broken by the back of it - open, visitor

[darci]

[div style="margin: 0 auto; width: 60%; text-align: justify;"]Pain radiated through his back left leg, throbbing and growing increasingly agitated with every step. He was lucky to have escaped with his life, though at what cost? His mind was far from his current position, trapped among the turmoil and disgust, going over alternative possibilities and what could have been. Dutch was not himself, at least not at the moment. How far he had wandered was a question he stopped asking long ago, hunger and exhaustion both taking turns being the ever-loving life and soul out of him. His body ached, stumbling almost drunkenly from the lack of sleep. Alluring yellow eyes gazed ahead, staring at something that simply did not exist. The freezing wind felt almost refreshing against his fur, reminding him to keep going. Gritting his teeth, the ebony wolf was suddenly overcome with a powerful scent, one of which he was not familiar with. Was it another gang? He was not sure. Despite being in rough shape, Dutch had enough fight left in him that if he were to be killed would he be able to take a couple assailants down with him.

Finally did he come an abrupt stop, his head lifting up to take in the land that laid before him. It was a place he did not recognize, for better or for worst. Plating his legs into the soft earth below did he brace himself, fighting to stand against the dying winds. It would have been foolish of him to proceed forward into a unknown group's territory, especially now. Drawing in a breath, the male pointed his muzzle into the air before releasing a rather hoarse and eerie howl, one that was surely to gain someone's attention.

[A. MORGAN]

EASTWARD BOUND

ARTHUR MORGAN — MALE — SNOWBOUND — ARCTICPLAYER — HARD

The cold wasn't so bad once you got used to it. But he was one to talk considering he was usually found either in his home or around a fire if he wasn't out hunting. The wolf hadn't gotten completely used to it by any means but he was complaining less much to the probable relief of his tribemates. He wasn't vocal about it around them but he was sure they could sense his bitterness coming off in waves whenever the weather got too bad. Hiding words was one thing. Hiding emotions was another.

The dusty brown wolf had been scouting the outside of the main camp when he heard the howl, freezing dead in his tracks. He knows this howl and he resists the urge to stay quiet, instead answering back with his own strong call before setting off through the snow towards the source of the noise. His heartbeat races, blood rushing, paws pounding as he takes in a deep breath. He knows this howl. He knows this scent. If there really was a God somewhere up there, he'd have to remember to thank Him.

It wasn't long before the Arcticplayer tumbled from the dry undergrowth, his hat nearly toppling off his head and into the snow the way he hurried to stop himself in front of the large male. It took him a few moments to process that this was indeed the very man he had suspected. "Dutch." he breathed, almost in disbelief. The last time he saw the older man was before he got separated after the attack in the hills. He wouldn't admit seeing him alive was a bit of a shock to him. He could almost hear Dutch reprimanding him for not "having faith" he would live. How could he not? They're attacked and split apart, mostly left to fend for themselves in the cold. It's an easy death. But the hopeful embers in his chest swells into a fire. If Dutch was alive, then maybe the others are okay too?

#psychosocial.

[darci]

[div style="margin: 0 auto; width: 60%; text-align: justify;"]He did not expect to be waiting long, given he experience with past encounters. Everyone was so aggressive about their territory, though he knew there was a right to be. Dutch was once rather territorial of his own patch of land, a place that has long since been buried into his past. Now, he had nothing to protect. Expelling a shallow amount of air, the grey and black wolf took a seat, ears perked forward in an attempt to hear the approach of anyone. He was not sure what to expect, but not much surprised him anymore for he had seen it all. Waiting in complete silence did he catch himself starting to doze off, however, he was quick to jerk himself back awake. Dutch just wanted to sleep, or, at least, just find a place to rest awhile. Coming to the point of nearly walking off, another howl finally came, one that hauled his stomach up into his chest. He reminded himself not to get too worked up for his mind could simply be playing tricks on him.

Taking the howl with a grain of salt, the male finally rose to his paws, eyes staring out into the direction in which the howl originated from. Thundering pawsteps were the next sound to reach him, coming almost too fast for his liking. Hackles beginning to raise, Dutch waited silently for a figure to break the scenery before him. Three. Two. One. He had to blink twice to recognize the other wolf that raced towards him. It couldn't be Arthur, all thing considered. Dutch always preached about faith and hope, but he had little to none left in him. Raising his head and dropping his hackles, his eyes began to grow wide. There was no mistaking who this was. Watching the blue-eyed canine skid to a halt, a breathless laugh escaped his throat. "Hello son," he replied, almost a bit too calmly.

[A. MORGAN]

EASTWARD BOUND

ARTHUR MORGAN — MALE — SNOWBOUND — ARCTICPLAYER — HARD

He was at a loss for words for only a moment. His shocked expression melted into a wide grin at his mentor. God- how embarrassed he felt- acting like a little kid who just saw his pop after returning from war. In a sense, this was true. He hadn't seen Dutch in what felt like forever. But Arthur was a full grown adult, damnit. And yet his own tough guy façade didn't hold him back from approaching the other wolf and offering a hug, he himself letting out a laugh. "Glad to see you in one piece, old man." he greeted warmly before stepping back. "And uh, welcome to Snowbound."

this sucks im so sorry//

#psychosocial.