She had been slowly tracking the Lirim evacuation but it was difficult going. The smoke from the volcano still obscured the sun above, and even during daylight hours, the world seemed to be stuck in a permanent twilight. It was downright eerie. Rags stumbled on a large root and cursed aloud. A distant creak could be heard, and as she misplaced another paw, the sound raced towards her. All at once the knotted ground beneath her gave way. With a yelp, she tumbled into the underground river below. Rags fell into the water with a tremendous splash.

Guess I'll just die then, she thought miserably. As luck would have it, the current beneath the ground was gentle and washed her ashore in what could almost be considered a pleasant manner. Once she arrived on the earthy waterline, she decided to take a moment to put herself back together. No harm in rushing. It's not like anyone would miss her if she didn't make it to the checkpoint. Torin might notice, or the children... but would they think it any great loss at all? If she just disappeared entirely?

Feeling well and truly miserable, Rags inspected the grotto around her and considered it a very fine mausoleum.

he had come to many places on his travels, but none as lovely as this. somehow, Hemlock found himself under the terrain of the west. he couldn't tell you how; perhaps he followed the water. the point was he was here, and it was a nice sight. the pools of water were still untainted by the rabble outside, and he drank deeply before he continued on his own travels once more. he had to find Twig still, but he didn't know really what to say to his estranged sister once he did. he knew it'd be sarcastically fantastic though. a bit of a joke, really, once he looked upon her again. had she grown as much as he had? they had been littermates but Twig was always so small. well, there wasn't much to worry or think over now. he'd find her when he did.

he would shift his weight, turning to face the exit of the place. but as he did so, his eyes picked up movement further in. he did a double-take, looking back at where he thought he saw it and was met with the favorable visage of a female. he smirked widely before walking toward her. Hemlock noted she was waterlogged. had she ridden the rivers to get here? how... fascinating if true. "well, hello there" he said smoothly as he neared her. he did stop a few paces away out of respect. her browns and light beiges attested to her uniqueness. she was larger than some females, with legs from here to Boreas itself. "come to wait out the storm outside? I can't say I blame you." he chuckled.

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"Oh, hello," Rags said, somewhat bitterly. She couldn't help but let her emotions leech into her voice. This whole situation was a crock of smelly, smelly garbage. Of course she wouldn't be allowed to die alone, peacefully, in this trench. Of course some random - she paused to peer over in his direction - handsome stranger had to happen upon her. As soon as she stood up, he'd see how clumsy and irritating she was. He'd turn tail and let her die here in this slimy cavern like she deserved.

Rags glanced up at the hole she'd fell through. Watery sunlight and ash were drifting down through the opening. The pleasant sound of running water surrounded them. With serious effort, she hauled herself shakily to her paws and stood before Hemlock. There was a serious air of "grump" about her. "I didn't exactly come here so much as... surprise arrival," She retorted, gesturing to the hole in the ceiling with her muzzle. "Is it still bad out there?"

his grin widened at her tone. Hemlock liked lots of qualities about women, but none so more than the spunky ones. they had their own special sort of attitude. she was a pretty thing too, which only added to his interest in her. a casual one at that; the man couldn't say he'd ever been struck so much by a female's beauty that he had fallen headfirst for them. "so you fell from the heavens themselves" he mused as she replied back to him, chuckling as he raised his muzzle to view the large ceiling opening. what a fall, indeed. she was quite lucky she hadn't broken anything. "they must miss you up there." though he didn't know she belonged to a pack that could potentially miss her.

the man hummed slightly, his eyes drifting from the ceiling to her face once more. "depends" Hemlock replied "I have not traveled further in, so I cannot say except for what I see happening" with the herds all moving west and north from what he could tell, food would become scarce. fighting would ensure if not careful. oh, he did like to see it happen but not if it affected him personally. the very good thing about not being in a pack was that reason. he only had to look after himself. "but the west, at least around here, seems spared." time would tell if he actually moved further in the realm though. he was quite content sitting on his ass and tending to his own business.

"by the by, my name is Hemlock Memoire" speaking of business. his head tilted to the woman, a questioning look on his face "might I know your name?" the man didn't seem at all perturbed by her attitude previously. he remained civil and calm, almost carefree.

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Uh oh. She had a charmer on her paws. This day was getting worse and worse. "I don't think anyone in particular is mourning my presence," she replied dryly. Did he always act this way? Wasn't it exhausting? He didn't have news from the impact of the disaster, which was a bit frustrating. It made sense not to head any closer to the disaster site, though, and at least things hadn't gotten noticeably worse since she'd tumbled below ground. It was kind of nice down here. The air was crisp and ashless, even if it was a bit stale. With the water as deep underground as it was, the flow was clean and sparkling.

"Ragnheiðr," she offered. It would be rude not to reply. Unlike most wolves around these parts, she didn't have a surname - or had lost the memory of hers when she'd taken that fateful tumble so long ago. Was she doomed to just keep falling and falling until she finally cracked her skull? Keeping in mind the puphood fall that originated most of her nerve damage, Rags checked on her various faculties to make sure that she was still operable. Limbs: check, or as good as they would get. Ears: check, still floppy. Sight: eagle-eyed. Her head and left side were a bit sore, but overall, nothing too worse for wear. "Do you often go around rooting for damsels in distress?"

“Is that right? How shameful” the man remarked casually but said no more on the matter. She gave her name – some odd foreign one – and he knew he would commit it to memory. Instead of uttering it under his breath like a fool, Hemlock ran it over in his mind a few times to make sure he remembered how it was said. He could, now that he was comfortably instilled in conversation, smell that she belonged to a community. Which one was beyond his knowledge; he had not gone by her pack’s land yet and only met one other pack wolf. Ragnheiðr was not part of Valhalla.

Though her next few words were amusing. His amber eyes danced with mirth as he turned back to her. “Are you a damsel in distress, though?” Hemlock replied with a raised brow. He chuckled lightly at her dry tone, her exhaustion with him already apparent “you aren’t panicking and throwing a fit, hm? You do not need rescuing. Perhaps that term isn’t good for you, Miss Ragnheiðr.” she did not seem to be upset about her predicament, and he knew exactly where the exit was. He could even show her if she chose to be a better host. Or, you know, she could remain down here. It was no skin off his back.

“I should think with your confident air, you’re better equipped to handling yourself” Hemlock went on, stating what he saw so far over attempting to charm her. his tone was a matter of fact as well. Perhaps she was one of those dreary wolves who always saw the negative. Either way, he turned from her to pace a few steps. His muzzle followed the river, tracing it mentally from the ceiling into the crashing pools below. Once he had mapped the flow, his body twisted back to view her. “unless I’m mistaken.” Which he doubted.

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