no it's a crayon

Was Wake supposed to be helping keep an eye on the pups? Probably, but there are plenty of real adults around. They're a noisy lot, so much barking and squeaking and squirming. He doesn't have the patience. So many siblings, and what's a festival without actually taking time to have fun on his own? Wake can see at least some of them mixing and mingling with the crowd, good enough.

Uncapping his bottled tincture and letting some of the bitter liquid sit under his tongue for a while before swallowing. Never did get used to the taste, but it's a worthy trade for a little relief. Relief from what? The noise. The sheer overwhelm of the environment. The ache that still rattled his lungs in the humidity. Wake wouldn't admit how reliant he was on it, at this point.

Stepping into the Grove, away from the fire, he was happy to get a breath of fresh air. It would only get worse, with the smoke from the impending fire. Looking for somewhere to settle, finding the best spot already occupied. The strong opium tincture already taking hold though, Wake doesn't want to keep walking. "Mind sharing your hiding place?" Outlined against the fading sun, offers a little smile to the stranger, taking a seat before they have a chance to rebuff him.

"They party different down here, kinda stuffy." Wake's posture is relaxed, lazy, where he settles. Languid, back resting against one of the stout berry bushes.

"Wake"