I can't really tell you how the wolves got into it.

What matters now is that life in the Basin has been faring well. Really well. I'm meeting new faces, finding time in my days to disappear three, four times to the hot springs for a soak, and best of all, I'm getting to lie.

Well, scratch that. It's not really lying that I'm doing. I'm just leaving out some truths. See, when you're the new guy, you get asked lots of questions; the most popular is "what brings you here?". It's said in a nice, curious way with pricked ears. And believe me, I don't mind the personal question (because it is personal) I just don't feel compelled to tell them the truth. This is where the lying comes in.

So, when I get that lovely "what brings you here?" I tip my head back, put on my most flattering smirk, shake out my blue-frost tipped mane and tell them I've come solely for a change in scenery. And then I inwardly laugh with myself, because I know this is the furthest thing from the truth: there's a reason I'm here.

I'm here and I sort of want to get high. And luckily, I know just the man to seek out for such an exciting foray: Mr. Mortuus Nox. So I'm stepping with purpose today, on a mission, hooves gleaming blue and meeting the earth with a determination I haven't felt in a minute.

Only Mortuus is making himself scarce, which really sucks because I've been meaning to ask him more about that soldier job he spoke of when we first met. Weaver is nowhere in sight, either, which is a disappointment for entirely other reasons. I'm sort of just aimlessly wandering the Basin now, holding my head up and letting my hips swing with what I pretend to be purpose.

And then, there's a clamor near. A high-pitched, gods-awful clamor whose source I immediately task myself with seeking out because ew. Before I know it, I'm coming upon a thick veil of evergreens, and I push myself into it. The barking get louder, to my utter disapproval, and I peer through the vert needles to find a tiny clan of baby wolves writhing all over the ground.

There's also a woman, her coat snow and ash, her body pierced with a plethora of horns or spikes or whatever. She must be a Basiner because she smells like the mountains, and my lips melt into a grin as I approach her from her left flank, coming up to join her in her watching. "Babysitting the dogs, are you?" I muse, turning my violet gaze onto the gathering of pups. There's one particularly adventurous one, who's now taking off up the ascent of the mountain. "How long before that one falls, do you think? I'm betting a whole minute." A generous bet. I keep my eyes on the pup, curious to see how this plays out.