There were a lot of really good caves around here, made sense why so many groups seemed to be flocking up here lately. Everywhere he turned, the young wolf was catching whiffs of pack scents. Not that he blamed any of these packs, since he was beginning to appreciate the North, in all it's unique and very sharp beauty. Everything about it was sharp and cold. The air, the ground, the sounds. When he breathed in late at night, his lungs ached with the sudden cold of it. Permafrost left the ground beneath his paws with absolutely none of the soft give that southern regions had, and early in the morning the grasses frosted over and crackled under his meager weight. He could hear the whistling of wind over rocks at seemingly every turn, or the delicate cascade of pebbles down a mountainside. Sometimes there was the harsh, explosive crack of ice adjusting its immense weight upon the landscape. As he wriggled his way through the tight squeeze that served as the entrance of this strange cavern, excitement bubbled just beneath his skin. The thrill of discovery was more than capable of keeping him warm right now. All he wanted was to pick his way through the caves and see if they were just as still and empty as the stagnant air implied. As his thin skull popped through the other end of the tunnel, he could already catch the faint skittering of tiny claws on the stone floor. By the time he'd pulled the rest of his bony form free, scrabbling to his paws with a complete lack of grace, whatever little creatures had been roaming nearby were long gone. The youth stood still as the grave in the vast, open catacombs. Overhead, the minute screeching of hunting bats helped to paint a picture of what was going on up there. The sounds didn't dissipate into dead air high above, and instead there was a cacophony of sound above him. Their echolocation must be bouncing off crowded stalagmites growing from the ceiling, or something of the sort. His companions had stayed behind, wary of the adventure their canine friend had promised. So he was on his own here, which was just fine. The ram and shrike wouldn't have been much help or fun in here. Pitch dark caves full of mysterious animals? Only a blind idiot would be able to see the fun in this place. Which this blind idiot absolutely did. Picking up his slender paws, the wraith crept deeper into the cavern. He made an effort to keep his claws from clicking against the ground so he could hear any movement nearby, and avoid the awful screeching of sharp nails on smooth stone. ""

With summer in full swing, the small ass and his rooster companion do not have to endlessly search for warmth. No, the donkey and his faithful (although ornery) feathered friend are in the mines today is for one simple reason; to explore. Oscar’s small hooves plod along, eyes roaming over the broken timbers and small stretches of metal that line either side of them.

As he walks, Nugget sits perched on the ass’s… ass. The sharp talons, usually used to stretch up bugs from the earth, are carefully threaded into the curly hairs of the donkey’s coat. It is a routine the pair have played out again and again, Oscar pulling the pair into the exciting, and often times dangerous, unknown. The rooster no longer complains, he knows that his breath is wasted on the small, adventurous equine.

Nugget looks around, his curious hazel eyes looking for any bugs or even small rodents to feast upon. Oscar walks on, wide, eager eyes scanning the sagging walls and hastily propped up support beams with silent wonder. Suddenly, a large rat skitters across the oblivious ass’s path and the rooster, who had been looking for food, immediately goes flying. Wings beat the air to slow Nugget’s descent as the donkey’s broad head snaps around to see why the rooster has flown off.

Once on the ground, Nugget darts after the retreating tail of the rat, clucking up a storm as he runs. Oscar’s eyes widen as he watches the rooster run full tilt at a very solid wall, wincing as he prepares himself for the thud and dazed bird that will soon follow. However, much to his dismay, Nugget and the rat disappear... into the wall.

Jaw drops as Oscar quickly moves to the dirt wall, eyeing it with great suspicion as he whispers, “Oi Nugget! Where did ya go?” The sound of clucking can be heard on the other side of the wall and the ass leans down to inspect the floor. There he finds a small opening, cloaked in shadow and hidden with darkness. Against his better judgement, the donkey lays down and begins to crawl through said opening.

Muttered curses follow him through the tight squeeze, where he gets stuck once because of his, just a little too fat, butt. With a grunt and many colorful words, Oscar finally makes it through and is deposited into a room of complete darkness. Stilling, the prey animal takes a moment to try and get his bearings, eyes squint against the dark even though it does not help him see anything.

Ears swivel and he hears the clicking of bats using their echolocation to fly. That, along with their beating wings, alert him to the creatures that call the night home. Some small, skittering creature crawls over his splayed legs and Oscar brays out in alarm as he quickly stumbles to his hooves. Huffing loudly, he calls out, “Nugget! Where the hell are ya?” His thick Irish accent laces every word as worry and fear settle into the small donkey’s stomach.


"Oscar Monaghan"

The ruckus that was being kicked up well behind him was impossible to miss, and the lanky youth paused. Who was shouting in a cave? Bad things happened if you attracted attention in caves, sometimes there were sleeping bears and wolverines that weren't keen to be awake at this hour. The quiet humming stopped, and the leggy male turned about to wander his way back to the entrance. The sounds that approached from ahead were very strange. In the pitch dark, whoever was coming this way wouldn't be able to see him, but if they'd been quiet they might have heard the click of his nails on the stone floor. "Who's Nugget?" he crooned curiously as he finally caught the tail end of what the stranger was saying, tipping his narrow skull to one side quizzically. "Did you want help finding Nugget?" he asked next, with little time in between for whoever this was to respond. Standing still in the open, yawning cavern, he couldn't hear quite as well as he could in the catacomb of tunnels that lay behind him. However, it was still easy enough to make out the steady breathing of someone quite close. And the scent of... equine? It was different than the smell of sheep, and certainly wasn't the smell of cattle. Huh. Weird. ""

For a prey animal, Oscar can be… loud. Which, in a fight, is good! But any other time, not so much. His nose isn’t as sharp as a wolf’s so he can’t sniff them out but he does have exceptional hearing, when he… you know… stops to listen. But the ass needs to find his rooster and, in the darkness, he is left to play a game of Marco Polo to try and figure out which direction to go. Needless to say, the donkey does not know there is another here until a voice croons out from the dark.

Squinting against the dark (because that will work), Oscar tries to determine what kind of creature is talking. Ah hell, what does it matter? If it had wanted to eat him it could have already. Huffing out a sigh, the defeated ass says, “Nugget’s my rooster. Lil’ bastard went to go explore without me. Last place I saw him was squeeze into here. Have ye seen a bird waddlin’ around?” Oscar snorts at himself, thinking that the word see might have been the best choice of  a word in this black abyss.

Small hooves move, unintentionally sending rocks skittering away to clatter loudly in the room. A small, winged creature dives at the donkey’s head, causing him to duck and shy away and he expects to bump his butt into a wall. However, where there is a narrow tunnel on one side, this room seems bigger and Oscar wonders just how big it is. Speaking up again, he says, “Name’s Oscar, by the by. Thanks for ye offer.” A grin is offered but if the stranger can see it, is unknown to him.


"Oscar Monaghan"