His trek back from the west was a quiet one, swift but leisurely as he kept a mental note to be back with Shiba before she decided he'd bailed without fulfilling his end of their bargain. Whatever that was. She had yet to decide what she wanted from him in return for all her healing efforts, and Mikko had no clue what he could do that could amount to what she did, but if there was something he couldn't do, it was leave her with empty paws. Not when she'd found enough worth in fixing his broken body to disappear from her own family.

A deep sigh worked its way involuntarily from hefty lungs, perhaps to break the silence settled upon these new--and strange--surroundings. Mikko's gaze was angled downward, but for once, it wasn't out of shame or reservation. As still as the air were odd, unnatural-looking objects strewn about the ground, some halfway buried by soil and others still loose atop its surface. Some of them, as he'd lean down to investigate, even smelled like iron despite not being stained (or obviously stained) with blood. Some were shiny, others dull and brittle. What was this place? And why did he feel like he should know?

"

table by Lowin art by kara

Lurid wasn't afforded much space these days, between her leg and Kichi, Alastor and occasionally Kefka and his little girl, Relm...Lurid needed a bit of air. She didn't get too far from home, her leg not truly affording her the luxury of travel, something she had discovered as they attempted to trek toward The Hallows. It was a pack rumored to help heal and other things, and with her leg broken and badly gashed the way it had been, Lurid needed someone to help her. The splint she had to brace her leg helped, but the sling fashioned to keep her weight off of it was annoying at best. The bandages had stopped showing red, which meant her wound was healing up rather nicely, but it would be a long while before she could use her leg again. This severely limited Lurid in getting away when she actually needed to, but she was glad for the care her pseudo-family had for her. Alastor kept her spirits up and her stomach full, when she sank too far into her head he and Kichi were there to pull her from her melancholy. It wasn't too horrible, but she wanted to breathe.

It wasn't too long before she came upon giant metallic monoliths that she couldn't identify, but felt familiar. Climbing up on one of the massive metal bodies, Lurid panted and lay herself down gingerly. It hadn't been easy to get up here, but she made sure to choose the easiest one to dismount. Several landing points provided easy access to the ground, if needed. For now, she lay and enjoy the waning light of the sun. Movement caught her eye as a dark figure drifted between the metal giants, the wind carrying his scent along with the metallic tang of the dead beasts that littered the grounds here.

Lurid would not call out to him, but she would sit in such a way that her own presence would be hard to not notice. His scars said he had a story, the closer he got to her, the more of them she could see littered his frame. A warrior then, had to be, or at least retired. There was no other explanation for his scars unless he was a criminal, but the wolf did not carry himself that way. Lurid was raised with criminals, and she could easily identify the monsters within others. Besides, he seemed just as mystified by the area as she was, so perhaps it would be a chance for outside conversation.

|| Word count: 423 words. ||
"Talk." || 'Think.' || 'Hear.'

Note: Sorry this is so late!

ART & TABLE by BIRD

There was no way to explain the familiarity he felt, stepping over bits of metal and wood that at one point, unbeknownst to him, had been the means to old soldiers' ends. He hadn't a clue that the hint of death in the air was just as much exactly that as it was the stench of minerals and creeping webs of rust as the earth reclaimed its resources. Perhaps if he'd been born with two legs and hairless skin, he'd have been one to man a cannon or send a tank roaring through the field, one of the youngsters pulled too soon from his family to fight for a more superior man's victory...but alas, he was born of fur and fang, thus fur and fang were all he knew. And in his current state, that was probably for the best.

Nose trailed gently, curiously almost, over shrapnel before rising back up to sample the air. Before he could even think to smell for company, though, Mikko saw her there in the distance, a pale figure lying upwind from his own. If not for her lax posture, he might have been taken more off guard, but his patchy hackles rose for only a moment before falling again with a blink of his eye; she was no threat--at least, not for the moment. His moment of pause was enough for him to notice something else about her: off-white bandages against a purer white pelt, possibly fresh, though he couldn't tell from the distance between them. Whatever she wanted, he could practically feel her gaze boring into his, but he quietly figured to himself that this was as good an opportunity as any to indulge a nosy mind's curiosity. She was hurt, tired. He was at least feeling a little bit better than that.

"You've chosen a curious place to rest," he finally said after a time, words tumbling out of his ragged maw like gravel as he narrowed his eye at her. What business did a crippled woman have, staggering through a place like this?

"

table by Lowin art by kara