Lost Creek Hollow Luck is my middle name

@Daighre 

It had been a while, since Merlin had got an update, but not much happens in the life of a young, healthy yearling, who has set out on his own in the wilds. He is not yet there to seek such grand things as purpose of life and its true meaning, and he has nothing against to let days slide by, while he is observing the passage of time idly. 

There had been occasions, when the weather had got harsher, but on the whole he was still doing quite well, even this late in autumn. He had got a little leaner though, but it was well hidden beneath the plush coat he had got. He reasoned that less weight meant that he was lighter on his feet, which meant that prey, which ranged on the upper margin of small and middle-sized, were easier to catch. 

Whether this theory was true or not - it is hard to say, because his day to day luck in finding food at all was based on many factors, which were independent of him. The only constant thing was that he never gave up searching for food and this was, what he was doing now in the former packlands of Lost Creek Hollow.

When the stranger just so happened to cross his line of vision, Daighre thought, for a second, that it was her again, with the her in question being the woman from before. The annoying, creepy, batshit insane one.
 
But a second glance revealed that no, thankfully, it wasn’t.
 
They were too masculine, for one thing. And their fur was the wrong shade of orange, or red or brown or whatever. They also didn’t immediately piss him off like the woman from the other day had. Not yet anyway.
 
He wouldn’t be surprised if that all changed soon.
 
He kept walking, entirely content for him and the stranger to be two passing ships in the night, with a perfectly good non-relationship.

If Merlin had known that he had been mistaken for a beautiful lady, he would have felt both flattered (because you do not hear that you are handsome every day) and a bit embarrassed (Girls? EWWWW...!!! I am a manly man!!!). Since he did not, he continued about his business, until approaching footsteps alerted him about the presence of another wolf. 

Soon the pale ghost came in the periphery of his vision, he straightened himself to look taller and regarded the other quietly, save for a single bark to tell - brief and concise - Hey, who are you?!

They barked.
 
Of fucking course, they barked at him.
 
Why would they ignore him? Why would they leave him alone? No, everyone’s business was everyone else’s here, apparently.
 
His hackles bristled at the disrespect and his steps came to a halt. He glowered, his head held low in line with his shoulders, and his gaze unimpressed.
 
“What.” It wasn’t so much a question and more a demand for the other wolf to answer him, to explain himself.

For some reason the other was not happy to be called out, Merlin read the other man's demeanour and he did not like, what he saw. Though it was not very productive to be pissed at a complete stranger for no apparent reason, let's remember he was a yearling, full of himself and cocky. Like all young people are. 

"Heck, if I know!" he replied a bit defiantly.

He—
 
Wasn’t very smart, was he?
 
And Daighre snorted, because it would be just his luck, wouldn’t it? That he would be a beacon for the mentally insane and whatever the hell was wrong with the boy in front of him. And if Daighre had to guess, he would say there was a lot wrong with him.
 
“Whatever.” He huffed, at their nonsensical answer, head shaking side to side. Not that he expected much from anyone he met in the past few days. And with that said and done—
 
Daighre shouldered past him, fully intending to leave the dumbass where he stood.

Well, the dumbass had got the kicks out of annoying the other person in the first place, therefore rather than getting some tact and sense to leave the man on his own, he was not yet ready to give up quite yet. In fact, he was definitely in mood to talk to someone and garner some attention, even if it was a negative one. 

"Oy, Grumpy," he bounded after the man and began to trot parallel to him, keeping a safety margin between them, so that just in case the "I am pissed at you"-meter got very high, he would be able to flee quickly. "Who did upset you, huh?"

He followed him.
 
Of fucking course, he followed him. Because why wouldn’t he? Why would he leave Daighre alone? No, apparently that was far too fucking easy and painless or some other stupid, contrived bullshit.
 
And so, the dumbass ran along beside him, frustratingly just out of reach and yet somehow still too obnoxiously fucking close.
 
His hackles bristled. His shoulders bunched towards his ears. Tension was evident in every fiber of his being. His tail hung in the air behind him, ramrod straight and raised.
 
‘Who did upset you, huh?’
 
“Everyone.” He growled. Everyone fucking upset him.

Had Merlin been able to see that darn scary profile image of Daighre that his narrator sees now, he would have had second thoughts about getting on this guy's nerves. Were it Tinder - it would the photo that would haunt his mind for weeks. Since he could not, he just kept his distance, observed that the other guy was about to explode and the countdown to that moment had reached single digits. 

So, while part of his mind came up with a back-up plan, which involved running for his life, the other part cracked its knuckles and prepared for some very exciting times ahead. "How come? They bit you in the ass? Stole your food? Did a girl dump you?" Merlin listed all the reasons, why he would feel this upset, though the latter one had never happened to him, but he had heard from the other guys he had hung out with - it was a crappy feeling indeed.

Every spoken word—every uttered syllable, every chirpy, obnoxiously upbeat, blinding vowel—was another hammered nail in his temple in a long growing headache.
 
It peaked when he asked, of all things, ‘Did a girl dump you?’
 
“What?” He snapped. And then—
 
“No.”
 
What the fuck did that even mean? What the fuck was that even supposed to mean? Why the fuck would he date a girl? Why the fuck would he date anyone?

Had Daighre asked any of those questions out loud, Merlin would have found a plausible answer for them all. But he did not, he looked even angrier than before and the young Cheeky McCheekerson finally figured that, perhaps, the whistling steam engine that was about to explode before him had something wrong with him and had nothing to do with outward influence. Save for him annoying the man to no end. 

"Does your head hurt?" he asked, somewhat sympathetically, somewhat curiously. Because if that was the case, boy, did he pity Mr.Grumpy there. Migraines did not plague Merlin as often as they had in the months after his accident, but he remembered the pain vividly. It was no fun.

End with your next post, maybe? Looking to get Daighre's timeline a little more finished and up to date. Thank you~

‘Does your head hurt?’
 
It didn’t at the start of their conversation—if what they were having could even be called that—but it sure as fucking did now.
 
“No.” He snapped. No, his head didn’t fucking hurt. Or rather, it did, but it was all the annoying chirpy bastard’s fault.
 
“Fuck off.” Or else.

"Happy "Fuck off!" to you too, bumhole!" Merlin waved him an all too happy and cheerful goodbye and hurried away not wishing to become the other's punchbag. Though he had just walke a thin line of almost getting beaten up quite badly, he felt oddly elated about yanking the Grump McGrumperson's chain. That's called reckless youth!