Wilder was a good enough hunter, a great tracker, but a fighter he was not. While he could keep his belly full, he couldn’t protect his skin to well, save his damn life. After scoring a perfectly sized turkey to fill his belly as winter arrived, someone else had been watching him.

Feline eyes, starved and desperate, watched from the shadows until Wilder was fully distracted. A single pounce from the trees and the cougar was atop Wilder in a moment. Claws were able to scour his form before he could fend the damn thing off of him. Barely escaping with his life, he managed to at least keep his turkey for himself.

Bleeding, weak, and definitely in need of help, Wilder takes himself  and said turkey to the Armada borders. They were the closest pack he could scent and surely, they wouldn’t mind another to join their ranks. Toeing the line, he lifts his chin and calls out for someone to come and greet him. At least he’d brought a gift!

WILDER

Basilisk was still recovering from his own injuries after the tussle with the bear, and had been visiting Ollie so the healer could check over his stitches when the call came. Basilisk pulled himself to his paws, the job half done. He glanced over at Ollie, and his lip twitched at the expression on the younger wolf’s face. “If you want to finish the job, why don’t you accompany me to the border? And you can check the stitchers after we figure out this wolf wants?” He suggested to the white wolf.

With Ollie or not, it was clear that he was needed at the border. So he made his way out of the healers den, and trotted to the border closest to the Col. There, a dark and green toned wolf waited for him… looking even worse off than Basilisk himself was. “Hello, and welcome to the Armada. What brings you to my pack?”


"Basilisk"

Oleander flicked his ear as he heard the call from the border and forgot that his patient, of all wolves, would typically answer the call.

He shot Bas a toxic look as he moved but was chastised by the Warlord before he could say anything.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, grumbling to himself about wandering patients and wondering if his mom ever had to nail Sirius to the floor to get him to rest.

He dutifully followed Basilisk with his medical kit in his teeth as they approached the newcomer.

The white yearling had his work cut out for him.

"Speech"

Wilder had never met anyone taller than himself. As far as he knew, wolves pretty much stopped at whatever height he was, but that very much changed. Even though he's wincing in pain and bleeding from the wounds on his shoulders, his chin still tilts upward at the approach of the Warlord. Quite a massive figure and Wilder can't hide the momentary widening of his eyes until his brain registers that it might be taken as rude to do so.

Quickly clearing his throat, he gives his fur a shake to release tension before nudging the limp turkey toward the wolf. "I am looking for somewhere to call home," he begins, vermilion eyes glancing toward the tagalong youngster with med kit in jaw. Did... they just have good intuition or were already with the wolf? He wasn't about to look a gift wolf in its mouth though so he continued. "I'm good at hunting and navigating, but piss all at fighting. Cougar got me pretty good and made me realize that I might need some help," he feels awkward, tension lining his face. He hates asking for help, but he knows when he's hit rock bottom.

WILDER

Basilisk raised his brows when he saw the wolf before him. Deep scours slid across his form, fresh and bleeding. Despite the clear pain they must be in, the mossy toned wolf pushed a turkey towards him, and admitted to needing a place to call home. “A hunter is always welcome. I accept…?” he paused, giving a moment for the stranger to interject their name.

“I’m Basilisk, and this is Oleander” he continued, nodding to the white wolf beside him as he introduced them both.. “Tend to our newest wolf Ollie, you can check my stitches later” He instructed his small healer.


"Basilisk"

Ollie nods as his name is introduced and moves forward when he's bidden to tend to the newcomer. It was always later with Bas, thankfully his stitches were healing well, except for the few that had been reopened during the bear attack.

"All right, let's see what we can do here," Ollie said, opening the kit and looking the mossy wolf over, he'd be excellent at camouflage and hide and seek in the mile high woods.

"Cat got ya pretty good, I say." The yearling remarked, his viridian eyes grazed over the browns and greens of the other, his own white pelt a stark contrast. "Any other cuts and scratches? Can you show me where else it hurts?" he asked cordially with some warmth.

"Speech"

Wilder’s ears perk when Bas accepts his offer of needing a home, but clearly didn’t know his name yet. “Oh, yeah, Wilder is what I go by,” he gives a smile and a friendly wag of his tail. “Nice to meet ya Basilisk,” a short nod of his head toward the Warlord and then to the boy, “and Oleander,” he ends the greeting with a tilt of his head. Aid was definitely not the thing he was expecting right away, but he was grateful nonetheless.

“No, no, just the ones along my shoulders,” Wilder turns his head back to motion his muzzle toward the long open wounds that trail from the front of his shoulders toward the back of his rib cage. “Usually can keep myself outta trouble, but the cat was pretty desperate,” his nose wrinkles as he moves to get closer to the boy. Plopping himself down on the ground beside the young healer, he turns his attention once more to Basilisk.

“Thanks again,” he offers another timid smile, trying to distract himself from the healer’s movements. “There somewhere I can make myself home or someone who can give me a tour?” Wilder questions, curious to see his new home.

Basilisk gave a knowing nod at that, he’d come across desperate predators before. A more common occurrence in winter. It was a part of why a pack was so important. He thought of the Polar bear he had faced, and knew he would have been in a great deal of trouble if it hadn’t been for Ollie.

Basilisk glanced at his healer at Wilder’s question, his lips twitching into a small smile. Here was a chance to delay the white wolf fussing over him a little while longer. “Actually, Ollie here would love to give you a tour. We have three territories, though the Col is the most comfortable for denning in. but the choice of where you set up will be yours.”


"Basilisk"

Oleander set to work on the male's cuts over his shoulders.
"This'll sting a bit." He murmured, between the conversation, before applying a yarrow-infused mead tincture splash to disinfect the wounds.

He grabbed his needle and thread, and quickly started stitching the large gashes. He remembered his brother stitched similar gashes over his shoulder and ribs, it had not been fun. He was swift and careful, not tugging unnecessarily and slipping the needle through the sliced flesh with practiced ease.

Basilisk volunteered Ollie to show the new guy around. He flicked his white ear at the Warlord as he was facing his patient, and bit back a remark about Bas's own healing stitches that needed to be tended to. Though he wasn't going to say squat in front of Wilder, Ollie had a penchant for getting sour when he was ordered around.

When he finished his stitching he applied a generous amount of St. Johns Wort salve, which would have a rather soothing effect as the oils and beeswax covered the wounds and sealed the stitches.

"So, around the Col, we go. I'll continue to check these in the next few days as you heal to ensure there's no infection. Then hopefully in some time, I can take those stitches out. Maybe you'll get a fancy scar to attract someone pretty!" He teased as he packed up his supplies.

"I'll take you the sands first, then work our way from there!" He replied, hey maybe this'll be fun like when Wylan dragged Seneca around!

"Speech"

Wilder barely heard the quiet murmur of the healer over Basilisk telling him about the dens in the Col being the best places to stay. He's about to reply when the yarrow-infused tincture is splashed onto his wounds. The searing sting forces his teeth to clamp together, hackles raising and lips curling into a disgruntled expression. He fights the growl that threatens to burst from his mouth as he glances back at Oleander with narrowed eyes.

His wild upbringing and lack of socialization urges him to snap, but in the presence of the Warlord, a superior, Wilder at least knows better than that. Instead, he sticks out the tip of his tongue at the younger boy as his ears lay back against his skull. Don't bite the hand that... fixes? Was that an appropriate reminder?

Trying to stay distracted as the boy moves to stitch up the worst of the scratches, Wilder turns his attention back to Basilisk. "I ain't much for enclosed spaces, but I s'pose I'll make my decision after lil' Ollie 'ere's gave me a tour," Wilder replies, a grimacing grin spreading over his charcoal lips as he turns back to look at Oleander's handiwork. "Not s'bad," he mentions, watching as the boy applies some St. Johns wart and other items that replace the stinging and burning sensation with a calm, cool, and soothing feeling that allows his expression to smooth over into something more relaxed and pain-free.

Shifting his weight to be centered over his paws, Wilder stands as Ollie speaks. Both brows shoot up at the mention of meeting someone pretty. There had been someone pretty once upon a time but... he had commitment issues and leaving without notice had been easier than facing the truth. Instead, Wilder shrugs, brushing off the comment with a gruff clearing of his throat. "Let's start with a tour first, yeah?" Wilder replies, looking down at the smaller boy, waiting to be led wherever it was they were going first.

WILDER