Eager to avoid overheating, Quinnat had picked his way from the brink of the ravine to its damp floor early in the day. It was a journey the guard made frequently and one which might have been monotonous if he hadn’t challenged himself to find various routes from the heart of Verdantis’ domain to the Muddy River. It was a cradle of life down there, a testament to Ohr’s talents, and the Sentry relished the opportunity to meet visitors to the fertile grounds. The web of waterways and the generous stretches of mud could impede and disorient - and there was nothing like someone to shepherd you to dry ground when sludge oozed between your toes.
That was what Quinnat - part guard, part welcome wagon - believed, anyway.
In an effort to remain fresh-faced for any would-be acquaintances, the feathered wolf had applied streaks of mud below his eyes, on the tips and bases of his ears, across his brow and the bridge of his muzzle. The mud he sported on his paws was applied less deliberately as he trotted alongside one of the river’s wider forks. This trail would lead Quinnat to the Muddy River’s mouth and the stretch of beach Verdantis held. In his experience the ocean delivered allsorts to their shores, offerings to Ohr himself; now, Ohr’s taste in offerings seemed questionable at times but the scent of a wolf was a more interesting find than most.
Quinnat didn’t need to rely on scent alone to locate the stranger. The end of her tirade carried well enough that he was able to figure out her position and approach laterally, offering a bob of his head and a swish of his feathered tail.
“‘Scuse me, Warrior Blackpaw - but there’s worse things to be afraid of than large bodies of water.” The mud caked onto the male’s brow cracked a little, threatening to expose the concern in his frown. “I'm Quin." His muzzle jerked, indicating the narrowing of the shore into the ravine. "There's some puddles further inland that have serious attitude problems if a fearless warrior would be open to a humble sentry escorting her?" The offer wasn't entirely selfless - they were close enough to Verdantis' claim that Quin felt duty-bound to keep an eye on the unfamiliar wolf.
That was what Quinnat - part guard, part welcome wagon - believed, anyway.
In an effort to remain fresh-faced for any would-be acquaintances, the feathered wolf had applied streaks of mud below his eyes, on the tips and bases of his ears, across his brow and the bridge of his muzzle. The mud he sported on his paws was applied less deliberately as he trotted alongside one of the river’s wider forks. This trail would lead Quinnat to the Muddy River’s mouth and the stretch of beach Verdantis held. In his experience the ocean delivered allsorts to their shores, offerings to Ohr himself; now, Ohr’s taste in offerings seemed questionable at times but the scent of a wolf was a more interesting find than most.
Quinnat didn’t need to rely on scent alone to locate the stranger. The end of her tirade carried well enough that he was able to figure out her position and approach laterally, offering a bob of his head and a swish of his feathered tail.
“‘Scuse me, Warrior Blackpaw - but there’s worse things to be afraid of than large bodies of water.” The mud caked onto the male’s brow cracked a little, threatening to expose the concern in his frown. “I'm Quin." His muzzle jerked, indicating the narrowing of the shore into the ravine. "There's some puddles further inland that have serious attitude problems if a fearless warrior would be open to a humble sentry escorting her?" The offer wasn't entirely selfless - they were close enough to Verdantis' claim that Quin felt duty-bound to keep an eye on the unfamiliar wolf.