Ravensblood Forest making splinters

@Szechuan or any other BWP1 dogs.

Now that he was back under the cover of forest from his stroll along the coastline, Jaws noted with a roll of his eyes that the gray jay had resumed its pursuit of him. It hopped from branch to branch, chirping, maintaining a distance of several wolf-lengths. The coyote hybrid briefly considered turning around and going back out to the shore where the bird was too uncomfortable to follow, but he was looking to rest and was not keen of doing so in the cold air that came off the icy seas. So he continued inland, locating a sheltered hollow at the base of a towering pine, among its bulging roots. Jaws picked up a fresh, broken off branch and settled into the hollow with it, commencing a satisfying gnaw as his feathered shadow perched high above, watching.

The past week had been a hardship -- in every way imaginable. Dogmeat's wound, suffered at the hand of Burke's fine teeth, had closed over into the most raw and bubbled malaise. His hind limb, fraught with some wild form of cellulitis, was swollen the size of a seacow. He favored it visibly; often avoiding any slopes or inclines where his strength would be tried.

He made towards the sea -- driven by a hungry desperation he had never known. He had avoided all living things, at all costs -- and as he came closer to the ocean's hum his discretion ebbed until at last he came upon a feral creature he had neither the name of nor the knowledge of. He set down on his haunches, squinting at the dark form and its... bird companion? He couldn't be sure. The wolf did not look like the wolves he had met thus far, but it was most obviously not a dog. Dogmeat, possessed of a great sense of self-preservation, did not call out to the creature. He winced as he shifted his weight off of his hind limb and sat down upon the sparse snow -- an audible groan given as he felt the cold earth make contact with his half-destroyed hind.

Perhaps this one would be friendly -- though thus far Dogmeat was convinced that the entire world had lost its kind charm.

Aww, that's so sad! Poor puppy.

The snow beneath Jaws had become patterned with brown splinters and chunks, and the once solid stick was frayed and broken; the coywolf felt satisfied. Chewing was one of the tangible pleasures that enriched his life when he was not struggling to make it another day. Where others may be engaged by stories or deep conversation, Jaws preferred to touch, to feel, to sense rather than think.

He would not have noticed the dog had the gray jay not chirped and fidgeted on its branch, for Jaws was downwind of it and it made not a sound, keeping its distance. The thought that the nervous gray jay might have some use briefly crossed his mind, but his attention was quick to narrow on the canine. It did not seem aggressive - in fact, even from where Jaws was, it looked downright miserable. No doubt savaged by resident wolves.

In his darkest days, starving and desperate, Jaws had caught and eaten small dogs he found on the edges of a human settlement, but it was not something he was proud of, only something he had to do. Rising from his hollow and abandoning his stick, the coywolf approached the dog, maintaining a distance of several feet in case it turned hostile. He furrowed his brows when his gaze beheld the other male's brazen injuries.

For a few moments he said nothing, his mouth drawn into a hard frown. When he spoke, he spoke quietly, solemnly. "You wait for death..." he said.

Dogmeat was content to stay his distance and wait out the wolf -- but it seemed the world, tumultuous in its rotation, lumbered on without regard for the plans of the mortal order. The sunken hazel of his gaze fell on a bird -- a stupid bird -- in horrified alarm as it alerted the wolf-thing of his presence in the somewhat near vicinity.

Dogmeat's ears both folded flat against his skull in discontent as the shadow jauntily swung towards him. There was no point in rising -- even if Dogmeat tried, his limbs would protest. Already he could feel a cold exhaustion seeping him, an exhaustion he feared he may not rise from again.

The not-wolf seemed content to mind his distance, though this did not assay any doubt or fear the dog had for the thing. It spoke and for a moment Dogmeat's ears flew forward in outrage -- he, waiting for death? He sucked air between his teeth in a hiss, quickly refuting the wolf-thing's ominous speech. "Not today." He gritted, though he said nothing else. His gaze fell upon the bird and a new hunger clamped his shrunken stomach.

A flicker of a smile crossed Jaws' lips at the dog's defiance to meet death this day, but his face was quick to slip back into a somber scowl. It would not matter how driven this canine was to survive, his grievous wounds were beyond repair; it was only a question of time before infection and fatigue brought him down and kept him down until the last of his life ebbed away. He may have already reached that point, for as unnerved as he was by Jaws' presence he remained sitting rather than rise and be prepared to react to any threat from the coywolf.

"Perhaps not," Jaws replied, seating himself now that he was assured that this dog was too weak to pose any concern. "But you know you're not long for life, don't you?" Although his compassion was not blatantly apparent, Jaws' genuinely pitied this dog and was stirred by his suffering; but he was not well versed in soft and comforting manners.

Dogmeat's gaze tore from the bird when he heard the tail end of Jaws' dark utterance -- there sat in his sunken gaze a glimmer of indignity that the dark wolf-thing dared be so brazen. Jaws' verdict stung the way salt bites a wound -- it was insult to injury, and nothing less.

"Are any of us?" The large canine growled, shifting himself with great effort into a sitting position. Before him stood a hale and healthy individual -- Dogmeat was shocked to find his jowls slavering as hunger tore into his gut with unrelenting clarity. Had he just fantasized eating him?

He blinked, shaking his dark countenance. "You must be the crowd favorite at parties." Despite the gloominess of their encounter, Dogmeat could find enough cheer to aim a poorly orchestrated wise-crack.

Jaws shrugged and flicked his tail at the dog's retort. "I suppose you're right." Even the healthiest could meet demise suddenly and without warning.

The coywolf smiled roguishly at the canine's jab, the stubborn male not only refused to give up too easily but kept his humor about him. It was commendable and he had correctly pegged Jaws - the black hybrid was not as skillful at socializing as he was at keeping himself alive. "Aha, funny." His smile broke into a toothy grin, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Would you like if I threw you a stick? Or, how about this..." Jaws dropped his front quarters to the ground, his rear end swaying in the air, tail flopping about as he mimed a traditional play bow.

There was no mistaking a glimmer of mischief in Jaws' steeled eyes, one which instantly drew a sliver of mistrust from the stalwart dog. He didn't need mischief -- not today -- and even if he had not been so grievously wounded his tolerance for trouble was remarkably thin. So far, the wild and its savage inhabitants had given him no reason to trust them -- he, an alien in his own right, felt himself the last of his kind in a bleak and inhospitable world.

The playbow was dismissed with a low growl. He struggled to rise, favoring heavily his swollen limb. He canted it before him, the flesh ripe and skin sloughing -- with a wide swing of his stifle he hobbled forwards in the direction of the beach. "Not in the mood." He offered in a clipped reply, keeping the dark not-quite-wolf-thing in the corner of his eyes as he limped ahead.

The dog had enough humor to crack a joke but not to entertain Jaws' antics, which he dropped abruptly. He watched with a taut mouth as the canine rose with great effort, his most heinously damaged leg losing its skin like a shedding snake. As the canine slowly moved toward the coast, Jaws watched, still seated and almost frustrated. The coywolf had a deep respect for life and was uncomfortable in the company of suffering - he would not even play with his prey as many other predators would. His early life had been hard, he himself had suffered.

Before the dog could leave him entirely, Jaws quietly padded up beside him, still maintaining the same buffer as before. "If you're going to the coast," he began to say, "flip over the bunches of kelp. You might find a few crabs." It was not much, but it was all the tactless coywolf had to offer.

Dogmeat was relieved that the dark coywolf offered no further torment. In truth, he doubted if he would have been able to fend himself even from a fox. But before he could quit the black wolf-thing's company completely, the male padded up behind him and pulled alongside him. It was easy, Dogmeat imagined, to keep up with his glacial pace.

The coywolf offered some semblance of help in its suggestion, though Dogmeat did not know exactly what kelp or crab was. He was too tired to launch an inquiry (in truth, he did not wish to press his luck around such a feral animal any longer) and only grunted appreciably in reply. The sea would find him soon, or he it -- and how dearly did Dogmeat wish to delve into the stinging waters and soothe his wicked wounds.

To the dog's grunt, the coywolf offered a dip of his muzzle. Neither had anything left to say. Without a glance back, Jaws turned from the canine and was on his way again. His mind briefly idled over the dog's story, but knowing he would have no answer to it the wondering was quickly abandoned. Instead, his mind refocused on the usual: scouting the territories and looking for his next meal and place to sleep. Wherever the dog was going, Jaws was certain he would not be seeing him anymore.