steamy smoky dreamy

There were no longer fungi protruding from every available opening of his tender flesh, but the effects of the plague had not fully subsided. Walking long distances was still a struggle, and he was thankful that his... boyfriend? Was that was Askell was to him? Their tender moment at the hot springs still cropped up in scattered, hazy flashes in his memory. He had been so sick, but he remembered the important bits. Holding the larger wolf as gently as he could manage, trying his best to comfort him after the loss of his brother. The fear in Askell's heart that he might succumb to the fungus, and the pitiful attempts to dissuade the young warrior. Now, he was making the slow, ambling journey to the volcano. It had taken a great deal of arguing with Bug to ensure that the anxious amphibian would stay behind. Volcanic air wouldn't be good for his delicate skin. Hoarfrost hadn't seemed to keen on letting him venture off alone either, but he had been recovering in leaps and bounds thus far, so he had felt well enough to resume his usual routines.

Clad in his muntjac skull mask and carrying some cured fish in a burlap sack over his shoulder, he ventured closer to the foot of the volcano than he ever would have in the past. As the heady stink of border markers became nearly overwhelming, he stopped. Probably still a ways from the border, but after months of his sense of smell being reduced to nearly nothing, it was easy to find himself struck dumb by most smells lately. Dropping his bag on the ground, where the loose shale and porous stones of volcanic rock were already overtaking the weedy tussocks of thin grasses, he cleared his throat. Tipping back his skull, the swamp dweller let loose a quiet howl. He'd never done this, everyone always came to the swamp looking for him. The emerald dappled wolf was at a serious disadvantage, and risking his safety by coming even this close to the borders. But he wanted to see Askell, and go on that adventure he was promised.