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 He didn’t know where he’d come from, or what had happened. All he knew was that there had been pain all over. In his leg and his belly and especially his throat. There was a blinding flash of colors and then what felt like only a second, he saw blinding white light and there was snow all around him and falling down in heavy white flakes.

 He gasped, sitting up sharply to look around. He reached a paw up to feel his chest, taking in a deep breath. Somehow he knew he was dead but he was not… ”I’m alive…” He wheezed out, looking up at the sky. He stared at the flakes falling down, licking his tongue out to catch a few.

 He looked around and realized that he was up a tree. Not too strange for him, he knew how to get up most anywhere. Although, for the moment, he didn’t feel like going down. So, he flopped down on the limb and just… lay there. Breathing in the air and reveling in the feeling of being alive.

 What would his next move be?

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A clean white blanket lay across the rugged landscape of the northern Tundra, its eggshell fabric stained here and there by a tree, or a craggy boulder, or in one case, a wolf. The gray-furred male was trodding along at a decent pace, his wide paws working the snow-layers down as he moved. Fomoir, as he was named, was a little more at home in the plains and perhaps the lower mountains, but he had braved these frigid northern lands in a pilgrimage. Up here, among the breaking conifers and the frozen lakes, there was something he wanted to see. 
As his eyes occasionally glanced skyward during his snow-crushing trek, Fomoir was well-poised to spot a russet-and-red something in the upper branches of a tree. He blinked, and halted, and blinked again. That’s… a very large chipmunk. he thought to himself. Fueled by a belief that he had spotted this oddity for a reason, he plowed toward the tree, even as the snow fell more heavily, condensing in to formidable white flakes. As Fomoir squinted upward to get a better look, a freezing wind took the chance to gust right into his eyes, almost feeling as though it would freeze the moisture on his orange-colored orbs. In Fomoir’s mind, he half-wondered if nature itself was trying to turn him away from this tree, and its unexpected occupant. Was the world trying to send him a sign? No…
 
Many paces from the base of the tree, Fomoir began a slow moving walk in a small circle. The thing in the tree wasn’t moving much, but he didn’t want to get closer and end up a pounced-on victim of some kind of strange northern predator. Instead, he chose to wait, to see what the thing would do. His ears were up and pointed toward it, but his tail was out and wagged in lazy swishes of interest. The whoosh of the snowy winds prevented from hearing the awakened thing’s wheeze, but perhaps… perhaps it was breathing? Was that steam in the cold air?
 
Fomoir chose to release a simple, alerting bark. Nothing aggressive, and nothing howl-like, but certainly a deliberate noise. Whatever the thing in the tree was, perhaps Fomoir was meant to be here to encounter it? Despite the wind and the snow pushing back, maybe this was someone Fomoir was supposed to meet…

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 Ah, he was here and he was alive. That was good enough for the moment... but not the next when he heard a bark. He looked down and saw a brownish colored fellow with orange eyes, looking up at him curiously. Probably had never seen a wolf tree himself before, although technically he hadn't treed himself this time. That was the strange part. "Good evening there, gent!" He called down to the fellow as he rose to his paws. He gave a friendly wag of his tail. "Give me two ticks and I'll be down there with ya!" With that, the leggy wolf leaped down at the tree's trunk part of the way down and then as soon as his paws touched the trunk, he leaped again and was on the ground. It took only, well, "two ticks" as he'd said. 

 Now, he was there, smiling at the other fellow. Now that he was on equal footing, Tennessee could see that he was taller --not surprising as he was a rather tall fellow-- but much thinner than this other wolf. "Good afternoon! Would you mind sharing where this place is, friend?" Information was good to know, especially when he was certain that he just died. 

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Fomoir was surprised enough by the cheerful greeting from the tree-creature… treature?… That he forgot to keep pacing. Then the chill really started to creep in, and he remembered to start moving his limbs once more. Fomoir felt impressions of a charming friendliness as this other being approached, and the wolf on the ground left himself wide open. He was glad for what looked to be a pleasant and warm interaction in such a cold and hostile landscape. He was also glad that the treature did not turn out to be some kind of giant red chipmunk. 
”Oh. I was hoping *you* knew.” Fomoir admitted, his voice slow and deliberate as he spoke. ”Good afternoon.” he added, wanting to return the politeness shown by the other male. ”Well, I can tell you a few things. You’re in the North. Up in the Tundras.” Fomoir rolled his shoulders, and glanced up at the tree. ”You were in a tree, but now you’re down on the ground.” He shared this information honestly and without any sarcasm; he genuinely seemed to think this was information that was worth clarifying. ”The land itself, y’know, the all-of-it, doesn’t have a name, that I know of. Ahh, and I’m called Fomoir, by most. Though I’m not a place.”

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 Well, weren't they a pair? The blind leading the blind, so to speak. "Nope!" He said quite cheerfully, interjecting quickly and then falling silent while he waited for the other to divulge what information he knew. Which, wasn't much but it was enough. He supposed. The Tundras though? Yikes, that's not where he usually roamed.

 Although he couldn't remember where he usually roamed. Did it matter? He had been dead and now he was alive. He could roam wherever he liked now! "Yup! All wolves climb trees where I come from." He was certain it was just him but he felt the need to say it anyway. Why not? It made him feel strong having others believing what he wanted. It was a powerful thing.

 "Well, jeez, someone oughta give it a name then, eh?" And who was going to do that? He had no idea! Maybe he'd think of something and have people start calling it that. Oooo, wouldn't that be fun? "Name's Tennessee, Fomoir! Pleasure to make your acquaintance!" He said, giving a bit of a bow to the other dusty-colored wolf.

 "If this is in the North, I wonder what's down South?" He eyed the other wolf expectantly, silently pushing for more information.

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At the claim that all wolves climbed trees where the stranger was from, Fomoir raised his eyebrows and nodded in acceptance. Clearly Tennessee, as he was named, had been up in a tree, so he must know what he’s talking about.
 
With such a polite and friendly greeting, Fomoir felt his own lips peel back into a gentle smile. Such energy! This was a creature with a great deal of life in him, and a welcome island of warmth and movement among the sea of cold white in the Tundras. Fomoir returned the bow, matching the depth of Tennessee’s as he went low. ”Tennessee. Tennessee.” he repeated, working the name over in his mouth. ”You look like a Tennessee.” he ventured to say, with sincerity, though he had no concept of what ‘Tennesee’ was, or meant.
 
”Mmm, wolves who don’t climb trees, for one. At least as far as I’ve seen.” Fomoir began in answer to the other male’s query. ”The forest is thicker to the south for many miles, spanning between two long mountain ranges that stretch on and on like they’re following you. Then it opens into a broader valley which runs south-south-west until a place called the Rippling Heights by the wolves who hunt there. You’ll know it if you find yourself surrounded by mossy boulders shaped like giant eyeballs, all over the place.” He shuddered, remembering he quite disliked the sensation of being stared at by the mountains themselves.
 
Fomoir began drawing his paw through the flattened snow in the ground, making little hills of snow to resemble mountain ranges, and circling locations of interest as he pointed them out. ”If you follow this valley, moving between the larger forests, you’ll find yourself in the Plains, and in a huge meadow. You’ll know you’re there if it… looks like a meadow. Grass and flowers and things.”
 
He shook his head a little, realizing there was probably a better way to go about this. ”Tennesee.” he said, though he probably still had the other wolf’s attention. It was mostly for his own benefit, as though Fomoir needed to reign in his own attention span. ”Tennesee, if you like, I can take you with me when I return there. Might be easier than sending you off with my own vague directions. I’m up here on pilgrimage, to see the lights. Once I’ve found them, I’m heading back down south. I’d gladly guide you when I do.”

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 ”Why thank-ya!” Neither did he truly know what “Tennessee” was but he figured it must be as amazing and great as he. Probably some epic place where there were crystal waterfalls and rabbits with fur made of gold.

 The other launched into a detailed description of what was further south. Some of it sounded really creepy… he wanted to see it! How freaking cool were eyeball boulders?! He looked down at the snow-covered ground where Fomoir outlined his descriptions. As he followed along, he nodded his head and gave an occasional “right right” or “Mmhm!”.

 The other wolf said his name and he shifted his attention upwards to his face again. His ears tilted forward to listen to the plan and he nodded his head. ”Why, I think that sounds like a great idea! I’d be glad to accompany you!” He wasn’t doing anything anyway. ”What sorta lights do you mean?” Would those be fun to see too? He certainly had nothing better to do than follow this guy around and sightsee.

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As Tennessee accepted Fomoir’s proposal, a single blade of cold wind blew against the dust-brown wolf. He felt it slide above the snow and up under his belly, chilling him from his gut to his neck. He shivered, again trying to push away the interference of the weather from his mind. The wind drew up feelings of hunger too; those would need to be dealt with...
 
”Colorful ones.” he said, in answer to the other wolf’s question about the lights. Tennessee… was a wolf, right? He called himself a wolf, so that must be what he is. ”I’m told that the skies of the north sometimes shine with colors, like a rainbow, but a rainbow that has been shaken out and flung up into the night in a wild pattern.” Fomoir kept slowly pacing, keeping his blood flowing even as he and Tennessee talked. ”Or, so I was told. But, I think more carnal interests should be dealt with before that.”
 
Fomoir inadvertently let that thought hang for a few moments as he looked out to the pine forests nearby. ”There’s a young male reindeer out there, Tennessee. Probably chased off by the bull of his herd once he came of age and starting looking at the females in the wrong way. I tried following him a few times, but I was never be able to corner him on my own. With only one wolf chasing, there are too many angles a reindeer can take. Too many trees to dodge around.”
 
Gold-brown eyes turned back to Tennessee, only now noticing how notable the other male’s own eye color was. Fomoir saw a blue there, pale and cold like the ice of this land’s rivers and lakes, yet at their center… red… Blood in the center of ice? Blood under the water. A smooth, cold covering, with a heart underneath. Does the heart beat? Or is it as still as the frigid surface? Fomoir thought to himself. What are your eyes telling me, Tennessee...
 
The thoughts inspired by the vision of Tennessee’s eyes passed. ”There’s a dried up creek that runs near here, covered by the snow. Lots of river-rocks all in a long and winding line. Could be perfect for slowing him down.” Fomoir attempted to assess Tennessee’s physique for a moment, but halted after a few seconds, realizing that was likely rather rude. ”What’s your… hunting style? If you’re interested?”

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 "Now that sounds like somethin' I don't want to miss!" Really, it sounded fantastic! Really great! He would love to see some strange colorful lights up in the sky. Was it some sort of display by the gods? Did the gods here show their power so freely? Although, they wouldn't be doing that exactly now. "Carnal interests, ya say?" Now that could be taken several different ways. He grinned, amused at his own gutterish mind. 

 "Do tell!" He could tell the other was coming up with some sort of plan! He didn't mind that at all, less thinking for him. He could follow along and get a meal with just a bit of help. He watched as the other man paced and looked at the forest, head following back and forth. Then, his own eyes met the other man's golden ones with his tail wagging lightly, friendly. He always liked to stay in other's good graces... when it was convenient. Right now, sticking with this guy seemed very convenient so it was advantageous to have him like him. 

 "Sounds like the perfect candidate, then." His own gaze ran to the pine forest as he thought of hunting with the other man to bring down the cervid. "I like the element of surprise. Since I'm good at hiding up trees and other such things, I can drop down on prey and bring them down. Easier to kill things once they're on the ground." He hadn't noticed Fomoir staring since his eyes were elsewhere but all at once he looked back. "If you can herd the deer along the river bed, I can leap down on top of him and we can bring him down together." Seemed like a solid plan to him. "Whataya think?"

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Fomoir remained entirely, and innocently, unaware of the machinations within the mind of the newcomer wolf. He saw an exuberant, kind and willing comrade, and observed none of the clever thinking beneath that well-crafted surface.
 
At the tree-drop suggestion, Fomoir was openly impressed; his eyebrows raised, and he nodded his head twice. ”Oh, wow, yeah. He won’t see that coming. Alright, let’s do it. It’ll take me a bit to get him over here, so…” His mind slowed down for a moment. ”Trust me.” he said finally, and with that, he hustled off.
 
It took a bit to track down the young reindeer, who had not been living the most pleasant life since he had left his herd. He had been born out-of-season, and came to maturity without any other males of the same age in the herd. As he grew into a young adult, desires drew him to leave the herd and search out his own female reindeer, but without any fellow bachelors to group up with for safety, his search was a lonesome one. On the few occasions he had happened on other males, the reindeer had leaped right into a contest of strength each time… and had lost, each time. He had, at least, taken some satisfaction in his ability to evade the brown wolf which now, yet again, was trying to stalk him. Pride led the reindeer to play along, letting this wolf get close, only for the young horned male to dash off again and again.
 
During another dash-and-tease, the reindeer found his footing suddenly uncertain. The hard, frozen ground gave way to oblong river-stones hidden under the ice and snow. The reindeer wobbled, knowing the wolf was close, and he moved to more stable ground near the trees. Surely there was normal soil under the trees…
 
Fomoir pushed in, guiding the reindeer toward just the right tree...

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 Just as he figured, the wolf went in to finish this. He walked in, slowly, after the other, after the reindeer had fought and kicked its last. "Why thank-you, chum! You're not too bad yourself! I'm not sure if I could have lead the deer like that." Well, actually, he wouldn't have. He could have done it better! He was a thousand percent sure of that but that wasn't nice to say, now was it? 

 He came in to take a spot at the reindeer, "I think I'd like a haunch but I'll try that bit you're talking about!" And other such friendly remarks as he feasted with his new "friend". 

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 After they'd eaten their fill and he'd cleaned himself up a bit, he stretched and then looked to his companion. "I think I'm ready to go see those lights if you are." He wondered what they'd look like and if they'd be awesome or a dud. Which direction were they going, even? All questions that he didn't really have to ask, he just had to follow Fomoir on this little adventure. 

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With bellies full and warm, the two wolves were well-equipped for their northward journey. At Tennessee’s go, they set off, pawing perhaps a little slowly at first as they digested. Fomoir suggested they keep to the center of the valley, and away from the woods. The snow-laden trees and thick trunks might shield one from some of the cold winds, but the loss of visibility was too great a risk. Besides, how would they spot the lights in the sky if all they could see was tree? Moving in the open, they spotted a reindeer herd, a mighty moose, and even what looked like some kind of white-furred cat that was nearly as large as they were. A small avalanche in the distance caught their eyes at one stage; the vision of a cascade of snow tumbling down a mountainside, like the waves of the ocean crashing in all at once. It was one of nature’s terrible and frightening phenomena... 

As they traveled, Fomoir shared the story of his own awakening; how he opened his eyes on a beach to the west, how we was waterlogged from the sea. He related a moment of coughing up seawater, wondering whether he had tried to swallow the whole damned ocean. Seawater, Fomoir revealed, was not as tasty or as hydrating as it might look. He then pivoted to a story about a time he fought a swan, and how the swan fought like a demon. He glazed over who actually won the fight. In sharing the stories, it seemed that his goal was to genuinely lighten the mood, and allow Tennessee to get to know him through storytelling.
 
”I figure, if you woke up like I did, you might not have any stories yet.” Fomoir was saying as they reached a new twist in their path through the valley. ”I’m hoping the lights become a decent story of their own, for each of us to share someday.”

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 They walked and Tennessee allowed the other to choose their pace and where they went. He wasn't thrilled about being out in the open, he loved trees for their ease to allow him to escape, but was mollified by the brown wolf's reasonings. So, they went, and he watched the sights and listened to his companion's stories. Paying attention insofar as to be able to learn something new about this place. Did it just randomly drop people here? That's what it seemed like. He laughed and teased about the swan a bit, behaving as a friend would. Going through the motions, as it were. He was friendly, he smiled, he even wagged his tail and let the joy show in his eyes. 

 And it was fun. For now. A little distraction to keep him busy as he went about his goals. What were those? Well, he didn't know yet... but he'd figure it out as he went. 

 "Well, I don't have any stories myself but I had an uncle who had some stories. Back from before here, wherever here is. His name was Tallahassee. He told me once about a bear he fought, ripped the thing three new assholes!" He said with a laugh, never betraying that that was entirely made up. He couldn't remember a single thing about his past life. "I gotta say I'm quite eager for these lights. I'm sure it'll be something to tell the grandpuppies about." He followed along the new twist in the path, briefly hopping up on a rock that was a couple of feet high before hopping over Fomoir to land on the man's other side. He enjoyed such aerial performances as that.

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Ah, so he did have stories after all. Fomoir thought to himself. For just a moment, that seemed odd to him, as it was different from the experiences shared with him by others who had awoken. But Fomoir figured Tennessee was an exception; he certainly was an exceptional creature. As Tennessee performed his jump, Fomoir experienced the briefest flashback of Tennessee’s successfully fatal leap onto the reindeer, but clearly he was just playing. Fomoir hopped a little in a happy play-response after the initial He’sDoingTheKillJump! thought quickly passed. 
In due time, a new scent assailed their nostrils… One that demanded their attention. It was the scent of markings. Several of them. Wolves, several males by the smell, had created a border that Tennessee and Fomoir were about to reach. Urine and scat arranged in what appeared to be a wide line in the valley, blocking off the area ahead in a clear ‘Go no further’ demand. Fomoir huffed, and looked to his companion.
 
”Nobody I know of.” he ventured, figuring Tennessee might ask if he knew these local wolves. ”Most wolves up north aren’t as friendly as you are, Tennessee. A tundra pack isn’t likely to give us free pass to move through their territory, but… I dunno. We still ought to try to get just one or two miles further north to see the lights. We could try to go ‘round, but that’s adding another whole day, maybe two.” He pawed at the snow thoughtfully, wanting to hear what Tennessee thought they ought to do.

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 They continued along their happy trail, walking and "bonding" and-- oh, hello, that was a demanding scent! He walked forward with Fomoir, curling his nose at the potent warning before them. He briefly glanced to the man with him but received the answer to the question that had started to form in his mind. "Ah." He said in understanding, all the while the gears were turning in his brain. 

 "A shame, that." He said with a "tsk" but he hadn't left the scent marker behind. He was still staring across the boundary, clearly mulling over several ideas in his mind. Then, he seemed to hit upon one as he gave a crafty, smug little smile. He eyed Fomoir deviously as he came in close and then gestured to the piles of shit with a flourish. "I have an iiiideeaaa," He practically sang --quite well, actually-- to his companion. 

 "Now, the mean tundra wolves are a problem if they catch you." He then winked and stepped away towards the border. "But that's only if they catch you." Did he see where he was going with this? "What if we rolled in this here shit to make ourselves less detectable. Then, we can waltz on through no problem." Push came to shove he could make a dash for it after throwing Fomoir to the literal wolves but that would be a last resort. "What do you think, eh? Brilliant, right?" He thought it was a great idea. Because it was his idea and his ideas were the best.

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Fomoir winced. Then, his facial muscles relaxed as he considered the idea. Then he winced again. The proposal was disgusting, to be sure, but if they rolled in what smelled like fresh enough markings... Then their own natural scents would be overpowered. Obviously this wouldn't prevent them from being seen, and they were both darker than the snows, to be sure. But in such a snowstorm, the winds would carry their scent to any tundra wolves patrolling this territory... The alternative was to turn back; taking a side path in such weather would mean days of further travel in an area already challenging to hunt in...

"To have come as far as I have only to turn back would be a terrible disappointment..." The wolf recognized that he would never have thought of the scent-rolling idea on his own. If he hadn't encountered the 'giant chipmunk' that was Tennessee, he'd have never been able to chase down that reindeer. The hunger, if not this barrier, would have blocked him and sent him back down to the south. Fomoir looked at Tennessee with an even greater sense of trust and faith; fate, or some greater power, had brought Tennessee into this adventure, and that meant his idea was supposed to happen, wasn't it? The paw-prints were already made in the snow... It was for them to walk in them, and follow that path.

"I think we have to do it." Fomoir admitted. "It'll be shitty, but..." He grinned, and then gagged a little, but kept grinning. A grin-gag? A grag? "I think you'll uhh... Need to show me your technique." He wheezed in a laugh he was trying to suppress. "Show me how to do it properly. The rolling."

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