Skill:

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Aisling

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From somewhere on the Other-Side, he'd been warned of a Pharoah-Mercy. He didn't know at all what that meant, and so he'd entered the cavern with voluntary willingness. And it had been nothing but darkness that had greeted him. It sucked him up with a burgeoning violence, zapping him and inexplicably twisting his mind.

It slurped him in. And back out.

And he plopped out unceremoniously on the other side.

He was spat out from the abysmal heat into the cool grasp of the mountains.

Pap, tumble, skrrrrrrrrrrrt, splat,
and he was tumbled, ousted like some strange half-used part of a story as the cave shat him out into the cold air of the Alpines. And for a few moments, he simply skidded, blasted into the peace of the Alpines. And he lay there in the pristine silence. And it was ... so ... quiet ...

And the body would stir, lifting from the dust.

Cedar? His voice quivered, heaving from his chest as his long limbs scrambled beneath him in an attempt to catch himself. 

Oh no, where was .. oh! His purse!

He would panic for a few moments, scuttling about before finding the precious item and collecting it up in his jaws. It was only then that he would look around him, trying to discern the world around him (as if he had that skill to begin with). His nose would flare, flashing through the scent of decay as he tried to address his own location.

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Skill:

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Aisling

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"I don't see any cedars."

Though he did not see the source of the voice just yet, the Cheshire boy would sigh deeply. How was he supposed to survive without His-Cedar? Cedar was so big and strong! He made such good shade! Oh, this was just a disaster!

"Will pine work?"

Pine?

That did not sound like it would work at all!

I've never thought to try Pine, Calyx would concede with a sigh, spinning around and finally trapezing his way toward the source of the mysterious voice. He wanted to know who she was, this Pine-Lover. This Cedar-Betrayer!

And they would dance, moving toward one another until ... inevitably ... they would meet. However, it would seem that the smaller of the pair would trip and fall, twisting her little paw on a branch. A crown of flowers, once nested atop a royal head, was splayed forward messily as the smaller wolf would whimper from her ache.

Oh my, the boy would clamour, darting forward toward the fallen princess, who seemed to be snacking on dirt. Who did such a thing to you? His smile was wide, unwavering in intention as he lowered his purse to the ground to exchange it for her forsaken flower crown. Gently, with tactful teeth, he would place the crown back atop her head ... and then slowly, his nose would move, sniffing delicately at her twisted paw.

I'd better have a look, he'd continue blinking a few times before tilting his head to the side in inquisition at her injury. (It was, of course, only twisted. A minor strain that would recover quickly. And yet ...) His eyes would widen. Oh, was she to lose it?

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