Larkcall Lowlands Two Wildly Different Perspectives

Saros raised a brow as the older wolf seemed to be...throwing a tantrum? This whole meeting was going downhill quicker than the large Tainn could get a grip on it. He wanted to spat orders like an adult at the pale wolf for him to behave himself and to stop being so childish. Yet before he could get anything out the Fluffyweed (no that wasn't right. Cottongrass?) wolf had something else to say.

Green eyes rolled softly. "I think it's best you don't. I gotta get going anyway." He really didn't but no way he was hanging around here for much longer. Especially if all the Rye wolves were like this. Carefully he began to back up, trying not to pull his gaze away from the pale wolf. What if he threw a bigger tantrum or had even more to say? It was likely best that Saros removed himself from this whole extravaganza fast.

He had hoped that the tall grass and fog would be enough to make him disappear but he knew his scent would still be a trail to him and if that Rye wolf was following than what he really needed was some distance. Without a proper goodbye or even woof, Saros began to jog through the fog. He wasn't exactly sure what direction he was going but as long as it was away he would be just fine.

-saros exit-

Saros is currently going under the alias Big Buzzard or Buzzard - thanks to a name given by Namir

Nothing about this situation was going right. Because he wanted to be nice except this wolf apparently wasn't familiar with the concept. He wanted to let out another whine. Maybe even stamp his feet some more because this wasn't fair. How could he possibly fix this mess of a first impression if Saros wasn't even going to let him try? It was enough to have his expression crumbling into one of pure distraught.

He didn't know what he did wrong.

He would probably never get a chance to find out.

With pained silence he watched as Saros retreated. No doubt never to be seen again as the man disappeared into the heavy fog. He wasn't going to follow. Not even when he wanted to feel angry at the stranger for being difficult. And maybe it was his fault. It wouldn't be the first time he misunderstood a situation or failed to recognize someone's body language. But it didn't make it hurt any less.

He forced himself to stand upright. Before someone else stumbled upon him moping like a child in the middle of nowhere. With one last heavy sigh he turned on the spot and faded into the wild rye. The scent of Wild Rye Fields was a distant beacon. One that was calming even when his paws were leaden and his heart frozen.

Screw exploring. Today he was going to spend his time moping around pack territory.

Maybe tomorrow would be kinder.