Too much

Had Wilder ever mentioned that he very much preferred wetlands? Boggy swamps with mud up to his ankles? Yeah, definitely his go to residence. So why he was up this far north in the middle of summer was perhaps beyond his knowledge. He could tell it hadn't rained here in months. His nose felt dry and the pads of his paws crackled with every step he took. Some might've called the area beautiful, but from what he could tell, it was bland. White, white, and more white. Maybe some grey and green where the tops of trees stuck up randomly. Wait, stop his tracks. Tops of trees? His brow pinches together, bewilderment suddenly filling his features. That wasn't right... He was tall, but not... that tall.

Uh, okay... well actually, not okay. His chin tilts toward his chest, vermillion eyes peering at the thin coating of snow that blankets the... ice that he stands on. Ice! Oh, no, that wasn't cool. Actually, it was pretty cold and hard as a rock, ice actually? Was there a difference? Fear zips through him at that moment. Getting off of this hellscape was priority number one! Turning about face, Wilder picks up his steps and begins to hurry back the way he came until the sound of rustling feathers and screeching birds catches his attention.

The wind shifts and the scent of grouse drifts over. Ooo, okay, maybe he could stay a little longer. Even his rumbling stomach agreed! Turning then to start tracking the grouse, he finds a girl a bit younger than he also watching a group of trees that shakes every so often. Ah, had she found the grouse? Carefully now, Wilder makes his way with his nails clicking against the ice over to the sunset painted girl. "For a pretty gal such as yourself, I didn't expect you to be much into hunting," his voice is quiet, but bold. Was it his way of flirting? Maybe. Was it good flirting? No, it was pretty insulting, but Wilder wasn't exactly raised by... anyone so manners and tactfulness are not his strong suit.

WILDER