Overture Downs I gotta girl who don't like that at all

Kincaid had once passed through a place not unlike this, where red flowers had painted the earth like fresh-spilled blood. Mountains that looked blue from a distance, but were clothed up-close in purple lupin on their green stalks.

It was peaceful to look out over the fields, bright as a rainbow in the summertime. This was a thing he had long hidden from Nine Lives, because he had not wanted to seem too soft or sentimental or weak.

But now there was nothing to keep him from embracing it; he walked among the flowers simply for the pleasure of their company, and when he had taken his fill of that, he began to dig in the very center of the wide flatland, intent on carving out a shallow dish of cool dirt to lie down in.

It would have been a lie to say that despite his desire to remain in the Hinterlands, the golden wolf wasn’t drawn to the potential of rekindling life in his birth home. Of course, the nearer he drew to the creek, the thicker the scents of others permeated the area—and so the Ostrega kept himself from it, allowing the small spark of longing solder to nothing more than an ember.

It certainly felt like nothing was going his way these days, but when he considered it all, Pippin had come to terms finally of what we sought from life. There was no home for him within the ranks of the Firebirds. The expectations of what he had held onto for friendship had left him sorely disappointed, and while the wayward rogue found himself closed off once more to others, he did know what purpose he would place upon himself.

He would return to the Hinterlands shortly, and seek to perhaps lay claim to an area—but for now, he found himself in the serene fields of summer, his bright eyes falling upon the fiery creature that dug at the center of the haven. Quirking his brows upward, the agouti male took a step forward, his nose quivering as he took in the scent of the other before finally interrupting the quiet—“Let me guess. Trying to dig to the other side of the world…?”

At some point, the wind swirled in such a way that Kincaid was made aware of his company. He paused his digging to observe a strange male still a good ways off, apparently up to business of his own or else stopping by to check out the interloper — Kincaid.

This seemed fair to him, and as they were still a fair distance from each other, Kincaid went back to his business in good faith, bristling only barely. But the next time he glanced up it was to see the other approaching, and so he paused again to give his full attention, standing straight and tall with his ears cupped forward in tacit acknowledgment.

Fortunately, the male did not seem to be there to tell him to bug off or roll over. Kincaid gave a slight but tentatively friendly wag of his tail at the question, and managed to broadcast a bit of belated amusement when he recognized the joke for what it was.

No sir, he replied, quiet humor still burring his gentle voice. Just makin' up my daybed.

As the other male has initiated the interaction, Kincaid was not shy about stepping forward — dropping his head and shoulders a fraction so as to appear unaggressive — to try and take in the other male's scent. He gleaned that his new acquaintance was in commendable health and of comparable age to himself. There was no trace of pack scent, but that did not necessarily mean they were in the same boat.

If you're lookin' for the other side, you're about as far off as you could be, said Kincaid, the timbre of his voice broadcasting that this was his idea of a clever joke, but you're headin' in the right direction.