The world looked different when it wasn't covered in snow. And he knew that was a well established fact. One that he witnessed firsthand when he was nothing more than a puppy experiencing his first winter and the subsequent spring. But he felt like something about those memories were a gross understatement. Like they all paled in comparison to the startling reality of present day.

Because he knew Stonewatch Timbers like the back of his paw. And even if he couldn't admit that he knew the forested highlands by name, he could say he knew it by heart. How could he not?

He used to call the place home.

There was probably a den that was now decrepit but once well loved hidden somewhere among the trees and rounded peaks.

He was tempted to find it. Because as far as he knew—nostalgia never hurt anybody. He didn't have his own personal den back in Wild Rye Fields. There was only the main den and the forest that made up the territory's southernmost edges. And maybe on some days he could include the den Askan and Reyes had made. But otherwise? He slept in the open. Impulse told him to bow down and search for what used to be his only meager possession. He felt compelled to follow his brain's rushed demands. But even as he gazed into the surrounding woods he realized that he didn't recognize anything.

As the last time he was around it was during the middle of winter. Snow and ice had blanketed the ground and slopes. Frost had clung to bare and frozen branches. There was nothing like that now covering the land. Instead withering leaves littered the ground while many still clung to the stretching branches overhead. The forest floor beneath his paws was cold and damp. Everything smelled foreign and indistinct.

There was no Victoria or Tumblebelly forever hiding just out of sight.

Somewhere below his paws stumbled to a halt and his tail hung limp between his back legs. He wondered if this was a mistake. It was starting to feel like one. Maybe he should have stayed away. There was nothing important waiting for him among the densely packed trees and seemingly endless peaks. But his paws had a mind of their own.

He remained rooted on the spot even as the sun started to set somewhere beyond the canopy hanging overhead. Something in the branches above rustled. An owl took off in almost silent flight. He was too caught up in his own mind to notice.

Everything about this was definitely a mistake. Maybe even one of the biggest mistakes he ever made because that's how bad of an idea it was. The forest was familiar but not that familiar. He knew for a fact that none of his best friends were hiding somewhere just out of sight. Everything felt sad and miserable. But he didn't get a chance to turn around and head back to Wild Rye Fields.

Because the second his paws kicked into action and he shuffled on the spot—

Someone appeared. Just materialized from the brush and collapsed against a tree without much rhyme or reason.

"Oh." He remarked to no one in particular besides himself. Because standing before him was a wolf of tawny fur and mismatched eyes. They were taller than him. Or at least that's what he could assume. It was hard to tell for sure when the other wolf was collapsed against a tree like their life depended on it or something. He gave an owlish blink—maybe even two—while the gears of his mind quietly whirred away.

His jaws parted and one of his ears twitched from somewhere atop his head. "Are you okay?" He finally asked. Like he didn't know what he was supposed to do. His paws itched but he focused on the stranger who continued to huff and puff away. They seemed more than a little ragged. He didn't know how but he managed to keep himself from blurting that out loud.

There was definitely something wrong. He could see that much. Because there really wasn't any other possible explanation for the way the stranger continued to slide lower on the tree's trunk. One of their legs seemed to extend and twist somewhere behind them. Mismatched eyes were squinted and disoriented. He still didn't know what he was supposed to do. And maybe he should get help. There had to be someone nearby that was more knowledgeable about these situations than he ever would be.

But he never got a chance to make up his mind. Because it was in that moment the stranger spoke.

"Am I dead?"

The question was enough to make him start. His yellow eyes widened and his ears rolled back against his head before drawing forward again. Somewhere behind him his tail started to wag in a burst of anxiety. "No." He balked with a quick shake of his head. But even as he said that he found that he wasn't sure. Not when the wolf continued their clumsy descent onto the forest floor and his panic raised a new whole high.

"Or at least I don't, uh, I don't think you are?" He was pretty sure they looked alive. They were still moving and he could hear them breathing from where he stood. But none of it helped. And he was torn between taking a step forward and taking a step back. Because something was obviously wrong and he wanted to help. But at the same time he could remember that last time he was around a sick wolf, they called him a ghost and vomited everywhere. His features squished like he just tasted something sour and he stayed rooted on the spot.

"I'm not a ghost." His voice wavered and maybe that wasn't the smartest thing to say. But he didn't know what the heck he was doing! His grimace only worsened and his yellow eyes flickered between the wolf on the ground and the neighbouring brush. "Should I - should I get help?" He finally asked. And he hoped to whatever powers that might have existed that he was taking the first step in the right direction.

Haha.

The jokes weren't helping.

They just might have been doing the exact opposite to him but he wasn't about to voice that. Not when he already on the verge of panicking and voicing those thoughts would only make everything about the situation all too real. Instead he kept quiet. His ears rolled back against his head and he swayed nervously on his paws. Because he was probably in control of the wolf's life and entire future and he never asked for that responsibility.

He could barely handle the responsibility of his own life—and that was on a good day! The wolf before him could have very well been already dead knowing his luck. He forced his brain to shut up.

"Um." He awkwardly started. Yellow eyes darted from the injured wolf before him to the neighbouring forest. There was nothing but shadows waiting for him there and he felt like he was running out of time. He knew the bare minimum about sprains. Like you weren't supposed to put any weight on them and Lorcan had said eating tree bark could help with the pain. But he couldn't remember what kind of bark and he was too scared to risk it. What if he poisoned the man? That would be bad.

Really bad.

He forced himself to think of another possible solution.

"Do you think you could walk if I, uh, helped you? Like—" He didn't know where he was going with that one. But it was probably better than nothing. "You could lean against me?" That sounded dumb. He felt really dumb. With a heavy sigh he shuffled on the spot and met the mismatched gaze of the stranger.

"I mean—my pack has a, uh, healer. She's probably a lot smarter than me." And a way less likely to accidentally kill you. Hopefully. He whined and continued to fidget where he stood. His gaze returned back to the woods and the darkness that only seemed to get worse the longer he stood still.

"Or we could just stay the night out here? I dunno, man. I really don't wanna make anything worse." He was rambling. Everybody in the whole entire world knew it. But let it be known that Cottongrass No Surname was terrible when it came down to situations that required being level-headed and not useless. This was just a testament to that fact.