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For Fintan! Taking place some time after this thread <3

Today was a strange, yet admittedly eventful day.

The general had been interrupted from his daily patrol of what he thought was someone in trouble -- which was technically true, but not in the way he'd imagined it. The red one who hung from the tree in his strange contraption was the first cause of Azon's bewilderment -- and the woman poking fun of the entire situation was the second cause. The two of them played equal roles in giving him a headache, yet the pale brute needed something eventful to take his mind of of work for a hot minute (and beggars couldn't be choosers).

Headache or not, it was his own self-proclaimed duty to not leave anyone by their lonesome in trouble. The crazy red-headed man who was afraid of his own paws needed help, and the tundrarian was there to provide said help. Which is why the knight promptly dragged the man named Fintan to go see miss Willadeene that day before returning to his patrols. If anyone could help him with his concussion, he was confident that Easternholden's doctor could.

Concussion.....yeah. Had to have been.

After picking up an extra night patrol, Ignis would call in for the day and begin heading to his chambers -- but not before going to visit the curious red-head that had been in his thoughts during work.

--and coincidently, he'd found him wandering the empty halls of the castle.

Now don't Willadeen have you under her containment, boy? He asked with a raised eyebrow, foot steps heavy against the cold flooring as he approached.

Why in th'world you walkin' around with a head injury?

Fintan had spent the better part of the day attempting to make sense of his new circumstances, and, truth be told, he wasn't entirely certain he was doing a very good job of it. One moment, he'd been a junior engineer for Lock Rail, with a perfectly respectable future ahead of him, and the next he'd awoken in a strange woodland with four legs, a tail, and a dreadful lack of opposable thumbs. If that weren't enough to make a man question his own sanity, he'd also discovered that Ol' Willadeene Ann Boggs, the very same Witch Queen of West Virginia he'd heard tell had been swallowed whole by the earth, was alive and well enough to explain his predicament!

Well. Alive and well in the sense that she was now a wolf, too. Apparently, the world had gone and turned itself upside down while he'd been busy dying. Or perhaps he had died. He wasn't quite sure which possibility troubled him more.

Thankfully, the good lady had given him a clean bill of health, assuring him that he was perfectly fit to walk about and get himself some fresh air. And so, with his precious goggles perched atop his head and his russet fur still somewhat disheveled, Fintan had taken to exploring the unfamiliar castle corridors. There was a great deal to look at, after all! The architecture alone was enough to keep him occupied for hours, and he found himself wondering about the craftsmanship, the age of the stonework, and whether the place had been built by local hands or imported laborers.

He was so engrossed in examining a particularly interesting stretch of masonry that he nearly jumped out of his fur when a familiar voice rumbled behind him.

Fintan turned, olive-green eyes widening at the sight of his rescuer. Oh! It was the gentleman who'd so kindly gotten him down from that tree. Azon, wasn't it? He remembered the name, though he couldn't quite recall whether he'd gotten the pronunciation quite right.

Oh! Good evenin', sir! he greeted, offering the larger wolf a somewhat sheepish smile. Well, now, I reckon there's been a bit of a misunderstanding. Miss Willadeene's seen to me already, an' she's given me the all-clear. Says I'm fit as a fiddle, I am! He sat back on his haunches, his bushy tail curling neatly around his paws. The goggles shifted a little as he tilted his head, and he instinctively reached up to adjust them before remembering, once again, that his paws were woefully ill-equipped for such a task. She told me I could get some fresh air, stretch my legs a spell, an' have a look around, long as I didn't go doin' anythin' foolish. He paused, ears twitching as he glanced down at his new limbs. Which, I reckon, is a mite difficult when I ain't entirely sure what constitutes foolishness round these parts.

His expression softened, and he gave a small, appreciative nod toward Azon.

But I do appreciate ya lookin' out fer me, sir. Truly, I do. Most folks wouldn't go outta their way t'help some strange fella dangling from a tree, an' I ain't likely t'forget it anytime soon.

Āzon

Well, Azon had to admit: he was impressed by the amount of optimism the man had for someone battling a concussion. Or….so he thought — because apparently miss Willadene gave him the all clear. A diagnosis that had the tundrarian tilting his head with deep skepticism.

Wait….really? It’s all fine up n’there? Azon asked, uncertain. Now Ignis might not have been the sharpest bag of cheddar in the dairy aisle, especially not compared to dr. Willa — but he was pretty sure that more than just a twig snapped by the time Fintan’s body collided with the earth. He wasn’t just saying that because he thought the self proclaimed “train engi-something” was a bit crazy, either. No, the general’s uncertainty came from genuine concern.

Lemme get a look at ya fer a sec...

The brows on his features furrowed as he focused. Suddenly, the pale titan was taking up space between them, using a forelimb to gently press against his ribs. The exact spot where he was sure he’d seen Fin collide with the ground. That don’t hurt at all, boy? Because if it didn’t, he’d be impressed. Azon could still feel the impact of his own fall aching the side of his ribs — but perhaps that’s because gravity made his heavy ass sink against the earth faster than a moving anchor.

To be light and nimble must’ve been a blessing. (Not that he’d trade these hard earned muscles for anything!)

His own gratitude didn’t even fully register with him until then, and the knight's mismatched gaze would widen a smidge at his words. Oh! He exclaimed, a sheepish grin of his own lining his face. Don’t mention it. Wolves don’t exactly belong in trees, so I didn’t mind fix’n that fer you. Stepping away a foot or two, Azon gave Fin some space to really look at him, and noticed something peculiar on the top of his head. Speakin’a which… he mentions, chucking his chin in the direction of his crown.

Surely you ain’t plannin’ on gettin’ stuck in anymore branches soon, right? Thought you would’a left that in the tree that almost hung ya…

Fintan's ears perked as Azon approached, though the smile on his face faltered somewhat when the larger wolf began questioning Miss Boggs' diagnosis. Oh, dear. He'd rather hoped that particular matter had been settled already. The good lady had been perfectly clear that he was fit to wander about, and Fintan was determined to make the most of his newfound freedom before somebody decided he ought to spend another afternoon cooped up in a medical ward. Yes, sir! All fine an' dandy, far as I understand it! he answered, nodding rather enthusiastically. Miss Willadeene knows her business, I reckon. Wouldn't go questionin' a lady of her experience, now would I?

That confidence lasted precisely until Azon stepped closer and pressed a paw against his ribs.

Fintan blinked. His smile stiffened. Good heavens above, that hurt.

A sharp, throbbing ache shot through his side, and he very nearly folded in half on the spot. Instead, he sucked in a careful breath through his nose, his ears twitching as he fought to keep his expression composed. A faint flush crept beneath the russet fur of his cheeks, and he offered Azon a strained little grin.

Oh! No, sir! Not a bit! The lie came out just a smidge too quickly.

He cleared his throat, shifting his weight onto his other forelegs in the hopes that Azon wouldn't notice. Well, I mean, there's a mite of soreness, perhaps. Nothin' worth fussin' over, though! Probably just a bruise. Happens t'the best of us, don't it? He gave a nervous chuckle, though it sounded rather more like a squeak. The last thing he wanted was to be marched straight back to Miss Boggs' medical ward. He'd only just gotten out! There were things to explore, questions to ask, and an entire unfamiliar world waiting beyond these castle walls. Surely a little pain wasn't enough to warrant another examination.

When Azon finally stepped away, Fintan exhaled in quiet relief, taking care not to move his ribs too abruptly. He was grateful for the change of subject, even if it happened to concern the very object responsible for his earlier humiliation.

His ears shot straight up.

No, sir, I'm not!

The answer was immediate, emphatic, and accompanied by a rather embarrassed flick of his tail. Fintan instinctively lifted a paw toward his goggles, then thought better of it, remembering how poorly his attempts at handling them had gone earlier. I mean— no, sir! Absolutely not. I can assure ya that particular incident was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence! He paused, his brows drawing together as he considered his circumstances. Though, given how this day's been goin', I suppose I oughtn't be makin' promises like that.

His gaze drifted toward the floor, and he gave a sheepish little huff.

Truth be told, I ain't entirely sure how I managed it in the first place. One moment I'm tryin' to get a look at myself in the water, an' the next I'm hangin' from a branch like a laundry sack. Mighty humiliatin', that was. He glanced back up at Azon, his olive-green eyes crinkling with a reluctant smile. Fintan hesitated, then added in a quieter voice, his ears dipping with embarrassment.

...An' if ya could kindly keep the whole tree business between us, I'd be much obliged. I'd hate fer it t'become my reputation.

Āzon