[size=9pt]It'd been going smoothly- no uncalled for bowel movements, no fainting, no encountering cannibals-- but then he smelt them. Over the hill, on the horizon, propelling themselves at full speed towards him, then around him, then on him. He was a whole fucking Lion but a teenager, still and the wolves came in a pack, four or so. They managed to tear at his leg until they realized one of his paws could crush their ribcage if given the time of day, and took off. It didn't last long, and there were no injuries that would prove permanent, but he was limping when he finally turned up at the border. Convenient stuff. An excellent first impression.

The sun is sinking and so is his will to stand, so he falls to the ground in a mound of golden fur and stares, like a dog begging to be walked, into the distance before him. He's heard of these before, Clans and such. A bunch of animals gathered together, building up weird hierarchies and making problems for themselves. He's never wanted to join them, because, quite frankly, Moon has no interest in allies and enemies and battle and titles, but now his family is dead and he's spent the last week going hungy and he can feel his pancake getting flatter by the second, so he figures desperate times call for desperate measures. Now all his has to do is wait for some scarred animal with a bad attitude and smelly breath to find him, and he might have to sacrifice a goat or chop off one of his thumbs to get in or something, but at least he'll be somewhere. At least he'll have somebody.

He's beginning to say goodbye to his dignity as he calls a faint,"Hello?" into the plains, feeling very much like that one cartoon that the humans watch, where the cub's Dad gets pushed off the cliff by his emo brother and he has to run into the dessert, all emotional and shit. All it's missing is some vulchers, a meerkat, and a hog, but he's sure they're on their way. He sucks in a breath that he realizes is shaky and thinks, it'd be a real shame if he were to die before overthrowing some king or hakuna matataing with a pretty lioness. 

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© MADI

[size=9pt]Huh. A crowd. They'd gathered fast, hadn't they? Maybe these were the vulchers. The first guy, big dog guy, watched Moon with mediocre interest at best, but the shecat seemed thirsty for something, that's for sure. He eyes her as he picks himself up on lanky paws, gathering to his full height above the rest. "I'm good, I'm good," he rasps, leaning heavily on his good limb. "I can sort myself out if you get me some... Herbs and shit. Bandages, maybe, but you guys seem pretty off the grid-- you don't have that sort of stuff, do you?"

He listens to the back and forward between the wolf and the other shecat, and frowns gently. "Hey," says the lion, feigning offense. His words slur very slightly. "Gangrene's great company." There's a grin on his maw, lazy, but it dims when a tail drags across his shoulder and he looks, slightly suspicious at Margeary. "I'm all good, but maybe you could grab yourself a snack, huh? I know I look juicy but I'm about as dehydrated as a raisin right now, sweetheart."

It only after he speaks that he realizes there's a chance he's digging his own grave, so he takes his metaphorical shovel and snaps it between his jaws. Time to fix the attitude. "I was actually interested in, uh, joining you guys." There's a sheepishness to his voice, merely an undertone, but present all the same. "I don't care about your whole-- introduction tradition or whatever, I'll do it, I just need in. I can't hunt for shit and I can feel my mane falling out by the roots. I don't wanna be one of those guys who balds as a teenager."

[size=9pt]"I," he begins, and he's dead set on finishing, but for the moment he just kind of watches the silver wolf like perhaps he's hallucinating. There's such irony in the fact that he'd literally just been attacked by a pack of the same creature, and yet, this she-wolf stands in front of him and he really wouldn't give a shit if she tore him up a bit. Alas, she's offering to heal him, instead."I'd be alright with that. I mean, I can do it myself, though, if you guys have the equipment." Golden eyes glance away from Imperia and towards the rest, a passing look. "I'm not here to scavenge, or nothing."

But then come the introductions, and Moon puts his vows on hold. He looks back to the silver thing introducing herself and smiles something softer than his earlier grin. "Moon." He replies, distracted, and then catches himself, "Moonmade, actually, but people don't take me seriously when I say that, so call me Moon if it helps. It's nice to meet you all. I'm glad you're not the cannibals I thought you were." It sounds joking but the lion is entirely serious. One paw lifted, the teenager addresses Imperia again, even in his disoriented state. "I hear the French say Luna, or some shit, though, so go wild, Parisian."