11-21-2011, 09:54 PM
I don't know how to do the pin on the map, but he's a little ways from the river, across the border from Salsola. c:
Swentzle had made his way farther north, miraculously managing to avoid several packs along the way. Hamza, who most often warned him of the approaching territories, had seemed wary and skittish around the areas that had smelled strongly of other wolves, and Swentzle was concerned--both for his own safety, and for Hamza's mental well-being. The wolfdog had navigated them past and onto a wide beach, which had quite swiftly given way to sprawling plains. The tall grass and small wildflowers were familiar to him, and to Hamza, who'd calmed almost immediately. For the first time in weeks, Swentzle had unloaded the many bags from his mount's broad back and let the bison roam. Though his dear companion stayed close by--he'd been around canines since he was young, and seemed to be uneasy all alone--he was still glad to be given such a freedom.
Swentzle had made camp again, though the fire had yet to be started. He'd simply piled his things in a trampled-down bit of the tall grass, and set Fovea to guard them, setting out to scavenge. He doubted very much that there would be any cacti here, so his first priority was finding a river or a stream. A lake would be a slightly less favorable option, though he'd settle for it. Running his hands through the tall grass, Swentzle lifted his nose, squinting through the bright afternoon light. His eyesight was only marginally better at this time of day than any other, and he could make out the glimmer of something shining--water, his nose told him. He strained his ears and heard the sound of rushing water; a river, then.
Citlali alighted on his shoulder, startling him slightly, and hooted, twisting her head to look at him sideways. "Cautious venture." She bobbed her head, and then tucked it under one wing. Swentzle was, by then, used to her somewhat backwards sentence structure, and took the warning for what it was as he made his approach.
Swentzle had made his way farther north, miraculously managing to avoid several packs along the way. Hamza, who most often warned him of the approaching territories, had seemed wary and skittish around the areas that had smelled strongly of other wolves, and Swentzle was concerned--both for his own safety, and for Hamza's mental well-being. The wolfdog had navigated them past and onto a wide beach, which had quite swiftly given way to sprawling plains. The tall grass and small wildflowers were familiar to him, and to Hamza, who'd calmed almost immediately. For the first time in weeks, Swentzle had unloaded the many bags from his mount's broad back and let the bison roam. Though his dear companion stayed close by--he'd been around canines since he was young, and seemed to be uneasy all alone--he was still glad to be given such a freedom.
Swentzle had made camp again, though the fire had yet to be started. He'd simply piled his things in a trampled-down bit of the tall grass, and set Fovea to guard them, setting out to scavenge. He doubted very much that there would be any cacti here, so his first priority was finding a river or a stream. A lake would be a slightly less favorable option, though he'd settle for it. Running his hands through the tall grass, Swentzle lifted his nose, squinting through the bright afternoon light. His eyesight was only marginally better at this time of day than any other, and he could make out the glimmer of something shining--water, his nose told him. He strained his ears and heard the sound of rushing water; a river, then.
Citlali alighted on his shoulder, startling him slightly, and hooted, twisting her head to look at him sideways. "Cautious venture." She bobbed her head, and then tucked it under one wing. Swentzle was, by then, used to her somewhat backwards sentence structure, and took the warning for what it was as he made his approach.