Wayne had traveled all of his life, at least so far as he could remember. He’d moved from his childhood home when he was no more than a child, wandering with his parents until he met his best friend—and even then, wanderlust had claimed the pair of them once again. He was a nomad by heart, a ramblin’ man, but it seemed that life had changed now. It was now stationary and now a hell of a lot more crowded. He didn’t altogether mind, but the cowboy needed some time alone every once in a while, and he sought that time now outside of Casa di Cavalieri territory.

He remembered lazy days spent at the Gulf and Whisper Beach, watching the water, and suddenly the desire to see the ocean overwhelmed him. He shifted into his lupus form before the sunrise and jogged east, leaving Dixie and his belongings in the pack lands. He thought about taking his hat with him, but it was a silly thought, and it brought a rare smirk to his lips as he trotted past the gates.

The Labrador mutt was used to long travel, and his endurance was good. He barely tired as he came across a river, stopping for a drink before following its course. Occasionally, he leaped into the water and waded through it, his thick dusty-grey-yellow fur dripping. He was at home in the water, though, almost at home as he was with the horses and cattle. Days spent swimming as a boy with his webbed paws had shaped a sort of recreational love for the rivers and ocean.

He somewhat regretted not bugging his best friend to come along, though she’d been working like the rest of the pack and deserved a rest, not to be roused before dawn to go on some random escapade. After all, it was his own restlessness, and he would have to just deal with it.

The wolfdog yawned and slowed his pace, sloshing through the water and scanning the area quickly for signs of food or foe. The scent of a loner hit his nostrils instead, and with half-flop ears pricked, he looked in that direction. He thought he could see a brown timber pelt moving through the trees. He reflected briefly of the good deeds Casa members were supposed to perform and wondered if anything would come out of this encounter. He wasn’t really the most outgoing of luperci, but he’d have to manage a bit more if he was going to be a pack member, he supposed. Dixie was always better at these meetings, though.

Wayne swam along the river a little more until the current became a bit strong, at which point he leaped onto the bank. The sound of his body leaving the splashing water was loud enough to direct the loner’s attention in his direction, and so he paused and gave his coarse coat a thorough shake before glancing around for the wolf he’d seen. Deciding to make doubly sure the loner would notice him, he let out a “Howdy.”

The optime timber wolf turned around, white-masked face smiling as he returned the greeting. He dangled his paws into the water and commented on the day, and Wayne grunted in agreement. He tilted his square muzzle back to look at the sky as well. He wasn’t very artistic or romantic, not one to gush over the palette of hues painted among the swirls of cloud and sunlight, but he agreed that the day was lovely in the ways that mattered to him—the breezes, the sun on his dusty coat combating the chill, the birdsong around them.

“Mighty fine day,” the wolfdog murmured in agreement. Water dripping from his sturdy body, he took a seat and looked the loner over, wondering what else to say. God, Dixie-May was so much better at small talk than he was. Though he was sure he’d be even less sociable if she were here chatting with this fellow.

“Other ’n enjoying a day like this, what brings you out here?” he asked in his gruff drawl. He hadn’t seen this wolf before, though the same went for many of the individuals in Nova Scotia. “You don’t smell like a pack—you live alone?”

The wolf explained that he was uncomfortable around groups, and mention of his childhood caused awkwardness to pervade the air—at least around Wayne. He never knew what to do when someone brought their past up, so he simply let it be. Some wolves were talkers—like Dixie—and would spill whatever they wanted.

He did nod in agreement, however. “I’ve been a loner for a long time myself,” he said quietly. “I had family, and I had my best friend, but it’s still strange bein’ close to so many other folks.” He paused then glanced over his shoulder reflexively, back toward the packlands. “I’m a member of the new pack that sprang up, Casa di Cavalieri.” He was sure that his southern drawl shaped the foreign words humorously, though he was careful to speak slowly enough that the pronunciation wasn’t completely butchered. He’d taken to calling it “Casa” for short, though, just like everyone else.

The stranger explained where he was headed then produced a painting from his bag, one that Wayne mulled over before grinning. “That’s a mighty fine piece of work,” he remarked honestly, nodding his approval. “I couldn’t ever hope to make something like that.” He paused thoughtfully, the smile fading but still warm. “You know, there’s a pack not far from us—Cercatori d’Arte or somethin’ along those lines, that’s full of artists like you. Might want to give ’em a visit.”

He didn’t know much about the pack other than they valued art and trade, but it seemed like it would be as good a place as any for the fellow to fit in—if he was ever inclined to join a pack, of course. He shrugged quickly, awkwardly, then rose on all fours and wagged his tail once—spraying the last few drops that clung stubbornly to his thick pelt. “I wouldn’t mind followin’ you to the seaside. Too pretty of a day to waste mopin’ around by yourself, right?”

He chuckled and looked the timber over. “Name’s Wayne McCoy.”

The loner made no comment on the packs that Wayne had mentioned but he did introduce himself as Merlin Arcaniss. The Labrador mix frowned thoughtfully at the concept of naming oneself from a book. He’d known others along the way that gave themselves names that fit them better than their old ones, or out of necessity to change them, but it was somewhat strange.

“Why wasn’t your father allowed to name you?” the cowboy asked, curious. “If you don’t mind me askin’,” he added quickly, not wanting to breach awkward territory once more. While he had no skeletons in his closet, he was acutely aware that others’ pasts around him might have been worse off. “Merlin… I do think the name fits ya.”

He did grin when the timber wolf spoke of the journey to the sea bank. “Been on longer treks,” he joked. “You can say I’m a ramblin’ man.” His parents had been nomadic, and after staying with Dixie’s family, he’d taken to the road with his best friend once again. “Wish I brought a horse, though,” he added, mostly to himself. “Nice day to ride too.”

He waited for Merlin to lead the way and padded beside him, listening to leaves crepitate underfoot and the river bubble over the rocks. His muscles contracted under his coarse grey-yellow fur, used to and relishing the long travel. He did not speak as they walked, though he kept one half-floppy ear turned toward Merlin in case the loner wanted to chat as they moved.