Far From Home

[Lentigo]

<The heat and humidity - even though it was hardly above 60 degrees - felt opressive to the hybrid he wove slowly between the trees, seeking out something, anything, to maintain his calm. Ever since the rear doors of the van swung open and he was dumped gracelessly from the cage he'd struggled desparately to stay within, the lupe had been in a state of constant terror. His world, until now, had largely consisted of a short chain and a splintering old dog house in a frigid back yard in Alaksa. Born from a sled dog and a wolf, and proving too unruly at an early age to become a pet, the male's existance soon was transformed into the small world of his back yard. And, despite the boredom and isolation, it was there that he felt safe and secure.
Now, after days of transport, he found himself in a confusing new land. It was sweltering, damp, and massive. Never before had he been able to wander freely in such space, and despite the thoughts of his liberators, he found his newfound freedom horrifying. None of it was his home; it was just a massive, feral expanse of strange and unfamiliar spaces. The overwhelming nature of his surroundings caused Lentigo to freeze up with terror every few yards, shaking and cowering like an abused dog before tentatively starting fowards again. Every waking second was misery; his heart pounded frantically in his chest and his breaths escaped in rapid, irregular gasps. The fact that he hadn't hyperventillated or passed out was amazing.
Finally, realizing he was not going to find any secure little niche any time soon, the hybrid circled frantically around a thicket of ferns and short brush, finally diving amongst the boughs and plopping defeatedly to the ground. Curling up in a tight ball, fluffy tail laid over his nose, the wolfdog shuddered and sighed, winding himself into a protective little shell that would hopefully keep the rest of the world out. Here he remained, no signs of wakefullness indicated outside of his transient shuddering.>

[Savoureux]

:Flitting through the branches like a tiny red-headed, confused torpedo, Savoureux warbled madly, his intention attention. Not particularly from female birds, however- more from anything that had a mouth from which interesting words could issue. Finally, he landed upon the very tip of dead branch, gazing down at the forest floor, then weaving his head in a complicated pattern as he investigated the rest of the world. Nothing, nothing at all, he deduced, panting slightly and hunching his shoulders in frustration. Then it occurred to him that good had come from the situation- he had yet to be attacked by any predators, despite how loud he was being. Grinning to himself, he decided to announce this:
“Hey hey hey! I’m not eaten, lookitmelookitmelookitme, hey hey hey! I’m not eaten!” Sung out in the piercingly beautiful warble of a cheerful finch, the song would have been very impressive to humans, but would have left female purple finches wondering if that was the only asset Savoureux had. In truth, he was a fairly handsome little fellow, vibrantly red and richly brown, with an intelligent, bright eye and overall conformity to the criteria of a good mate. Yet, Savoureux had traveled to the area particularly to get away from amorous lady-finches- it was amazing how other birds were less inclined to approach another if a female was fawning over him. Perhaps they thought they would be interrupting something.
:Following his odd logic, the finch had simply... flow away. Away from all of it, into the great beyond, and ended up in the Louisiana forest, singing madly and plummeting through the trees. Having calmed down emotionally and rested physically, the bird half-flew, half-jumped to an adjacent tree, and began to husk the various edible bits found on the weaving branches, instinctively keeping an eye out for any competitors, even though he knew that there were unlikely to be any. Soon, he laxed his guard, feeling poignantly joyful that he didn’t have to warn off any other finches from his feeding.
:Despite the fact that feeding was needed for his survival, and that he really should have stayed where he was until completely full, Savoureux soon found himself bored with the activity, and took flight once more, this time more sedately, keeping a close watch on the ground and skies for matters of interest. Much to his surprise, he found a distraction: a quivering ball of white and chestnut fur, seemingly a sleeping wolf. Yet, as much as the finch remembered, wolves didn’t come in that color. Ever. Confused, baffled, and exuberant, the finch flittered down through the trees, landing on a branch he figured was above snapping distance.
“Hey-ho hey-ho, sir-ee-wolf! What’s the news, what y’doin’? Hey-ho, hey-ho?” He warbled wordlessly for a few moments, and then sang again: ‘Sir-ee-wolf!” The finch’s eyes glittered in a birdy grin, feathers puffed into proud arrangement, crest raised in excitement.:

[Lentigo]

<The hybrid was just drifting into a restless and troubled sleep, bound to be wrought with nightmares (as his sleep typically was), when a high, twittering voice with a sharp edge to it interrupted him. Frightened by the sudden burst of loud noise, the wolf sat bold-upright with a loud yelp, smacking his head into the boughs above. The resulting pain elicited a second yelp, this one more from discomfort than surprise, and Lentigo proceeded to burst from the hedge, whirling around in a flurry of leaves with his pelt on end.
Thank goodness the speaker was a bird, for he'd have given fatally mixed messages to any canine that happened upon him. Bristling from head to toe with eyes blazing and teeth showing lightly, he was also crouched low with his tail tucked and ears lowered. It was an odd mix of submission and agression, giving him the look of the kind of animal known for fear-biting and other desperate acts of panic. And frankly, the description was accurate, and the main reason he'd been left chained in a cold alaskan yard to begin with.
Next was the confusion as Lentigo frantically sought the speaker. He was expecting another mammal, possibly another canine, though something in the tone of the voice was all wrong, twittering and lyrical, and much unlike the voice of any dog he'd ever heard. So, when he found nothing on the ground despite much turning, glaring, and frantic darting, he finally cast his gaze skyward.
When he spotted the tiny rubicund finch, he couldn't believe that such an explosion of noise came from such a small bird. He took a few paranoid glances around, hoping to spot a hawk, raven, or some other larger bird that would explain the noise. He would also feel a little less silly about being spooked if the animal that had sent him into such a terrified frenzy was something large and formidable.
But alas, the only animal he spotted was the small, strawberry hued finch. Everything else probably flew or dashed away in terror when he bolted out of the thicket snarling and yelping. Now feeling sheepish, the hybrid sat down promptly, head hanging low and tail wrapped around his haunches. He cast his gaze briefly towards the finch, letting out a low, huffing sigh, then, ears back, asked a very dejected>
"Yeah?"

[Savoureux]

:Savoureux had taken flight the minute Lentigo’s head hit the lower branch, surprised by the frantic nature of the male’s awakening. When the varg spun, bristling and snarling and generally looking aggressive and submissive to a wolf, the finch was convinced that he had accidently tread upon the male's territory, and the dog was now displaying to him to show that the females nearby were HIS, and the food was HIS, and everything was HIS. The slightly open mouth and bristling coat all indicated this to the finch. Savoureux was disappointed for two reasons: one, he had thought members of other species would not be so territorial, and two, he would think the wolf would know that finches and canines do not eat the same things. Perhaps he was a bit not right in the head.
“No worries at all! Nonenonenone! I agree, your territory, yours, not mine, yours. Yup. Your territory!” The purple finch sang the words, feathers staying slick to his body and beak firmly shut once he was done trilling. Any purple finch would have been surprised that Savoureux was so easily submitted. As it was, the finch managed to time his words to just the point where the lupe spotted him, and thus thought he had been successful in calming the brute, seeing as he sat down. Feeling rather proud, he didn’t expect the depressing note to the lupe’s voice. Leaning forward, the finch squinted at the male, took in the overall posture. Gears turned.
“Er, yours. As in not mine, not as in third-person mine, er. Er.” Some of the lyrics had gone from the finch’s voice, but he quickly ruffled his feathers and decided that if the wolf wanted to be grumpy, fine, but he wasn’t going to be affected by it. “Just seeing, sir-ee-wolf, what you’re doing. New to the area, yes-sir-ee, meeting everyone, just got here, sir-ee-wolf.” The rubicund finch smiled, then added: “Names Savoureux.” The French word seemed odd, in North America, and was spoken with a sort of mumble to it, hidden by a few decorative twitters.:

[Lentigo]

<Lentigo blinked. He'd been mistaken for a sled dog many times in his life, but no one had ever mistaken him for a full-blooded wolf before. The large ears, the irregularly colored patches of fur, the way his tail sometimes curled over his back when he was excited - most canines aptly observed his hybrid status from afar, and instantly hated him for it. To be repeatedly called a wolf - or something like it, for the bird kept twittering streams of nonsense before each word - was an unfamiliar situation for him, and for a while, all he could do was stare dumbly at the bird. Was it ignorant, or just being polite? Who knew.
Finally giving his head a short shake and giving a few nervous looks around, for he would have never heard any approaching danger over the repeated and confused chirps about territory eminating from the bird, the hybrid settled back down under the tree. His body curled back into a morose ball, his tail wound tight around his body until its tip brushed his nose. From there, he stared out at the bird, his eyes then drifting away to nervously survey his surroundings, before he spoke>
"Savou..... well. That's an odd name."
<He paused. Should he introduce himself to the bird? It was certainly odd. Usually canines spoke mostly to their own kind, and he assumed birds would be the same. Yet here he found glaring evidence to the contrary. It had offered its name, even if he couldn't pronounce it, so it seemed only right that he should give his own. What harm could a bird do with his name, anyways?>
"I'm Lentigo."
<The lupe didn't know what to say beyond that, or if he should say anything. It sounded like the bird just was curious as to what he was doing - though sleeping should have been obvious enough - yet it didn't leave upon observing him. What did that mean? Did it want to have a conversation? Was it going to keep watching him? Gee, that'd be creepy, just being watched by some weird, twittering little bird. What if its actions and noise attracted predators? Hostile canines? Humans? He shuddered at the last thought, ears going back and teeth gritting a bit. He had to stop doing that - grating his teeth. They were getting dull allready.
Then, spurred by the thought of humans, he finally thought about the bird's words, which he hadn't really been closely listening to. It mentioned having only arrived, and he wondered if it, too, had been brought here by the strange men in masks. He couldn't really think of why a bird would be taken from its owners, or why he had been, really, but it seemed to him from the smell of other foriegn beasts laced with human scent that the goal of the masked liberators was to remove them all from their previous lives. Curious now, though still too nervous to come back out from under the bush, Lentigo raised his head slightly, ears perked>
"New to the area? Did the humans leave you here, too?"

[Savoureux]

:Savoureux cheerfully bounded down several branches as Lentigo curled himself among the brush, intent upon getting a good look at the morose canine. That the closer distance didn’t reveal extra interesting details barely troubled him- after all, he had asked after the canine’s business in the woods, and expected an answer eventually. He had every trust that said back story would be fascinating. Thusly settled and untroubled by the fact that Lentigo didn’t seem on the verge of speech, the rubicund finch preened at his feathers and kept a watch upon the mammal. Although he was fairly innocent and trusting by nature, he had been snapped at one too many times by annoyed or confused beasts to not be wary.
:The finch turned his full attention back on the canine as Lentigo perked up, head cocked inquisitively and eyes glittering with a birdish grin. He chirped and fluffed with pride at Lentigo’s inability to pronounce his name, convinced this was a badge of honor. A disturbing little animal, perhaps, and now one completely baffled- humans leaving him here? It made very little sense on two accounts- why would he be with humans, and why would they leave him in Louisiana? The rosy avian was further convinced that Lentigo must be somewhat mad, to get such ideas into his head. This was a bonus, however- not only were the insane more fun to chat with, but anything that resulted in bonkerness would be fascinating.
“Came here m’self, sir-ee-wolf, did indeed. Flew all the way from wherever, I did, sir-ee.” Savoureux fluffed his feathers proudly, wings opening as if to display massive ropy muscles deprived by a long flight but none-the-less impressive. They were not present. “Home was too boring, and there were too many other finches, so I came here to find someone to talk to. Yes-sir-ee, I did.” Pik! A call given in an almost deprecating fashion. “But that’s enough of me, sir-ee. Did the humans leave you here? Because that would be very strange, sir-ee-wolf-Lentigo. Don’t you normally not get along? Did the humans want your skin to mature?”
:The last was a haphazard guess at the humans letting Lentigo loose into the wilderness- he had, after all, seen many a mammal shot down and then skinned and gutted, and all of those had been out in the wilderness (not that he had been anywhere else). Surely it stood to reason that it would be simpler to shoot the wolf when they already had him in hand- so perhaps animals were always shot in the wilderness so that they might ‘mature’. The rubicund finch leaned forward in anticipation of Lentigo’s answer.: