Deepwood Weald Damsel needing forest guide

Alizarin would be a fool if he stayed by the sea. He should know that Eartha and her crew would be looking for him, and the first place they'd look would naturally be the coast. After all, they'd found him once there before—right? The red boy didn't strike him as a fool, and so Vulcan went inland, leaving the open salt air for the cover of forest.

For a long while, there was naught but generic woodsy sounds as he traveled down the paths, eyes slowly adjusting to the dimmer light. But pawsteps and the unmistakable scent of wolf brought the realization that he was, in fact, not alone in here. 

She appeared a short while after he'd scented her, a vision in white, and—oh, daaaamn. Marked with some gnarly scars; she must be a fighter. And she was young, too, probably around his own age. Vulcan gave her a smile that gleamed even in the shadows, his seaglass eyes glimmering. 

He was no threat. . .well, unless she presented one. But perhaps she could be of use.

Good mornin', miss! he greeted warmly, plumed tail wagging along with his words.