Kintla Flatlands such deliberate disguises.

@Mordecai — between Ravenblood & Firestone Hotsprings!

Daybreak afforded enough light to guide the drifting cloud, and while he doubled back to investigate the forest over once more, his trail led out and away from it. The fields beyond were wide and open - practically barren by comparison - and again, the rains had started. They were not so heavy as to distract the boy, who was accustomed to (and actually quite fond of) the streaking sky. His pelt took on a blue sheen as it collected drops, while fresh soil clung messily to the fur of his paws, until Anselm's journey took him across the thickly woven grassland. Tendrils batted at his underside and chin as he marched, head low but senses focused, until the forest was only a dark smudge behind him.

When the clouds had come calling in overhead, Mordecai had considered the possibility that it would snow again. It was likely, he supposed, finding as the nights settled in that sometimes there was just enough of a cold chill to remind him of what the weather had been like in his departure. Leaving the comfort and safety of the Spine in the midst of winter had not exactly been his most intelligent move, but the separation was needed. Truth be told, he found even now that the separation was still a necessity. For as much as he wanted to return to it, he knew it wasn't in the cards to be doing so. He avoided it, not out of guilt or fear of anger crashing down over his head, but because of the history that lied within the basin of low set mounds.

And as it were, there were many places further to the north and west that he had not explored. Among these were the forests and crannies of the flatlands. He had hunted in those flatlands many times, but the exploration had never been thorough. It gave him an opportunity to stick close to the Plateau, where the temptation to band together with Dante bubbled and intrigued him. There was also the thought of simply striking out on his own again, finding and seeing where the vast roads would take him. Yet in a sense, that was what he was doing right then and there, having followed the river west to where it branched out into nondescript creeks.

Among these branches and tributaries, he also discovered that he wasn't alone. As the rains spread out across the plain, he spied out the darkish figure that came bobbling through the yellowed, grassy tendrils through the haze. Uncertain whether he was hunting or not, the tawny Ostrega held back and observed, ears erect on his head as he took in the bigger picture. In the gloom, not even the grizzlies were out, nor the elk he had heard calling previously. Everything had bedded down for the coastal weather rolling in.

Had he been a creature of the plains, perhaps Anselm would have been more adept upon them - but he wasn't. Anselm was built for life in Aldhaven, where the open expanses were avidly avoided, the prey roamed upon the rocky highlands, and everything was hidden beneath an umbrella of heavy growth. This place was outside of his comfort zone in every aspect imaginable.

He coasted through the reeds with more gusto than he should have, which spooked a flock of starlings from the surrounding briar; golden gaze followed them as they zipped up and away, speeding along the air currents and towards the nearby forest. Perhaps it was safer for them there, where a stormcloud could not run them over. Of the stranger watching just out of his periphery, Anselm was unaware.

Interest plagued him as he went unnoticed. It seemed that the stranger was on a mission to somewhere, though Mordecai couldn't have said where. His pace almost had a staggering sort to it, as though he didn't care for the terrain at all. Maybe he was just moody, the Ostrega mused. He continued to watch him at length, letting his gaze cast itself out ahead of where he presumed the dark figure would go to next. Up ahead lied a forest that Mordecai hadn't been through, and with the air of skillful tailing, he headed towards the woods leisurely.

It wasn't often that he opted to tail anyone, but with the weather it wouldn't have been too hard. He didn't need to keep the wolf in sight to wonder after him; the muddy footpaths of the plain would show him where to go all the same. It was becoming obvious that there was a faster clip to the fellow though, as though he cared not to be out in the elements, and Mordecai soon lost sight of him as they neared the dense woodland.

The boy should have been more aware. He was alert, but not for others of his own kind, and untrained when it came to tracking much else besides the bush deer of his home. As Anselm passed across the field and breached the edge of the tree line, as if to follow the tiny birds, he thought against chasing after their quick little bodies and veered in a new direction — this time, deeper, in to the dark tangles.

It was here where he melded with the dark (although not entirely), and here where he paused for rest in time to hear the stumbling steps of another. Being stalked was not something he was comfortable with. Thus, when the stranger's silhouette drifted near to his own position, he was turning and baring silver fangs within the murk; the fur along his spine arching as if electric.

You are following me — He stated, intended to sound flat and calm, but inevitably his voice crackled (Anselm hoped it sounded menacing and not like the squeaky voice of a child, but there was a slip, and it was entirely plausible). —why.

Beneath the cover of the canopy, his pursuit was curbed efficiently. The shadows did some to conceal where the ashen figure laid, but the curling of lips and the flash of teeth stopped Mordecai with some distance to go. He had been found, but that had been apart of his on the fly plan to begin with. He knew he couldn't tail as well as someone who would have been smaller, even more flighty.

But he was entertained at the youth that squeaked out behind the menacing display. His expression turned to show it — a smile bloomed across his face, caution entirely to the wind. He tried to mask it, however briefly, as though his own body language and expression could accurate convey an easy now tone. "You looked like you were after something interesting," Mordecai said, letting his ears fall back against the curve of his head. "Can you blame me for being curious?"

The stranger eased his way in to a reply, and while the tone was bearably passive, Anselm was still untrusting. What point was there in such voyeurism if not to strike out upon the individual being stalked? His eyes narrowed, becoming infernal slits in the darkness, but he inevitably accepted what was stated. Curiosity was a poor excuse as well, however, the boy would say nothing further.

He did grunt, however, and slip his fangs away. While his tail writhed in unvoiced irritation the rest of him seemed to cool off - and with a shake of his shoulders, Anselm eased the tension away. I am only a vagrant, I have nothing you could want. He muttered, and turned as if to depart from the stranger's company.

The hostility bridled and stowed away, Mordecai felt a small nugget of ease wash over him. He had his own rights to be on guard, having in a sense cornered the younger wolf in the full thicket. But Mordecai had his way of gambling with others, fostering whatever semblance of a positive encounter he could. Not all of them had gone that way, in fact, less than half of them had been that way since he had departed from the Spine and the Wilds altogether. It was winter. They were all on edge, all out for the key elements of survival. Only the winter had been mild, the prey rebounding easily in spite of or in lack of a deadly freeze. So it was deeper than survival, it was instinctual.

"Join the club," he said as the fellow turned away from him, choosing then to persist. They were both vagrants, both reclaimed by the earth to be inherently wild and free. The dispersers from packs no doubt long left behind in the fog. "Are you having that bad of a day that you can't humor an old vagrant with a bit of conversation? May as well wait out the rain." Though it was hardly super dry in the forest either, he noted. But the dampness was considerably less and for that, maybe they could both be thankful.

Anselm side-eyed the stranger as he spoke. While he wished to continue his trek in to the unknown, he had been starved for attention lately - having met only a few individuals, and none which interested him too greatly. This guy was hardly different from the others; however, he was plain-spoken and, from what the boy could tell, honest. So he chuffed softly as if to protest, and sank to his weary haunches.

The rain could go on for hours more, there was no way for the boy to tell. Perhaps if he had been trained in weather-watching like his sisters — a thought which made him mentally come to a stand-still, and focus on the present. That was a life left far, far behind him.

Ain't having a bad day. Anselm muttered, breaking the silence after a brief interlude. For a moment the rain was all that could be heard pitter-pattering across the tree tops - but he continued. Just got used to lookin' out for myself, is all. And being followed through a strange land by a strange beast didn't help either.

"Nothing wrong with that," he said, empathizing with the notion of looking out for oneself. In a way, he had done the same with the decisions that he had made. Mordecai hadn't cast a thought back to how he would have ended up or who he would have become if he had stayed with the Spine. Something else called to him, though he couldn't have simply placed his paw on just what it was. The venture back out into the wilderness had been refreshing for a number of reasons, chief among them that he had been honored to share some of the travels with someone he thought a friend.

But his journey had also led him back to the Wilds. He wasn't much for fates or destinies or whatever others believed in. His own path had brought him back there and in a way, it had come full circle. There was something enchanting about the place, something in the unknown that drew him in now for the second time. He could have bypassed it altogether in the previous summer, continued right up the coastline before various packs extended their range onto it. But he had stayed. Was it because of the family that lived there? He doubted it. It certainly wasn't for the claim he had held.

His silence extended for a moment, and he reclined to his haunches.

"So what brings you out here? Just hitting the road to see what's around?" Everyone had a story, this he knew. And he enjoyed stories. But whether or not he got one was up to the stranger ahead of him. "I'm Mordecai, by the way."

Anselm didn't know what to expect out of the stranger, which effectively made him expect nothing at all — no remuneration for his efforts, no lambasting for abandoning an entire group of individuals who were in need of him and him alone. What he got was something else entirely, and it was quite unexpected for the boy. The man agreed with him. Sort of. In the barest, most vague sense. But it was enough to endear the old man to the boy to some extent.

"So what brings you out here? Just hitting the road to see what's around?" The man verbally prodded, likely hoping for something to pass the time. Anselm could have told the truth — that he had disobeyed orders, run away from home like a little child, but... That would ruin his well cultivated badass rogue nomad persona (or something).

In response to Mordecai's name being given, Anselm shifted his weight and coyly responded with his own title. Anselm.

And yeah, you could say that. He added after a beat. His ears flickered back against his sooty scalp, only to return to their pointed place atop his head when the rain became abruptly heavier. Ducking his head, Anselm tried to peer beyond the edge of the trees to see it. Didn't like being stuck at home, so I decided to see the world. Not much out here, though.

Except for water, apparently. And random strangers who lurk in dark places.

Anselm. A peculiar name, but nothing out of the ordinary, he supposed. Mordecai had met his fair share of uniquely named beings out there. He supposed in a way, his own name was among them. As the younger wolf spoke, he felt the corners of his mouth tug upward at the mention of why he was out there wandering on his own. Hadn't there been a time when his own response had fallen along those lines? Even then, that calling had summoned him out into the wilds. It had driven him north over the course of years, and now he found himself returning to somewhere that he had thought loosely as a home. Mordecai had not done this with any other region.

"Maybe you haven't gone far enough inland then," he opted to say, implying that he had seen what was there. And he had. "There's a lot more to this place than fields and coastline if you're willing to look for it." Of course, his statements came with the assumption that the youth had not traveled inland at all. He could have been wrong; perhaps Anselm had come from the same places he had all along. Maybe he had been born and lived in one of the packs that Mordecai only knew by name and not by sight.

He nodded, and with his head already oddly low, it felt very strange; so he righted himself and nodded again, a small motion which was likely concealed by the dark. Yeah, probably. I started north of here and followed the ocean. The smell of it - that salty, briney smell - hadn't followed him this far in to the tree line. But then again, his senses were suitably dampened by the dull weather. I like the ocean. The boy muttered, and then fell quiet once more.

The rain continued, punctuating the commentary by Mordecai, and Anselm was left to think in the quiet lull of the rainy mood. Going further inland would make him a prime target for other wolves - either out of vindictiveness, or kindness. He wasn't sure which was worse; a wolf who wanted to kill you, or recruit you. At this point the boy didn't want to be the center of anyone's attentions — he didn't want to be placed in a position of power, but he also didn't want to just wander for the rest of his life.

It was a predicament.

Have you been there? Inland, I mean. Anselm's voice was questioning in tone, but bright as well. It was rare to find someone so amiable in the wilderness, and so accommodating to his apprehension; Mordecai could have just abandoned him to the doom and gloom of the forest, but instead he was here, and for the first time in a long while Anselm had a sense of direction. There are probably hundreds of wolves and wolf packs out there.

Interestingly enough, they had come the same way. For a moment, he wondered if Anselm encountered Caiaphas, who had plucked Mordecai out by the sea readily. The chances of such he supposed were likely, though given their more recent meeting he could have only imagined how the two-toned siren treated him. Directness was not oft appreciated and he felt that much about the youth before him. But their likeness ended there, for the moment. Mordecai held no true opinion of the ocean. It was simply there. It was a temptress and he imagined to someone unable to find a clean water source they would have been overjoyed. But he knew that the waters of the ocean were nasty, salty. Not worth the effort to drink. A factoid he had learned the hard way ages ago.

He nodded to the query, affirming that he had been inland. But there was no mention that he had lived there and that was something the Ostrega intended to keep close to his breast. His own past was not something he wished to go about unfurling to someone for all intensive purposes, was a stranger. "I don't know about hundreds of packs, but there are certainly a lot of wolves. This place, like others, calls them in. There's plenty to keep them around. The game's decent, the region big enough to keep the packs in check." For the most part, Mordecai did not have the sense that the packs were bunched up on each other. Except for the fact that in a way, they may have been. But that hearkened back upon his lead of the Spine, where he had worried of Meldresi's pack and the Caldera to their east.

"There's a lot of pockets like this one all over the place. Not too close together though. I guess we all naturally band together somewhere if the conditions are right." With that, he felt silent. If Anselm wanted to know more, Mordecai would let him pry for it. He had found the best way to keep up a conversation was to throw down breadcrumbs, from time to time.

Anselm may have been picking up what Mordecai was layin' down, but he didn't take the bait so readily. Rather, he accepted the statement as a tiny fact, a rhetorical muttering which rang true and needed no further discussion. Packs did rise up all over the place in the most worthwhile locations. It was the way of things.

He ruminated over the passing conversation for a bit, listening to the stillness and the subtle rainfall, inevitably growing a bit antsy. When his hind legs started to go a bit numb from lack of use, he stood up and stretched - working the joints a little bit, to get the blood flowing.

And now that he was up, he felt the urge to explore some more. Perhaps he'd take Mordecai's advice and head further inland after all - he could backtrack, at least along the route he was a bit familiar with, and start on the other side of the forest, the other edge of the mountains. Something about the coast really called to him. The boy could brave a bit of winter rain - it was only water after all.

With a turn of his head, Anselm caught the other man's silhouette in his gaze, and gave him a tiny nod of thanks. I'm going to get a move on... Maybe I'll see you around. And with this said, he began to make his gradual departure.

When Anselm would no longer begrudge him conversation, Mordecai decided to let him go. Either way it seemed that their small conversation had spurred the youth to brave the weather again, but maybe he really just wanted to be away from him to begin with. As he left, the tawny Ostrega lingered in the thick clump of woodland. With the ashen fellow gone, he decided maybe there was something worth sussing out from the terrain, a hare or quail or something along those lines. Something to nibble at, as he decided to wait out some of the weather himself.