Arrow Lake ludens

Being vague with injuries~ Open for anyone!

Broken, bruised, and battered, Redshank had heaved himself away from the Emberwood and the pack that had laid claim there, leaving a blood trail not unlike the one that had caused him to trespass in the first place. It had been a fool's errand to even attempt to take from a pack's caches, he knew that from the start, yet he did it anyway. Hunger mostly drove his decisions nowadays - at least that and pure, desperate survival instinct.

Instinct that urged him to put distance between himself and that pack. Though he didn't get very far.

The Cairn's raw-boned limbs finally gave out as he reached the edge of a lake, and he collapsed in an exhausted, pathetic heap on its frosted shores. He lay still for a few beats, weary eyes glancing around the area. There were half-frozen falls just in sight that no doubt fed the lake, but most of the streams had been cut off by rockfall, with more boulders and large shards of slate scattered around the bottom. The area was familiar in a way, but also completely foreign (though it was because the territory had been changed due to the earthquakes, unbeknownst to him).

At least for now, he was alone. With effort, Redshank managed to pulled himself forwards, where water spilled over areas that had become ice, and numbed the pain in his stomach with gulps of frigid water.

---

as he draws deeper into the lands of Sunspire his anxieties seem to lessen somewhat. to jigsaw the range gives a sense of safety and seclusion, freedom to roam wherever he wishes as well as the added soothing of many areas to hide from whatever he needs to seclude himself from. he wanders as usual, unexpectant of any unusual occurances. that is until he scents blood.

ordinarily such a smell produces the potential of a kill to scavenge, but this aroma is different. its origins are that of his own kind, different even from the corpse of the emaciated young fox which he holds between his dual toned jaws. of course, part of his mind screams at him to turn the other way, but his good nature compells him to instead follow the scent of his wounded breatheren. with some difficulty he finds his way down to the shores of a lake which he has yet to discover in his travels. there, collapsed on the cold sand of the lakeshore is a wounded canine, one with a hungered frame and little scent of other wolves upon him.

jigsaw pauses in his tracks, simply watching the man with curious pale green eyes. there is no telling where the wounded wolf has sustained his injuries, and the speckled male knows that there is a possibility of aggression within the stranger. yet his injuries speak of a lessened threat, and aside from that jigsaw has food to offer in exchange for peace. 

he approaches the stranger slowly, making and effort to create noise as he moves closer to lessen the chance of startling him. near enough, jigsaw drops the dead fox close to the other male and sits next to him.

Are you alright? You can have some of this... He speaks softly, lowering his ears and giving his tail a friendly sway.

The icy water hurt his teeth, tongue, even his throat as it travelled down, but it provided at least the slightest bit of relief from the stabbing ache of his hungry stomach. Once done, Redshank shivered, pulling back from the lake's edge as he breathed a sigh, feeling jolts of pain wrack his body all the way to the bone. No longer fixated on the sole task of getting away from the Emberwood pack, he now faced his pain without distraction. Yet the Cairn grit his teeth and bore it, making to lick at his frozen, aching paws with painstakingly slow and laborious movements.

Suddenly, the sound of claws against the earth caused him to immediately freeze with a sharp intake of breath. With it, came the scent of another as well as...fox blood. With surprising speed, his head whipped up, focusing on the stranger who was bold enough to approach. He had an odd visage, with half a mask of black and exceedingly long legs. He seemed not quite all wolf but Redshank’s attention was instead on the limp corpse he held in his jaws.

No matter the fox had barely enough meat to satisfy even a juvenile, no matter where or how the strange man had gotten it, no matter if he had actually died and this was a demon here to escort him to the afterlife, all Redshank knew was that he wanted it. The offer didn’t need to be made twice. With pathetically desperate, weak movements, he pulled himself forward on trembling forelimbs, gaze only for the carcass that was placed on the ground right there for the taking. The kind stranger for the moment went ignored even as he sat nearby with an amicable gesture as Redshank tore into the fox's thigh with snapping, slavering jaws, making quick work of what little meat lay within.

jigsaw finds himself met with a narrowed, molten stare. being that his markings are somewhat unusual, the male is accustomed to such raw specualtion, but he wonders if the lava gaze of this man is an assessment of potential malice. this, too, is understandable, given the umber wolf's injured state. although somewhat unsettled, jigsaw's friendly demeanor hardly wavers, his smile in fact slightly growing as the stranger without question grasps the dead fox and begins to rip into the meager meat of the thigh. 

no words are exchanged in return of jig's verbal offering as the other greedily tears into whatever he can garner from the dead animal; and so the wolfdog merely sits and waits, allowing his gaze to wander along and across the beauty of the lake. eventually he draws his eyes back to the ravenous raven-furred wolf and, as casually as he can he gives a more formal greeting.

My name is Jigsaw... he awkwardly trails off, allowing another moment for the stranger to eat. the pale man is only slightly annoyed that there likely will be nothing but bones remaining when the other is done with the fox, but after all it had been offered in it's entirety. the other is wounded (how severely, jigsaw has yet to determine), as well as hungry, and jigsaw on the other hand is accustomed to a lone nomadic lifestyle and knows he will be able to find another meal soon enough. in short, the sunset-eyed wolf needs this meager fox more than he does.

do... Do you feel any better? Um... Anything I can do?

Silence settles upon the pair, the only sound that can be heard is the snapping of bone and light growls as Redshank eagerly pulls whatever flesh he can get his teeth around from the fox. His paws had protectively woven around its ribcage and neck, greedily pulling it closer as if it was his meal alone, paying no mind to the fact that the offer had been some. He works his way up from its thigh, ripping into its soft underbelly — emaciated though it was, organs were always the most nutritious part of any sort of cadaver.

The stranger's offer of his name was only acknowledged with a mild flick of Redshank's ear as he ate, though it perked his interest again a few minutes later. Jigsaw. Odd.

Finally, with a lick of blood-stained lips, he pauses from his feasting, looking up absently as if awakening from a trance. Um...anything I can do? Oh, right, he had company. He turns to the stranger, now fully taking in his tall, speckled form. He would have been rather intimidating were it not for the frosted — though somehow warm — green eyes that Redshank held for a moment before he looked away. He shakes his head, unsure how to word a thank you. Though he wouldn't have to bother as suddenly he felt bile rise in his throat. He lurched forward suddenly, and brought up half the meal he had just eaten in too shorter time. Fantastic.

"Why," he croaked, a question aimed at the speckled man's generosity though he kept his snout firmly pointed at the earth.

jigsaw only faintly expects a response as the other is still busying himself with his meal, tearing now into the belly where most of the nutrients can be found. his introduction is faintly acknowledged by the flicker of a dark ear before the yet nameless wolf tears into the meager meal offered to him. his next gesture seems to be an offering of what little remains, although jigsaw in all honesty is not sure if this is an actual offer or just a random movement. in response the wolfdog tilts his head in wonder and in his usual quiet manner attempts to understand.

you want me to finish it, or...? I will, but it is yours if you need it.

his lean shoulders roll into a shrug. In that moment jig makes the unsettling realization that this wolf is tortured in some way, and this conclusion is solidified in the incredulous question of Why? Jigsaw opens his lips to offer an answer but cannot immediately find one. After a perhaps painstaking moment he decides just to be honest, whether judgement comes from those burning amber eyes, or not.

Because you are wounded. And it's cold. a soft, awkward chuff of laughter escapes him as he hopes this answer will reveal motives of a kind heart and nothing else.

I do not know much about healing. But I can help you find a warm place to rest if you want.

The man's unsure question and subsequent proffer was left to hang in the air, unanswered. Guilt evaded him as Redshank glanced at the thoroughly gutted fox carcass. Little is left of it now, save for some scraps of meat and the other hind-leg, unless of course the stranger was open to eating the regurgitated food right beside it. The wave of sudden nausea had subsided, but his stomach cramped painfully, unaccustomed to the amount of food it had suddenly gained after being so long without.

He shakily looks up to the stranger — Jigsaw — as he seemed to struggle for a moment to answer his simple question of why. Why help someone in the middle of a famine, offering what little food they had in exchange for...what? Warm, happy feelings? Not to say Redshank wasn't grateful for the help (in fact, it was likely the speckled wanderer's little offer had saved his life), but he had trouble seeing the exact reason of why. Life had taught him to be suspicious, untrusting of those with such seemingly virtuous hearts. Crueler intentions were always hidden beneath fake smiles.

Yet the pale man seemed to have a sort of benevolence to him, with a smile that could ease fears and eyes that held genuine kindness within. Of course, his unexpected gift certainly helped Redshank's glowing opinion of him. His soft words and awkward yet cheerful laugh weren't returned, but the scowl that usually pressed against his features had lifted. "S'fine," he grunted to the proposal of somewhere warm to rest as he tried to rise on unsteady limbs. His stomach churned in protest once more. "Jus' needed...a bit of food..."

He felt the remains of his meal threaten to break free once more, and sat down again almost immediately, looking up to Jigsaw with a look of partially concealed defeat. He loathed to appear so weak before his apparent saviour. "Y'from around here?" the Cairn asked, desperate to distract himself from the bout of queasiness.

His pale eyes narrow in sympathetic pain as he witnesses the charcoal wolf reguritate some of what he has eaten. this very well can be interpreted as disguste rather than the true emotion behind the narrowed eyes - concern - and momentarily Jigsaw hopes the stranger does not witness this expression. he has been in this place before; starving and alone, and he has more than once vomitted after eating a large meal in the midst of starvation. he was saddened by it, hoping that the stranger at least absorbed some of what little nutrition remained in the fox's corpse. 

he does, however make up his mind that the man cannot safely eat any more at this moment and so he grasps the mutilated fox and drags it before his spotted paws, taking bites and lavishing the feeling of pleasure that comes with it.  a brief pause, and the man rejects his offer of taking him to a warmer place to sleep, wherein Jigsaw no doubt would have protected him to the best of his ability. he did not understand the outright rejection of help fully, but the inkling that the other has so far led a troubled life is definitely present in Jigsaw's thoughts. 

But the wolfdog does not persue it any further, being one whose personality does not tolerate pushy behavior. As he eats whatever was left of the fox, gnawing at the front leg, a bit of small talk seems to ensue. given the circumstances this seems odd to the compassionate young man, but he chooses to play along.

A bit east of here. Where the weather is dryer. I traveled a long way to get here. When I found these mountains I decided to stay, at least for a while. 

he pauses as he takes another bite, chews thoughtfully and swallows before returning the question. What about you? And I dont think I got your name yet. jig gives another one of his somewhat whimsical chuffs.

HE'S SO DEPRESSING lmao sorry jig <3

To perhaps the relief of the man, Redshank did not catch his look of disgust, not that he would have judged the other anyway. He was ashamed of himself, but was more-so angry at his body for wasting food that was so easily given away. Kind strangers such as Jigsaw were a rare thing to come across, especially ones that hadn't been taken advantage of by a pack yet. He was still a loner, still free, he could do as he pleased and was able to roam whenever and wherever. Winter, of course, would eventually force both their hands into joining one pack or another but, for now, they were both souls unburdened, for better or worse.

Worse, in Redshank's case.

He instinctively bristles as what remains of the fox is drawn away with a deft sweep of the other man's speckled paw, though he doesn't react beyond that. The mere sight had caused his stomach to spin and throat to clench. Instead, the Cairn simply watches Jigsaw delight in picking at the meagre scraps left — his clean, organised bites a stark contrast to his own scoffing down of the meal just moments earlier.

East. He tries to remember what lays east of these mountains but comes up empty. The man mentions travelling far, so wherever he had come from was surely a place Redshank had never come across before. And drier, apparently. A place similar to the Steppes, perhaps? Again, he wonders why. He seemed young — maybe a dispersal wolf? He had picked a hell of a time to travel, especially amongst the dangerous mountain ranges. A shudder of pain stops the questions swirling in his head, and Redshank sinks onto his stomach with an irritated grunt, the short-lived high of finally having food beginning to ebb.

"Redshank," he replies before hesitating for a beat. "From...nowhere."

omg I love it though XD this thread is fun.

---

jigsaw from the corner of his eye witnesses the sudden burst of tension as he takes the food away and for a moment guilt swells painfully in his belly. had he read the somber man's cues incorrectly? then again, the lift of the dark hackles could have been a mere instinctual response. Jigsaw eats anyway, as there is not a further display of aggression.

still his worries linger; the man is watching him eat and the wolfdog cannot discern his expression from resentment and curisoity. there is a distinct difference between their styles of eating although had he been alone with the fox he likely would have gobbled it down just as voraciously. as he finishes his last few bites he notices the man wilt again, slumping onto his belly with an unmistakable surge of pain. jig's initial response is to stare with wide eyes, knowing that with the strangers unwillingness to accept help, there likewise is the impossibility of being able to help him at all.

despite his surge of pain the other manages to muttrt a few words: his name, and his origins, which apparently are "nowhere." Jigsaw does not buy this response at all; wolves generally have an idea of their origins but again he refuses to push him, instead focussing on the name of the shadowy wolf. Redshank huh? He wonders casually, hoping (doubtfullly) that this will give him the opportunity to tell him about his name, at the very least. Jig is aware of the unusual nature of his own name and "Redshank," also, is not an alias he had ever heard before. 

It's a really good name. I would never have guessed. There is a darkness to the name that suits the wounded canine, and not in a negative manner, either. Jigsaw falls silent, hoping to hear more about it, but by now willing to accept that he may hear nothing more. If that is the case, well... It won't be easy to determine what to do next.

It is! Thank you for the spree!

Jigsaw doesn't press for details, which Redshank is thankful for. In truth, his origins had faded from memory long ago; the names of his mother, father, and siblings lost to time, if he even once knew them at all. He didn't want to spill his woe-is-this-poor-orphan-boy sob story to the wholehearted young stranger who had helped him enough this day. Instead, he latches onto his name, perking up with what seemed like legitimate interest. All it earned Jigsaw, however, was an offhanded shrug.

He was unsure where the name had come from (if it was even his birth name), but he had liked it, and so kept it. Though he had come across many who had shed their former identities in favour of adopting new ones. "Yours too," he shot back with a flash of teeth in what was meant to be a smile. Odd though his name really was, Redshank supposed he might as well flatter him a little. What he really was curious about was his peculiar patterning, and the way he looked like a wolf but also didn't in a way he just couldn't quite put his paw on, but he supposed those were questions for another time.

He felt his stomach begin to settle, growling once more for food. He would keep near to his own special regurgitated patch just in case, but the thought of bringing that up again kept him from consuming it. Instead, Redshank eyed the twisted carcass of the fox, wondering which bone would be meaty enough to be worth the effort of tearing off. The lull in the conversation hung for a minute or two more, before he finally forced out a, "th-thanks." The word felt strange against his tongue. "For the help."

jigsaw had caught the man eyeing him briefly a time or two since their initial encounter and this, again, was something he was used to. It gave him a feeling somewhere between flattery and concern: sometimes he feared he was a bit too odd looking. But that was hard to tell, being from a mother more speckled than he and born into a litter of siblings with varying degrees of speckles. He, however, was the only littermate with such stark a marking as a two toned face. 

Still, nowadays there were plenty of wolfdogs and oddly colored wolves wandering the lands; he was not so unique. Not such an outlier. He almost wished the other would ask him about it, just for conversation, and because well... Who didn't like to talk about themselves? It was not like Redshank seemed to possess any desire to speak on his own behalf. 

Instead camea thank you that seemed both reluctant and genuine. Jigsaw gave a swift few wags of his tail. no problem. As he spoke he pushed the remaineder of the carcass back towards Redshank. My offer is still here. I know of a cave not far off where we can sleep. I could wake in a few hours and find something else to eat, after your stomach has some time to digest.  he kept his voice monotone and casual, not wanting to sound too eager now.

The half-masked man pushed the carcass back to him, and Redshank debated a moment or two before gingerly placing a paw upon it as thanks. Involuntarily, the Cairn felt his features soften into a rare expression of gratitude. The kindness and generosity Jigsaw shared felt overwhelmingly foreign; he was not used to it. He reminded Redshank of someone, and his mind briefly flit to the image of an older, grizzled general whose name escaped him. His encounter with that particular stranger had also happened upon these mountains.

Jigsaw's offer hung in the air unanswered for a few moments as Redshank thoughtfully nosed his way around the now mostly eaten fox. Eventually, he decided on a foreleg, and began working with his teeth to remove it from the rest while his gaze flicked up to his company. He was a very trustworthy one, this Jigsaw. Perhaps almost naively so but Redshank was glad it was this altruistic soul that had come upon him and not a more malicious sort. With a rough jerk of his head, the thin leg came free and he quickly readjusted his grip with a satisfied growl. "How far?" he asked, voice muffled slightly by the appendage.

Although he had rejected his offer before, it had become apparent Jigsaw really, truly did want to help. To what end, Redshank had no idea, but if the man was offering shelter and not one but two meals (even if the options were rather scant for the time being), he didn't see much reason to decline a second time. Jigsaw hadn't proven himself a threat so far, though he would still keep an edge of caution about him.

There are several moments as the male chews at the joint of the fox's leg attached to the shoulder, during which Jigsaw turns his gaze away and looks out over the starstricken lake. Despite the ungodly chill, wind feels beauitful in his fur even as it causes a strong quiver from the base of his spine to his forehead. What brings his attention back to the man is the muffled question of how far?

jigsaw draws his gaze slightly to the northwest, to the spires from which he had come to redshank. He shrugs, looking down on him as he offers a proposal. I've been staying in a small cave a bit around the edge of the shore and up the slope a little. I had to climb through the snow a bit to get down here but I doubt the snowfall has been enough to cover the trail I made.

He pauses and continues. I can help you up and you can lean on my on our way up there. And if you need to stop, we can rest a while. I'm in no rush. 

Redshank followed Jigsaw's gaze as he casted it over the slopes. The man was decidedly suited to a mountaineer's life, what with his large paws and long legs. Hell, even his coat matched the snowy tops of the rocky peaks. The Cairn, however...not so much. His eyes traced what he supposed was the trail Jigsaw had made as he explained where he had been staying, before he looked up to see the man looking back down at him with a viridescent stare. Quickly, he averts his gaze.

"Alright," Redshank says after a nervous inhale as his body already screams in protest. He hoped Jigsaw was right that the snow had not yet covered up the trail; he wasn't particularly fond of the idea of breaking through fresh snow drifts in his current state. "Jus'...give me a sec." Having finally had a chance to rest after days of travelling, it seemed his muscles weren't too keen on this whole moving idea right now.

With a wince, Redshank dropped his chew toy and began working his forelegs, slowly leveraging himself up into somewhat of a sitting position. Success! His joints were on fire, his head was pounding, but at least he had taken half a step back from death's door. He held the position for a few moments as he stared hard at the frosted earth, aware his newfound companion was idly waiting by. "Everythin' hurts."

He wondered how long it would take for the man to regret his decision to aid him, for the journey to the cave would be a slow going one.