Thread Title: Shrek: 「 Hallelujah 」
Skill : 「none」

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As the sky grew heavy with a thick layer of pewter clouds, Rouche found himself seeking a place of momentary respite. Long, relaxed strides carried him through overgrown strands of flowing grass. He’d take moments to pause, every so often, scanning the nearby area as he took note of red petals decorating the low-hanging wisteria. A deep bellied exhale pressed out of his nose as he began to slink closer to the tree trunks, scouting out an area with good coverage from the approaching storm.

By time the first rain droplets fell, Rouche was already comfortably seated beneath a particularly well-filled bough. It sounded refreshing and lulled him into a state of comfort, the pitter-pattering of rain against leaves, stone, and anything else that was openly exposed.

Gradually, the man slid down until he was lounging on his side, emerald eyes heavily lidded and calmly watching the storm unfold.

Skill:—[0/5]

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Rain may as well be just about the last damn thing she needed. Citlali's breath hitched as she cautiously stepped over the forest floor, her limbs pawing at every obstacle lest she fall over.

Unfortunately, sightless groping could only get her so far. Her paw got caught against a root, and down did she fall, descending onto the damp woodland floor like a dove shot mid-flight. Fur of silver and ivory spilled around her frame.

Frustration filled her gaze, her brows furrowed—this was all too much. This new realm she had to familiarize herself with, this time alone—no one was around to help her walk, to bring her food, which she could not hunt herself. Not even to tell her whether a berry was poisonous or not, rendering foraging useless.

Her limbs bunched together. Her chin rested upon her paws.

Just when everything couldn't possibly seem any worse, down fell the rain, seeping into her fur and nipping her tender skin with frigid moisture.

Skill : 「None」

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The soft, rhythmic sound of falling rain was continuous and gentle. Slowly Rouche’s eyes shut, his ears partially cupped forward to listen a bit more closely. It was calming and a nice break from the unanswered questions that still swirled in his mind following the whole altercation that resulted in this new life. It began to feel like peace would be a thing of the past as Rouche attempted to wrap his head around the logistics of the reality he found himself within.

Moments like this were priceless.

However, the tranquility of the scene shattered in a mere moment, the quiet of rainfall drowned out by the sound of a thud. It was as if someone had carried something heavy then carelessly dropped it into the wet grass and mud.

Green eyes opened without haste, regardless of pace they began to instinctively scan for the source. It hadn’t taken long to spot them: a figure of alabaster and silver against the vibrant backdrop of a forest’s peak in spring. Rouche was silent, for a moment, simply choosing to observe before all else.

She was curled in on herself, nestled within the roots of the surrounding wisteria. The placement felt strange, based on the way rain was pelting her so relentlessly. Was she possibly stuck? Or perhaps even injured and unable to move to better coverage?

Miss? he called out clearly, voice even if not a bit curious. You are not injured, are you? My name is Rouche, I’m a practicing herbalist, maybe a sprain? Maybe a sickness? It was impossible to tell without examining closer.

Skill:—[0/5]

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Footfalls were usually easy to detect against any material. That was the one way she could tell when one approached—the rhythmic thrum of their feet pressing into the earth.

Yet, now, as the torrential rain danced along the forest floor with a cacophonous pitter-patter, she could not hear the stranger. Not until his soft voice rang out into the woods, mild in tone and temper. Citlali's ears sprang up, her head rose within a heartbeat. Pale eyes skittered over the ground innately, though it did nothing to help pinpoint where this voice had called out from.

A pale paw braced itself against the sodden ground, prepared to rise at a moment's notice. No, not injured, perhaps, save for a few bruises she'd collected from stumbling about. I'm alright. I don't need any herbs. She drew in a quiet breath, muscles still tense.

There was no ill intent in the sire's voice. That much, she could trust—yet, deep down, there remained the deep-seated worry of ulterior motives. Citlali was vulnerable—always. Wherever she may be, whoever may be around her, there will always be the opportunity for the cruel to grasp her throat with their teeth. There would be nothing she could do to avoid it.

The wolfdog's limbs pressed into the ground, and slowly, she rose. Her tail was taut, coiled over her hips, and whisking by her hocks with worry.