Twisted Slough Why are you running
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Ooc — mista
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@Alarian — Finally a thread with the cutest of cuties.

The stench grows worse the deeper he roams, legs soaked with muck and water. Not an area many would traverse, let alone so early in Spring when the weather is still chilly. Nonetheless, the Bull finds himself at home. The smell hardly bothering the aged veteran; pleasant compared to a mix of decaying corpses, piss and shit.

With each heavy step, vines grab at his sides; greedy to entrap the massive wolf in their embrace. And yet, he powers through, using muscle and experience to bully his way. Ears locked on scratching and sounds of a struggle. Curiosity—and admittedly boredom—drawing him in. Finally, he finds the source. Funny how one so tiny had not noticed a gaping hole in the ground just enough to fit the boy snuggly. Vines making the trap all the more dangerous. The Bull approaches, halting on the slick edges with toes spread wide to keep his grip.

He must have been noticed, for the thrashing ceases. It all seems too familiar; a hare cornered by a fox.
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By the time he hears the other's approach, panic has already settled deep in his chest, and he can't help but flinch as the sound of splashing startles him. His struggle ceases immediately, aching limbs eagerly falling limp when the opportunity for relief arises, but he does not relax. Fear bolts through him as the stranger approaches silently, scent thickening in the air as he draws nearer. From scent he knows the wolf is male, older — but even as he strains to catch a glimpse of the stranger over his shoulder, he only can only make out a few details. Large, dark, and intimidating; like Midar, he thinks, but arguably more terrifying in this context. He loses what little nerve he'd mustered a moment later, unsettled by the lack of greeting, and gives up on his attempt to look at the stranger. Um, He swallows hard. Hello?
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Ooc — mista
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#3
Ah, so the boy lives.

His greeting is meek; all too understanding of the predicament he's in. The Bull stands, looming over the imprisoned wolf with interest. His attention lingers on the scars that mark his face. A warrior, maybe, or a chew toy once upon a time.

The Bull answers with nothing more than a twitch of an ear. Hellfire eyes inspecting in eerie silence.
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His words are met only with silence, and he can feel his pulse picking up quickly. He's reminded of his first meeting with Midar, in a way, though he feels no attraction to this wolf. Mostly because he can't really see him. Are you um... going to say anything? He grimaces a little, grateful the stranger can't see his expression. It occurs to him that perhaps the man can't speak, which would make him a total asshole. At this thought, he almost starts to apologize — but suddenly he's too nervous to say anything more.
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#5
Speak?

The boy questions, hinting it more akin to a suggestion than the demands that the Bull likes to follow. In that regard, he is but a simple man. Perhaps he ought to be kind and give him a hint; after all, he allowed the Keep's shadow to fall into the palm of his hand. The Bull hums; rough, and grating to the ear. It's about as pleasant as an antique radio being kicked alive after years of underuse. Bass tones scratchy, and failing to keep an even pitch.

He sits, toes kept spread on the edge, and he waits.
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#6
He stays quiet because Xynien is tired and this is a shitpost. Something something nervous. RIP.