His grey fur was matted and plastered to his skin with filthy water, making the skinny fox appear even more frail than usual. He didn't know where he was or where he was heading, he just continued to trudge through the perilous wetlands. There was a tangled mess of scents around him, indicating that there was some sort of group nearby, but Bell had never paid enough attention to the rumours and whispers to know which group that may be. He didn't know anything about any group, actually, all he knew was that they definitely existed. The young boy hopped onto a gnarled root to give his numb legs some rest. He lifted a paw and lapped at it, the metallic tang of blood assaulting his tongue as he attempted to clean a small wound he had received along the way. A big part of him wished that he had chosen somewhere dry to trek through, for there was no doubt that the cut on his toe would start to fester with all this water soaking it.

Bell shook out his pelt a little, mud splattering the tree that he had chosen for his break. He placed all four paws back on the ground and took to surveying his surroundings instead of trying fruitlessly to get clean. Now that he took a good look around, the place was starting to look a little dangerous. Perhaps he should have noticed that before he got a good ten minutes into the swamp. Bell made a face, scrunching up his nose and narrowing his single eye. He had been wandering aimlessly for as long as he could remember, but this was the first time a path he had chosen filled him with regret. The boy sank back on his haunches, resting against the slimy surface of the tree trunk. He may as well just sit back and wait for death to come to him, then. It's not like he could walk any further without food.

Luckily, Bell wasn't one to frighten easily. Rather, he was more apathetic, often finding it hard to express emotions other than mild discomfort. So mild discomfort was the only thing that appeared on his face as Freyja spoke up behind him, prompting him to turn to stare at her blankly from beneath effeminate lashes. He did back up a couple paces though, unsettled by the lack of distance between them. He didn't get an opportunity to respond to the barrage of questions flung at him, for soon another appeared. And then another. Quite an... eccentric bunch, but it would be hypocritical of Bell to complain. The last one to appear was certainly the most intimidating in stature, and Bell's periwinkle gaze lingered on the beast before flitting back to Freyja. She was the first to appear, after all.

Bell paused for a moment before speaking, smiling a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I don't think I'm a mutant," he responded honestly. But then again, that depended quite heavily on their definition of 'mutant'. Bell did have a couple qualities that weren't quite normal - namely the flowers that thrived on his blood. That was quite personal though, and the young fox didn't see a need to bring it up in conversation just yet. "But, um, I'm not sure about the other thing." What was the Tanglewood, anyway? He assumed it was the name of the group he had sensed earlier, but his assumptions often led him astray. "Are you like... a gang or something? I guess I could stay for a while, if that's the case." He had never thought much about joining a group, but that was because he was always focusing too heavily on the ground in front of him, wandering mindlessly until he passed out and then getting up and walking again once his body had recovered. Perhaps it would be better for him to find a place to stay.

Bell turned his gaze to rest on the more fearsome member, tilting his head to the side for a second as he listened. He was in, apparently, adopted into the group without so much as a quiz. According to the newly introduced Fenrisulfr, Tanglewood was one of the more casual groups. That was okay, Bell was just sort of going with the flow, at this point. A minute ago he was coming to terms with his imminent death. He shifted, pressing his injured paw to the bell around his neck. "My name's Bell." It was a little on the nose, but whatever. It was the only thing he'd been able to remember lately. He wondered if they lived out in the swamp, or if they had somewhere slightly more cosy to rest at night. Resting amongst the slippery roots of the swamp didn't seem all that appealing, but he reminded himself that beggars can't be choosers.

The young fox stood, stretching in a way that made his ribs press against his skin. He hadn't had a good meal in a while, and moving too much made the world spin around him. Again, he couldn't find it in himself to care that much. Whatever happened happened, and he was in no place to complain. A part of him did want to ask if there was a place for him to have a meal and get dry, but talking wasn't exactly a hobby of his. The few sentences he had spoken were already over his daily word limit. He settled with standing there and looking expectantly at his new companions, all mud caked fur and subtly shaking limbs.