wishin I weren't fishin

His own nerves were frayed almost instantly upon approaching the stranger. He wasn't the social type, never had been and he had an inkling he never would be. Though he'd resigned himself to that he hoped someday he might be able to speak a full sentence to someone new without stuttering. If he'd ever done so, he couldn't recall. Replaying those interactions in his mind was never pleasant; he was sure his anxious brain amplified his nervousness tenfold and turned him into a stuttering fool. Fortunately for him he maintained some semblance of composure, allowing himself a small smile as he took a few meek steps toward the slightly older wolf.

"Uh - n-no," he started slowly. "N-not really, I mean. I wouldn't mind getting something to eat. B-but it's not why I'm here, not really," he choked out quickly. Spirit's posture was submissive, tail curled between his leg as he emboldened himself to take a few more steps closer. Being normal didn't come easily to him, and he wondered if he'd ever master it. Other wolves made conversing seem so effortless; sometimes he found himself envying those kinds of wolves while other times he couldn't imagine being mildly similar to them. "I... I'm looking for my mother. E-eulogy Destruction, is her name. P-perhaps you've seen her?" He looked hopeful, almost pathetically so, as he looked to Tyrian for an answer with bright, wide eyes. He knew the likelihood of anyone having seen her was slim to none but it was that small glimmer of hope in his heart that urged him to keep trying.