Kenelm stopped, blinking away a few stray raindrops as they sprinkled down into his eyes. His lungs having cleared substantially in the last day or so was a blessing unlooked for, and the deep breath he took to taste the rainy air was indulgent and mercifully lacking in discomfort. He still was not well, nor did he think he would be for quite some time, but he did feel less like a walking carcass and a great deal more like a semblance of the wolf he had been before the fire.

He still had not found any sign of Calanthe, although he wasn't surprised by this anymore. He had given up finding her trail again after deciding to move south from the fjord; if there was anything left, he would not have lost the scent to start with. But he was certain she must have come this way; even in this light afternoon drizzle, he could see the appeal in this wide stretch of open grassland. Blackberry bushes flourished here among tall grasses, and both faunas well and beyond made up for the lack of trees for cover. If she didn't go after the easy snack the berries provided, Calanthe would surely have taken note of the scents of rabbit and deer that settled over this area. There was prey here, fat and just waiting to be snatched up by a hungry wolf.

Calanthe must have come this way. It was such a clever place to seek out, after all, and her coat would help her melt into these grasses! Surely she knew that; all that was left for Kenelm to do was to search this field until he either found Calanthe or someone who knew where she might be now.

...And stopping for a few berries wouldn't hurt, he decided. There seemed to still be a few ripe berries left, down in harder to reach areas of the bushes. Thorns didn't bother Kenelm so much, not in the wake of everything else he had been through, although one or two jabbed him square in the nose and made his eyes water from the pain. Did he look a fool? More than likely. On the other hand, this was by far his easiest snack since leaving Spirit's Gambol, so he wasn't inclined to care about how ridiculous he looked.

Kenelm's ears pricked at the sound of nearby singing, and the grey wolf froze, his head still half-buried in blackberry vines. That wasn't Calanthe's voice, but that arguably made it even more important for him to turn back around and face whoever it was; the promise of an easy snack was no reason to allow a potentially hostile wolf to catch him unawares. With a sigh, he pulled himself free of the bushes and shook himself out, sending thorns and bits of dead blossoms and dried-out berries flying every which way. is muzzle was still stained magenta with berry-juice, and no amount of licking or hurried scrubbing could fix that. Oh, well.

He listened for a moment, trying to pinpoint where the singing was coming from. The singer wasn't far off, but wasn't visible yet, either. At least she sounded rather young - not a child, but not as old as Kenelm was, either. Perhaps this was a yearling? Surely she couldn't be wandering out on her own, not without someone nearby to return to if she ran into trouble. A pack wolf, perhaps?

Kenelm moved quietly towards the sound of her voice, keeping low to try to blend his ash-and-silt coat in with the tall grasses. From several dozens of yards off, all he could see was a darker smudge of color against the grass. He could tell of course that the smudge was a wolf - but the shape was blurry enough that he was certain another wolf unused to his sight would not be able to identify the shape.

He rose to his natural height again and closed some more of the distance between himself and the stranger before calling out, “Hello, there! Are you lost like I am, or am I intruding on your pack's territory?”

Kenelm was surprised to discover how thickly accented the woman's voice was, though it wasn't unpleasantly so. It required a more careful ear in order for Kenelm to catch what she said, but he was used to paying rapt attention to whoever he spoke with, and she was clearly proud of her English, so Kenelm smiled back at the younger woman and said, “I see; that's a relief. I was worried I might have accidentally violated your pack's borders.” He let his tail wag slightly as she bounded near, not at all bothered by this friendly sprite - especially now that he knew that she, too, seemed to be a Scout. Common grounds were marvellous ice breakers that way.

“Morgan.” A surprisingly normal name. He dipped his head at the inquiry that followed her introduction, half out of respect and half out of politeness. “My name is Kenelm,” he told her honestly. She had offered no second name, and so regardless of whether that was due to a lack of one or her own preference, Kenelm did not offer up his own. “I'm a lone wolf, for now; I'm travelling in search of my younger sister, a pale yellow she-wolf named Calanthe. She's around my size, but with longer legs and a finer build...?” His ears pricked forward just a bit, betraying his hope. A pack wolf, this one; could Morgan or another one of her pack mates have heard or seen any sign of Calanthe? Might she have even joined their ranks?

Kenelm sat when Morgan sat, not wanting to come across as though he thought himself higher ranking or otherwise more important than the younger woman. The reverse was true, after all: As a pack wolf, she would always hold higher authority here than a loner like Kenelm. It was nothing he held against her; it was simply the way the world worked.

He could tell before she spoke that she had no idea who his sister was, though. She had the look of someone gearing up to say "no" - and so when she did, he had already moved past the sharp disappointment enough to be gracious and smile again for the woman. At least she was offering to pass word of his search along if she encountered Calanthe before he did; Kenelm could only hope he would still be nearby if that happened, so that Calanthe wouldn't wander around in circles chasing after his tail while he chased hers. Surely she was out there. Surely.

Something else the woman had said caught his attention - her comment about these being vast lands. The way she phrased that almost made it sound as though "these lands" encompassed more than just the blackberry fields and wherever her pack lay... He dismissed the thought for the moment, promising himself he would ask about it in a moment. Instead, when he addressed Morgan again, it was to ask, “Your pack - does it have a name? Were you born there, or did they take you in?”

His first question was relatively unimportant to him; all it would do, should she answer, was give him the name of a pack Calanthe had not joined or come across yet, and that would only be useful if another wolf gave him the same pack as advice as to where he might search next. It was his second question that concerned him more; did the wolves in these lands accept loners into their ranks? Spirit's Gambol would not have; he remembered being forced to chase an outsider away before his King had even deigned to hear the woman out.

If these wolves accepted outsiders, perhaps other packs around here did, as well. It was an important thing to know either way.

This Morgan was a rather excitable little sprite, although Kenelm kept that thought carefully hidden behind a friendly smile. It didn't really bother him, in any case; he had always preferred the company of livelier and more cheerful wolves, and even if he didn't, with as wayworn as he was beginning to feel, any company at all would be welcome so long as it was at least civil.

Her answers he pressed into his memory, taking note of the way she phrased her explanation of her home and pack. A great kingdom called Grizzly Hollow, led by a kind King Gaheris and a Lady Kay - who Kenelm could only assume was Gaheris' mate. It sounded like something out of a children's story; Kenelm wondered (though not unkindly) how much Morgan was embellishing her story. Then again, he had always known Spirit's Gambol ran things differently from other packs - the few wanderers who had happened by always mentioned meeting other, supposedly "better-run" packs, where the royalty was chosen or respected rather than feared. Perhaps Morgan's story wasn't entirely unbelievable.

And, good, these wolves did accept outsiders. Perhaps this was one pack Calanthe could at least count on to take her in, should she ever come their way. And hopefully theirs was not the only pack who offered such asylum to wanderers who sought a new home - or, at the very least, hopefully they wouldn't chase her away and then refuse to offer him any information when he came asking after her.

Morgan's questions weren't unexpected - he had figured she would want information in turn for having given him information. Any good scout should, after all, and although she was young and spirited she clearly had the potential to grow into her role nicely. Her last question was more friendly than information-seeking, but that didn't bother him. Like as not, she was looking to see if he might be recruitable.

“I enjoy running,” he told the girl honestly. “And taking long walks on my own, or with a close friend. As for whether I'm looking for a home...” He winced slightly, but this answer, too, was honest: “My home will be wherever Calanthe is. Wherever my family is.”