To meet a stranger, to meet a friend.
#1
Spectral's mind was still flickering over the entrance he had made to his pack as he wandered off. He probably should have been less clumsy, and maybe a bit more observant of the area. He had no idea where he was going, and figured he should work it out. As he was already in Optime, he ran to a nearby tree and scaled it, his claws fumbling over the cool bark. Luckily he was able to put a foot into a slight hollow and lifted himself up. Looking around, he saw the vast sea to his east, and slightly more north, the ruins of Halifax. He also noticed what looked like another pack camp north of him. Remembering the scrace knowledge of the surrounding land, he figuired that it must be Crimson Dreams. That would mean he was in the trenches.
Dropping down, he picked up a stick and began to study the greenery around him, looking for any plants he might be able to grow himself. Not finding anything useful, he sat down on a fallen log. Absent mindedly he began to tap out a basic beat using two short sticks, against the stump of his makeshift seat. Whilst he did this he was still trying to work out what his place might end up being in the pack.

Edit; Reworded, "Spectral's mind was still flickering over his entrance"


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