yeah i meant it, yeah i'm here to kill it

The plains brought back memories of nothing good.

Memories of whiter, softer, eviler things.

Witches, with double-tongues, speaking prophecies as much as ignorance. Sending big cats in their wake.

He snorted.

Huffed.

Shaking his head and kicking a stone underfoot forcibly forward.

Made aware of somebody else there with the way it clattered and rolled.

“What?” He snapped without looking, hackles raised and bristling.

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A pale face peeked from among the tall grass and weeds, a gentle look of surprise lingering on their expression. She did not mean to creep but, she had not expected him to see her so easily. She wasn't sure quite how to say hello out of the blue to a stranger but, it would appear that was not necessary. The other wolves she had meant since waking up, Kore being the most notable so far, have been so kind, playful, and welcoming. This one, however, was not. Thus the look of surprise did linger for a few before settling.

Eyeballing the pebble with a whale eye for a moment, she gazed back to study the stranger. "Are you from around here?" Eleanor questioned. The look of disdain and annoyance on his face did not set her back for it was a gaze she was most used to. Memories of a past eager to be forgotten did pool about her brain, though she could not quite remember all of it.

She sought knowledge. Of the area, of the inhabitants, of it all. It was such a strange existence to wake up in a strange place with even stranger memories. Memories that at this point feel foreign and bizarre. She felt much like an alien in this place, even more so with her strange patterning and appearance. The she-wolf struggled to not act it but, the echo of remembrance in her mind did lean her into the notion of being ashamed.
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His hackles raised and he sneered. Sneered, with his top lip peeled back, held, black and stiff, against his muzzle, his off-colour gumline exposed. The weight of his tongue pressing against the backs of his teeth.

And—

“Fuck no.” He spat. His red eyes still on her.

Here was hell. Here was a wasteland, barren and bereft, hidden and disguised by endless open skies and sprawling hill.

Here was where he was.

And like fucking hell was he anything like the freaks and losers roaming the place.

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Her pale blue eyes did linger to study his contrastingly red ones. It did not appear, however, that such scorn was meant towards her appearance but more for her existence. This was all but an assumption of course, for she did not know the male and couldn't guess his intention if she tried.
It was clear to her, however, that he did not enjoy too much discussion but, as one seeking knowledge must, she pressed on. Reminding herself to keep her questions and language clear, concise, and brief, like she was taught to do with figures of the past. A quote tickled up her brain stem and whispered to her mind's eye for a moment.
'No one likes a whiner who carries on.' Said a vaguely familiar female voice. Who that voice belonged to, she could not say. At this point did she really want her memories to make a return? Something dark lingered about them and it made the fur along her spine bristle.

"Are you from elsewhere, then?" Eleanor questioned, trying to pay no mind to the aggression in his tone. It was best for her to just remain calm and mature, it was not lady like to bare one's teeth in such a way.
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And despite everything he wanted—

She remained.

Unbothered, and seemingly undeterred. Unhurried, as she continued down her line of questioning. And—

“No.” He snapped. Childish, and obtuse.

Because where the fuck could he have come from, if not here?

Obviously that meant fucking elsewhere.

He snorted.

Huffed.

His ears pressing back against his head before rolling forward once more.

The barely restrained urge to step forward there.

Dumb bitch.

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Despite the body language that accompanied the response, the word itself did flutter a bit of happiness. The intrigue rushed the words from her lips before she could stop them.
"Did you 'wake up' as well?" The she-wolf did press, not sure how to piece together the question properly. How was one meant to inquire such a thing, so strange in it's concept as waking up in a world unknown to your past, with no recollection of how you wound up there?

If his response was as she hoped, she intended to continue on about her brother. Oh how a weird feeling of longing did press against her heart like a sore in the mouth. The only one in her memory, besides a childhood friend, that wasn't surrounded in the dark aura of trauma and hate. She did feel so ever vulnerable and at risk without him. An older brother who's mere existence made her feel safe and warm was one she was eager to return to.
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Did he wake up, as well?

And what did that even fucking mean?

He thought briefly of the witch. The false prophet. Misleading and purposeful, but empty, superficial.

Useless.

“No.” He repeated.

He just—

Was.

Waking up everyday in the same places, the same spots.

Unhappy, and miserable. Trapped, with no name, no purpose, no meaning. Not the river cutting and carving through mountain, but instead the trickle following the path of least resistance downwards.

He leered.

Teeth on edge.

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"Oh.." For once she appeared crestfallen as her gaze wandered from the wolf and onto the ground below her. The excitement of seeing her brother again dragged her emotions along, as if they were strapped by the ankles to a horse left to run. Occasionally the steed would stop and hopefulness did so fill her weary heart.

Before too little became too much, she again raised her head and corrected the expression on her face. It was not lady like to let loose a single tear so thus she did not weep. If she was meant to be found, she would be. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Where are you from then, might I ask?" Despite her better senses advising her to turn tail and leave, the curiosity of the lands and the residents within them kept questions within her skull. She was thirsty for the knowledge of more, perhaps even answers. Though not even Kore knew, for she did not say, only said that it was normal and common. What a sweet thing, so wise yet to know so little.

Eleanor was clearly not so easily deterred by the flash of teeth or the gruffness of a voice.
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He snorted—huffed—at her pitiful expression. Emotions clear, across her freakishly white face and blue eyes.

Disappointment, at the fact he wasn’t a fucking freak like her.

Whatever.

He looked away. Shifting his weight in his feet. His tail deadweight in the air behind him. His expression flat.

“Nowhere.” He answered.

He was from nowhere.

He wanted her gone.

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The concept did lighten her spirits, let alone the slight ease expressed in his body language. The teeth had returned to their home and she was left staring at a rather pleasant face. No smiles or any expression beyond that but, fair in complexion none the less. His red eyes did nothing but intrigue her for she had never seen such a vivid color in one's orbs. It was starting to become apparent to her that the other creatures of this strange, albeit beautiful, land were all bizarre in their own right. She was Alice and she had fallen flat onto her rump in the middle of Wonderland.

"Well, that's just not how it works, now is it?" Her gentle voice began, allowing a soft smile to appear on her face. She tried not to be too playful in her words and expression, as not to give him the wrong impression. Eleanor would know well the feelings of being laughed at and belittled, even if they were merely vague memories now.

"You have to be from somewhere." She did ease forward ever so slightly, her movements calculated and calm. With how the conversation started, she didn't want to give him any reason to retaliate upon her. Though, her curiosity did bring her ever so closer so as to inspect the appearance of his fur and, yes, his odd colored eyes. She was sure to leave a foot or two in space between them.
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‘Well, that's just not how it works, now is it?’

He bared his teeth.

His top lip peeling—curling, twisting—at her rebuff, his off-coloured gums and white teeth on display once more. A growl, the beginnings of one, rumbling in his throat, his chest.

And—

“Whatever.” He muttered, finally.

Stepping backwards, and away. His ears pressed back against his head.

She didn't fucking know him.

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The smirk did fade fast. This one truly was hot to the touch, wasn't he?
Well, two wrongs don't make a right and you can't calm someone by acting mad as well so, she again took a calming breath. This time keeping her distance firm and placid. She didn't pursue him as he turned to mind his own.

"Why are you so sour?"
It was like the question bubbled up from a place unknown to her, a sort of childish arrogance that she attempted to push further down into the reaches of her mind. The way the question was presented was formal enough, her tone purely coated in curiosity but, she knew- or more so she felt- that such a question was inflammatory in nature.
She was quick to rectify her wording.
"Sorry, no, I mean-.." There was a pause to her speaking for a brief few seconds. Eleanor used this time to calm her anxiety and return to a lady-like and proper posture.
"Have I done something to anger you, sir?" Her head did cock to the side, if ever so slightly. Curiosity being a shining trait in her explorative bouts about the land.
"I hadn't meant to bring you any discomfort." This time, her voice did bring about the tone of pity and concern. Such an angered soul only hid pain and, somehow, she knew that. Perhaps from a life of her own, filled with the same feelings of frustration and belittlement. Though she could not quite frankly remember such things, only the echo of emotions that came with them.
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He walked.

Slow.

His posture low.

Knowing, the inevitably of the bitch undoubtedly following him, and accepting it. That everyone and their fucking mom seemed to toddle after him at his heels, sooner or later.

The only sign he was still paying her any attention the flick of his ear, and his snort, at her question of, ‘Why are you so sour?’

Sooner or later, she would bring up sticks and asses, just like everyone fucking else.

He let her keep talking.

“No.” He grunted at her second question. Slumped, rolling shoulders.

“Whatever.” He muttered at her last sentence.

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A few feet had gathered between them before she stepped forward a bit, slowly keeping a consistent distance while also following behind. Where exactly was he going? It just looked like he was wandering. Eleanor studied how he walked as she tailed him, noting his strange posture. Then again, it perhaps was only strange to her. Growing up in a household where being proper was the priority and thus, one's posture must always be noble and erect.

This time she didn't speak, though tempted to. Everything her gentle voice had uttered, no matter how it was presented, inspired a more or less negative reaction from the male. Perhaps she should just turn and leave, leave him to his groveling but, a weird twinge within her gave her just enough motivation to pursue him. Another memory, again or, maybe a fantasy. At this point she was starting to lose the difference between them.
A friend, largely different in appearance but, strangely familiar in upfront attitude. That vague whisper of what could possibly be considered a recollection did carry her forward. Maybe this wolf had a thorn in his paw. Or his ass. She was eager to find out which it would turn out to be.

A few times her maw did open to speak but, she shut it, and simply followed behind. Having only encountered a few other wolves like her perhaps it was less of a longing of old memories and more a longing to be around those of her kind. She was not so used to being so alone.
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The bitch—surprisingly—was quiet as she followed.

The only sound of her footfalls; light as they were. The faint rustle of grass underfoot. Her steps light, and his heavy, uncaring, brooding.

And together, they walked.

In silence.

In what he hoped was uncomfortable, aggravating, annoying.

The sun overhead full.

Not a cloud in the sky.

And deciding he was done—

He stopped.

Dropped, to the ground. His back legs beneath him. His head resting upon his forelegs.

Pointedly—purposefully—paying her no mind. Eyes pressed shut.

His hackles bristling.

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