits, starting with the locust swarm and its profound impact here.

He meandered between bare shrubs and around exposed rocks, carrying himself toward the shimmering surface of a lake just down the hill. With limited knowledge of the region he was in, Mac was excited by the prospect of fresh water, for it meant he would not go thirsty anytime soon. The lake was massive, stretching for miles in either direction, and its pebbly shore was cool against his paws. He wasted no time plunging into the shallows, making quite the racket with his wet tail whipping against his hindquarters.

As he turned back toward shore in preparation to dunk his muzzle and drink deeply, Macintosh spotted Dingo, a short-haired tan-red creature with cheeks and throat painted white, poised at the lake's edge and taut as a bowstring. The man's murmur went unheard, but Mac was buoyed by the good mood that cool water brought, and he cheerily called out, "hoy!"

Maybe they'd gone off to school for the day. Or maybe Dingo smelled particularly foul, and they happened to smell him coming? Whatever the reason, the boy was left fishless and hungry, and felt his spirit begin to wither. He needed at least one stupid fish to make things right with Panther's pack! With a huff Dingo allowed this temporary defeat, and splashed at the water's surface with one paw, clearly agitated. As the water sprayed and sprinkled back in to the massive lake, he heard something from afar — a voice from along the bank. He turned his head sharply, wondering if it was perhaps one of the wolves of the caldera trying to give him pointers again, and then promptly abandoned his post and sauntered closer.

Hoy? What are you, a pirate? the boy snarked. He had nothing against pirates, but did they actually say ahoy or was that just part of the myth? Whatever. Best not to piss off his only company. Maybe he could get some pointers from this dude (or convince him to get some fish for him, ooh, that was a good plan too). You here for the water, or the monsters in the water? Dingo murmured eerily, as if he knew some grand secret.

In the time it took Dingo to notice him and step nearer, Macintosh plodded deeper, until the water was up around his belly. Ah, yeah, that was nice. There was nothing quite like a cold lake on a warm spring day, except maybe a cold lake on a hot summer day, which was a taller order. The man's grey-beige ears pricked up when Dingo spoke in a tone that was perhaps sarcastic, but Macintosh met it with a lazy grin and no answer. Instead, he took stock of the lanky boy on shore, noting his reedy limbs and tall shoulders.

Dingo's dialect was something fresh and new to Macintosh, who latched onto it immediately. "Lake monsters only go for wet-eared whelps and younglings," Macintosh self-assuredly replied. Mac didn't believe in such things, though when he was little, ominous whispers of monsters might frighten him. The lake was home to freshwater eels and fish and water serpents and crabs and floating insects, but among them, there were no monsters.

"Pray tell, where do you hail from to speak in that manner?" Did Dingo even know he spoke differently? Maybe it was Mac who spoke differently. Why, Macintosh had never thought of that as a possibility before.

Considering that he was trying to make a good impression on the caldera wolves, it irked him somewhat that this stranger was destroying any chance of that by being here, obnoxiously taking up space in the lake. Fish would flee for miles! That's how it worked, right? Okay, so Dingo had no idea if fish could smell, taste, or see anything above the water's surface; he was still going to blame this guy for any of his own failings. Then again, as the stranger spoke Dingo felt a bit more at-ease, and decided quickly that all of this could be remedied with one simple request.

Lake monster or not, you owe me some fish, dude! He glossed over pretty much everything the stranger said, hearing the comment about younglings and pfft-ing softly, disregarding it with a roll of his beady eyes. His ears twisted sideways upon his head at the next question, which took him by surprise. They thrust forward after a beat while Dingo's pea-brain processed it. Where'm I from? What -- why does that matter? And what's wrong with how I speak?

It wasn't like the Crestwoods were known for their locution. Heck, he couldn't make heads or tails out of what this pirate-guy was saying either way. With a scrunch to his nose and a slight tilt to his head, Dingo added: You alright buddy? Been uh, out in the sun too long or something? Maybe you should soak in there a while and cool down. Think the heat has melted whatever is between those ears'a yours. He didn't mean it in a bad way — Dingo was genuinely concerned. He really just didn't understand!

You owe me some fish, dude! Macintosh's jaw unhinged at that, his lips forming a soft "o" to tell of his surprise at this sudden and unprecedented request. The historian couldn't be more unhinged, and even as Dingo went on to provide a non-answer to his question and then accused Macintosh of being nutty, he was unable to move past the abrupt demand for fish. He gaped openly, and took several moments just to collect his thoughts and respond.

"I'm quite all right," was his first answer to refute all of Dingo's concerns, although Mac truly had no idea where they were coming from. Maybe you're the addled one, he thought. There was no use in saying it, however. If Dingo was convinced that Mac was addled, and Mac was convinced that Dingo was addled, then it was all relative anyway. They were either both sane and on very different levels, or both addled and unaware of it, and that was too complicated for even Macintosh to want to think about.

"What makes you think I owe you fish?" he wondered, looping back in the conversation to the first misunderstanding in hopes of clarifying that, at least.

I don't think anything! (What an understatement). He retorted almost instantly, finding the stranger's laissez-fair attitude a bit daunting. Hadn't he seen Dingo trying to fish? Why would he ruin all of his chances by calling out like that? The youngster snorted obnoxiously - playing it up a little bit as he was known to do - and continued: What I know, dude, is that the fish were here, then you scared them off.

Dingo wasn't really that bothered by it, it just meant he would need to look elsewhere. But he was on a roll now and enjoyed acting indignant next to this posh stranger. This means you owe me, because you are the one that ruined my chances! He wasn't about to identify himself despite all the noise he was making, and sighed loudly, trying to sound exasperated as if he had been explaining something to a child. Then, after a moment he intoned haughtily, Well? What are you goin' to do to fix this?

Were Macintosh a lesser man, he may have retorted with, clearly, but Dingo's outburst rolled off his back rather easily. He was difficult to rouse to anger and emitted an amused snicker instead, with no hint of malice. It was likely true that Macintosh had disturbed the other man's fishing with his splashing and shouting, but he was who he was. While not unapologetic, as evidenced by the splay of his ears, Macintosh could see only an opportunist before him, and he knew he could not succumb.

"Oh, you don't want me to fish," he drawled, dragging himself from the shallows and taking a moment to shake out his coat well away from Dingo. "I'm lousy at it, but you've got the look of a fisher. You better do it yourself or we'll be here all day." With a playful grin, Mac began a long-legged jog, tossing his snout over his shoulder to say, "see ya later!" before attempting to make his escape.

Not a fisher? Well neither was Dingo, but he had a quota to fill, and this random dude had ruined everything! Maybe not everything. But the tan boy was irritated at this point, and would lay blame anywhere but upon himself. His short fur bristled and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but his tongue was tied; his feigned offense had become the real thing. A tiny flickering flame of annoyance which, when tended to by his thoughts, would become an all-out rage if the other wolf wasn't careful.

And then he was escaping. With a toss of his head he made his departure, and Dingo finally snapped back to himself. He got up from his perch at the lake's edge and at first, teetered between following or hanging back. He took to following after the stranger for a few steps, but was left in the dust, watching Macintosh saunter off in to the distance. Well fine, jerk! He began to shout across the field; then, realizing his voice would only startle the rest of the fish away from his chosen spot, Dingo fell in to pointlessly grumbling about the situation.

He turned back to the lake and resumed his patrol of the edge, searching for a quiet place to resume his task.