On a grassy hill in eastern Alacritia slumbered a black-furred beast, rolling around in a fitful dream filled with old memories, twisted by a feeling within him that he thought he had suppressed. His rolling about had flattened a whole two-yard radius circle in the tall blades and still he slept. The morning was there, but cloud cover stood in place of the sun's light and kept the lands in a state of constant near-night. The real environment looked just as dreadful under the dark blankets as the world in Frayer's dreams did. Even so, the red-marked wolf eventually managed to calm his imagination and slept still...
...just in time to be awoken by a drop of water assaulting the tip of his nose. The gray oppressors of the skies spat upon the deserving menace named Frayer, and continued to as the downpour took the land. He arose with an annoyed growl and went to fetch his prized gemstone, which he had left nearby, where he had uprooted a section of the overgrown grass to insure the precious thing wouldn't be lost. It was right where he had left it, fortunately, but of course it couldn't very much run off on it's own. Everything accounted for and ready to move on, Frayer scanned the surroundings for a shelter with his dark red eyes, becoming more difficult by the second as his soaked fur was drooping over his vision. The hill gave him a clear view of much of the surroundings but still nowhere he saw looked like it would give any relief from the wetness, and his memory further failed to notice anywhere on the way here that would be adequate. "If you would just find a home and a family, you wouldn't be wet and alone right now..." a part of his mind told him. The rest of his mind snarled and snapped at the first, forcing him back into his corner.
Frayer was forced to run in any random direction and hope that his paws led him to dryness, and took off down the hill, struggling to keep grip on the wet grass down the incline, but managing to stay upright. All of his long dark fur was saturated by the torrential precipitation and clung to his body; anyone looking now would see just how skinny a wolf he actually is without the thick hairy buffer on his size. Reaching the foot of the hill he continued on, growling curses all along the way. He hated the rain, not just for the obvious reasons, but also because it was a reminder that his favorite season was gone, and the season of rebirth and love and warmth and all of that useless junk had taken over. Soon the flowers would be blooming, the birds would be singing, and the pups would be playing, all things that the scrooge wolf hated. He'd have to remind himself to cause extra chaos to make up for this.
After some time running, Frayer's blurry vision was intruded upon by the shaped stones of the ruined home of ancient humans. As far as he could see rubble and barely standing walls lingered out of the natural place for rocks to be. The clever black wolf could immediately attribute the place to humans, though, so didn't wonder about it's eccentricity for a moment. But among the crumbled stone structures he might just find the dry haven he sought. Eager and agile paws bounced through the slippery soaked rocks in search of shelter in the ruins, and in the largest rocky pile around Frayer thought he saw a hole to lay in, and bounded quickly towards it. But it would seem he wasn't alone in the Stone Steppe...
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