we'll never be royals

Guile's growling and his painfully gripping paws were getting on Toril's nerves. He was clinging to the underside of her neck and chest, seeking the shade his wolf cast, his upside down gaze on the oasis gradually growing nearer. He was annoyed and, to be fair, Toril was too; she didn't need her little companion making it worse. She was panting hard, jaws gaping and tongue hanging from between her teeth.

She'd felt the raccoon's paws slipping, and when he reached to reclaim his grasp, yanking hard at a new spot, she reached her limit. Shaking him loose, snarling as he fell, Toril danced away as he whipped around to nip at her for dislodging him. "You can walk!" she snapped at him, and though he flashed her another annoyed glare, he didn't protest- merely hurried to catch up and then settled for waddling along, keeping just ahead of her front paws.

Freed of his weight, Toril focused her gaze on the green trees shimmering at her through the heat and the scent of water that drew her on. She'd come quite a way from that river, but she hadn't wanted to leave the desert unexplored- no matter how uncomfortable she was. And so here she was.

The scent of the other wolf came to her unexpectedly and she paused; Guile took a few more steps before realizing she'd stopped and he turned back to look at her, ears tipped in confusion. "Shh," she warned him, and dropped low, moving faster in a crouch. He kept at her side and when they reached the outer bushes he stayed there, letting Toril move on alone. She eased quietly toward the scent, peering at the wolf crouched at the pond's edge.

The fur of the wolf was something she noticed immediately, puzzled at the strange greens that patterned her fur- but she seemed normal otherwise. Toril decided to risk it. She hadn't met another wolf since the male at the river, and she was curious. Boldly, she strode toward the pond, circling it to keep a slight distance from the other she-wolf and dipped her head in a greeting before turning to slaking her thirst with quick laps of her tongue. One ear rotated back at a quiet rustle behind her, and a moment later Guile's tapered muzzle was tucked beneath hers; too thirsty himself to wait, but more than willing to use her as protection.

Lifting her head to lick drops from her chin, Toril turned to the other again. "Greetings. My name is Toril and this is Guile. Are you alone here?"