WC: 380
Though often bored, Denver had found himself exceptionally so today, and had felt the unshakable urge to move. For nearly a month and a half now, he'd stayed only in Salsola. Surely his scent was strong, but he refused to roll in dirt or plant in an attempt to disguise it; he especially would not swim to get rid of it. And so the dog had shed his usual thick clothing in favor of thinner, more breathable fabric (although still very stylish and well tailored) and set out at a steady pace to navigate the forest and cross that vague, well-blended and natural border line.
Denver had still not bothered to learn the names of all of Salsola's landmarks, and so hardly realized how quickly he traveled. The pale mutt had started his journey at a quaint jogging pace, but several hours later his body began to tire. As the thistle kingdom grew farther away from him and the mountain range gained size, Denver slowed. He didn't want to abandon the place yet, that he knew; he only needed a breath outside of the occasionally musky ruins. But the day wore on and he surely should have been resting or turning back by now. Annoyingly, his stomach grumbled and he heaved to a stop, tired but with little desire to hunt for himself. With a sigh, he turned eastward, moving in slow steps to regain lost energy.
Eventually, he would find something to eat and retreat home after what would be a very self-satisfying day; but for now, he would wait out the hungry churning and cramping of his organs. Pale eyes rolled over the scenery, wild and searching for anything to distract him from his discomfort. Suddenly, they narrowed, and Denver took a deep, nasal breath of the air coming down from that mountain. Did he know that scent? Doggishly, his head tilted and he moved forward, sniffing and eying the willowy, black-and-white shape that lingered ahead, hidden from his view by a line of trees. The Associate moved quickly around the inconveniently placed conifers and centered his vision again in that direction.
"Caspa!" he called through a cupped hand, voice projecting quite far on the open face of the mountain. "'Ey! Is that you?"
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