His approach is nearly as loud and as messy as his appearance but he welcomes me, which is more than I can say for the rest of my brothers.

”Dreadscale” I begin, amusement taking hold of my features as I reach my nose toward the debris-laden brute. I am relatively clean in comparison, my grey coat smooth and sleek from the sea and my black feathered legs yet to be caked in mud. ”Name’s Fallo. This is my home, or at least it was before my…” I hesitate, unsure what to call the festering holes in my flank ”before my mishap”.

I shuffle my bulky frame, revealing the slow-healing damage to the boy. The smaller claw marks have healed well, with tiny hairs already starting to regrow around the scar. However, the two jagged gouges that extend from my hip bone have proven problematic. Sections of the long scab came free in the ocean, the salt water cleaning the exposed pus and gunk and leaving my hair-less skin swollen and tender. Very attractive.

I stomp my forelimb, momentarily deterring a few bot flies from laying their yellow eggs on me. ”So where is everyone?” I ask, flicking my murky eyes to the scrub behind him. I am fairly certain there are no stags here that would remember my face, but the Lagoon had always been a fairly lively place and I still hold hope that my home has more to offer than just this muddy man.

OOC/ bit of a crap post, apologies! Fallo and I are up for a fun spar if that is where Dreadscale wants to take it. Or not, whatever is cool with me :3

FRIESIAN MUTT | SIXTEEN TWO HANDS | TWELVE YEARS