cause this problem is gonna last more than the weekend

Random Event: From November 9th to November 16th characters may catch a glimpse of a blood moon in the night sky!

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The trees continued to bleed.

The moon continued to glow red.

And down below, beneath the branches, beneath the sun, beneath the moon, the planets, and the stars—

He sniffed at the base of a tree.

A burrow—a den, an entrance—left abandoned. Buried and forgotten and tucked away between sprawling tree roots. Hidden beneath the leaf litter; unburied by his muzzle end.

He moved on just to stop.

His hackles bristled.

His ears rolled back.

“What.”

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His wandering had started aimless and slowly transitioned into a certainty of the unknown, moving on clever paws as though he belonged here, an explanation for his winding up on strange lands wouldn’t come upon arrival and he knew better than to portray a potential vulnerability.

This belief grew stronger when M’Jakuna watched the moon bleed, something he heard only as a fable when he was small, an event spurred only by ire of the earth but, loyal as he always had been, he feared none the moon nor the earth nor even the bleeding trees he found himself walking within—often did the followers of tradition fall beneath ill will.

Intrigue would steal him when a voice beyond a bend called out, curving it to find a whip-thin make, eyes of the sky above. ”You’re talking to me.” he rumbled, a question that fell as a statement with his accented cadence. ”I’m moving through, same as you… this following is coincidental.”

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He huffed.

His ears drawn back against his head.

He nosed, again, at the burrow’s entrance.

And then he moved on.

His head down. His nostrils twitching and flaring. His muzzle bumping against the ground. One of his front paws raised, mid-motion, as he scented the ground between one tree and the next.

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He kept his hearing trained on him.

His hackles raised.

His tail held out and down away from him.

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M'Jakuna flicked an ear at the other's wordless response, telling enough posture that most would take as a clue to leave the wolf alone, he saw no need to muddle himself with another's desires of solitude.

A wolf with a head of steel, though, he wouldn't hurry through the wounded woods simply to avoid another. M'Jakuna would linger to prove an equally as wordless point, some sour stance wouldn't ward him off. He stepped aside, putting distance between them respectfully, and began sniffing through the leaves, tail swaying below spine level as he went on. A non-threat that lived and let live.

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He saw him in the corner of his vision.

His head down.

His neck outstretched.

His shoulders rolling, moving, as he stepped. His muzzle against the dirt.

He huffed.

Turned away.

His head still down.

His ears pressed back.

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He caught a mouse.

A brief, abrupt, flurry and flutter of movement.

Its tail hung from his mouth. Its body between his teeth.

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Eyes to the earth, nose utilized to toss up leaves and search through it all, whether for scents or merely curiosity bred for investigation. At once, a snap growl of capture and the whir of leaves and something squeaking a scream, M'Jakuna lifted his head from his patch of dirt to look over, finding the male had managed to snag something small. He wouldn't amuse something so small, finding it a waste of life when it'd barely fill a pup who could chew it.

"Do you enjoy playing with your food?" If the mouse had not been squeaking, he'd have broken the silence between them. "An interesting choice in a... well, that's no meal, is it?"

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He didn’t react much to the manner in which the other male feasted on the rodent, blinking a little. ”Flavorful language,” he said, tone rather deadpan though out of a desire to focus on scenting the air. ”That’s an idea though.”

M’Jakuna felt briefly sorry for the male, coming from roots where even the youngest could catch a rabbit and wouldn’t once consider nabbing something so small. ”Through here… I suppose I could catch us a hare,” he said, flicking the tip of his tail. ”If you’re willing to follow me, that is.” This, of course, he left to the male—trotting only a little ahead as to propose some concept of choice.

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"I never mentioned you needing help," he corrected, huffing a little as he adjusted his stance to face the male. "That would be odd, a hare needing two wolves to catch it—I offered to catch it. I need fur, anyhow." But his words didn't matter, flavor dripping from the other's tongue like fresh water, M'Jakuna didn't react, a stronghold against such language and crass behavior.

A poor leader he'd make if sourness tipped him the wrong way. A poorer one he'd make if he let a misstep in what he said to breed a bitterness. M'Jakuna, like that, turned and followed after the male, a hum in his throat. "Did I say something to offend you? It wasn't my intention.

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He followed him.

His steps heavy and slow.

His ears flattened back.

His hackles bristled and raised.

“I don’t give a shit.” He grunted. He really, really fucking didn’t. “Hurry up and fucking leave.”

He circled—once, and then twice—and then laid down.

His head on his forelegs.

He glowered and glared.

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M’Jakuna blew a breath out, slowing to a stop once the male performed his rather whelp-ish display of discontent. ”Flavorful,” he said, turning on a heel and leaving the male to his dissonance. He did have other things to do that involved not having to walk on egg shells. What a sensitive creature.

And then he left, back the way he was going without another acknowledgment of the male.

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He left.

He glared daggers and knives at him every step of the way.

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