[Saahs]

Eight days. He had been on the road - no, on the run - for eight days, from the start of the journey to now. Flyyn was careful to rest only when it was imperative to his well-being, for whatever had chased him out of the Lya Pointa ruins had the full intention to hinder said well-being. So of course he wanted to ditch his pursuers.

A leather pouch was strapped over his body, secured with more snaps and latches than a pouch with any ordinary cargo required. The Werecain's goggles were pulled over his eyes, protecting them from any particles bursting in without an invitation; several little notches and buckles to adjust the size were riddled along the leather and copper material, and the lens were flexible but hard to break, stretching to be flat when the rims were enlarged, and curved outward when shrunk.

The rich dark brown fur covering Flyyn's body nearly obscured both the pouch and the goggles whole; dense and medium in length, and with few markings of nobility. The spikes that protruded from his body too were brown, though with a more silvery tinge. Buffets of air from running so fast threatened to push his single ear flat against his head and neck, but he strived to keep it someone open to catch the sound of anyone who had managed to keep up with him. Fortunately, this was not the case.

Finally satisfied with how far he had outrun what he could only assume were malevolent cultist, the runtish Werecain came to an abrupt halt. Something caught his attention immediately - a layer of fog which hadn't bee there, and the scent of damp forestry. Had he truly fled so far to reach the edge of the Whisper Forest? Well apparently he had - here he was. Turning his gaze to the west, there was no sign of any life, particularly angry, robed life with dark magic that threatened to melt his hide not-so-clean off. If they were to reach this far eventually, would they risk entering the forest?

"Only one way to find out," Flyyn rumbled to himself. Teeth bared in a wide grin of mad enthusiasm, he knocked his goggles up his forehead and bounded into the thicket.

An hour passed - or was it two? Had it even been an hour? Flyyn halted and tilted his head up to try and see the sky. No good, the fog that had engulfed a majority of his sharp eyesight walled the sky completely. He shook his head. Maybe this hadn't been a good idea; people had after all been rumoured to disappear in these woods. Well, if it sucked him in, too, he wouldn't really need the reward for what was strapped nice and cosy against his chest, would he? Lowering his head back down, the Werecain trekked forward, though with a hair more caution and awareness than he'd had previously.

[Kylo]

The wockee crept along the ground slowly and silently as the mist grew even thicker than normal. He had been living for here for a while now and had gotten used to cycles of the weather in the area. In this time he had also gotten used to the area's native flora and fauna. Pushing his mask up slightly with a claw, he sniffed around the ground carefully. Still no scent of the rare fusheen fungus. Scrunching his face up in thought he considered what the locals had told him about the strange bioluminescent fungus. It only appeared when the mist was its thickest and today was certainly that day. His nose to the ground he sniffed along trying to find one.

After a good hour of turning up nothing he was about to turn tail and head home, when he heard a twig snap. His head shot up and he followed the direction of the sound. It sounded a bit too heavy to be one of local animals. Sitting back on his hunches he took out his senbon and held them between his toes before beginning to creep carefully closer. He knocked his head up to get his mask back in place. After all wockees never show their real faces.

[Saahs]

Of all his senses to be permanently damaged, of course it had to be hearing. Sure, Flyyn's nose could pinpoint someone a mile away, but he wasn't used to being in such a... damp environment. It was starting to mess with him. He'd had two choices that didn't include direct conflict: Try to run around the forest, or risk a dash straight through. At the time, cutting through the woods seemed like it would be swifter, but now he was beginning to question that logic. Each time he took a whiff to figure out his surroundings, cold wet came with the smell. And each time that cold wet made its way into his nose and into his fur, the more he felt his calm slipping away.

As if it would help, the Werecain bared his teeth, and forced himself to push forwar - snap.

... Did I just... Flyyn squinted down at the ground. Indeedly-son-of-a-dinkle-dack he did. He snapped a branch under a paw (more of a hand, but the pads were there). He stared at the broken branch as if it had just insulted his honour (Hah, what honour? An imaginary one that actually care if it were insulted). The abrupt change of focus had saved Flyyn from a downward spiral into panic, but now anything that was lurking nearby knew for sure he was there. Of course, they probably already did, assuming they were inhabitants of the Whisper Forest.

Now that his head was - for the time being - clear of what the fog was doing to it, Flyyn took in a wary breath of air, forcing his attention to remain on the smell and not the wet. Nothing in front of him, so he turned; ah, there was something! The figure was but a silhouette in the dense, low-hanging cloud, but Flyyn could tell right away that it was no humanoid. And it looked like it was roughly his size, if not bigger. The joys of being a runt!

Flyyn let out the lowest, most bloodthirsty sounding growl he could, and pushed himself up slightly on his hind legs so as to not look like he was three quarters the normal size of his kind. "Two choices," he starts menacingly, huffing through his nostrils - a good effect for intimidation, but really too much moisture had gotten up his nose. "Turn your little hide around, or I shred it from your bones."

Hey, if it decided to lunge at him, he could just run away.

[Kylo]

What? was the first thought that ran through the wockee's mind. Was this thing in the mist threatening him? And for what reason? Shoto sat back on his haunches and stared at the figure. Should he do as it said and flee, or should he try to talk to it?

Before he could make up his mind he saw a faint glow behind the figure and his face lit up behind his mask. The fungus was there! He just had to have it, even if it meant he had to try and negotiate with this...person.

"Uh excuse me, uh, sir...but I need to get past you. You see that fungus over there? The glowing one? I need that," he replied nervously as he tried to creep closer. "You see I'm a medic and that is vital to one of my poultices and there is someone back home that needs it."

The medical ninja tried to get close enough to see what the other person was, without getting close enough to be attack by them. They didn't sound like a shinobi...but one could never be too careful so he was going to keep his senbon out, just in case.

[Saahs]

The figure was silent for a moment, and Flyyn had the fleeting thought that this person could very much not appreciate being threatened, and then he had another thought - that they could most certainly outrun him, and out-kill him. Whoboy, he thought, remaining in his imposing stance, Not best choice of words for a 'hello'. It was not the first time he'd regretted something that came flying out of his mouth, and he could only hope it wouldn't be the last time.

But the stranger veiled in the fog did not lunge at Flyyn, nor did they cast some ghastly spell or even retort. Rather, they - he, if Flyyn was hearing them right - sounded particularly polite, and a bit timid. The Werecain blinked, daftly whipping his head to look behind him once or twice before the other's words seemed to settle in his mind. "Oh - oh!" he exclaimed with a small laugh. His voice was still gruff - as all Werecains' were - but it was significantly more androgynous and jovial.

Flyyn lept and turned to face the fungus, no longer attempting to appear larger than he really was. "Here I was 'xpectin' to get shanked in here, I'll just get outta yer way here." He stidestepped out of the stranger's way of the fluorescent mushroom, keeping his eye fixed on his silhouette. After all, it could be a ruse; it wouldn't have been the first time for someone to try this trick on him.

As the "medic" approached, Flyyn's keen eyes caught some identifiable features: a longish snout, medium-sized ears, and a thick tail which tapered into a tuft of fur. Well, that ruled out some of the species that had the overall lanky body structure this guy had. Pushing aside his curiosity concerning his almost-acquaintance's species, and thought it better to worry about their name - and possibly directions. "Quick question," Flyyn started, scratching behind where his left ear was meant to be, You know the quickest way outta here? Preferably eastward? I'm about one-fourths not sure I been goin' the right way through here."

As he lowered his clawed hand from his marred face, Flyyn's padded fingertips brushed lightly over a smaller pouch attached to the strap buckled over his chest. He could risk a bit of honesty solely because of the contents of that pouch, of which had been his saviour near every time he misjudged somebody. But he wouldn't flash his gadgets just yet. If this person could be of use to him, he'd take that assistance first.

[Kylo]

The wockee crept closer and could start to make out what the other being was. A werecain, though a very small one. He smiled under his mask, confident that he could defend himself without weapons should he needed to, or at least outrun the little guy. Putting his senbon away he walked up to the fungus and began to gather it while considering the werecain's question.

"To be honest it would be very hard for you to get out on your own. Today is the day when the mist is its thickest and even if you just tried to walk in a straight line you are bound to get lost. You're actually very lucky you came across me. The mist is caused by what some call magic and it's been known to drive people mad. Usually people will run through the place in a panic until they either pass out or fall into a  sinkhole and die."

Finishing gathering the fungus he turned to face the werecain and smiled more behind his mask.

"I can help you get to the village though. You'll be safe there until the mist lessens. It's too dangerous, even for me, to try and get out of the forest right now."

[Saahs]

Flyyn blinked his eyes and sniffed, the closest thing he would allow himself to make in place of a relieved sigh. After being chased by maddened zealots, he wasn't keen on another confrontation, or more running. "Wellp, lucky-ducky me, huh," he hummed jovially, with only a teensy amount of sarcasm to his tone. It wasn't often he ran into any sort of good luck, so he was hardly surprised.

The mention of magic made his sotmach clutch, however. The Werecain wasn't sure why, but magic had always put him on edge. Fear? Anger? It was a mixture of both, along with something else he couldn't place his claw on. He scratched his jaw, dismissing the slowly developing pit in his gut. "I'm gonna call you Lucky-duck from now on. No argument." There was no guarantee 'Lucky-duck' would remain lucky and instead turn on him, but for now, Flyyn would indulge the comforting thought that he was in decent company for once.

He watched Lucky-duck gather his much-desired fungus, tilting his head. When he turned and offered to guide him to a village, Flyyn couldn't help but snicker. "People actually willingly live here?" he quipped, "Yeesh, okay then."

A moment was quickly stolen as the mercenary stood up and adjusted his gear. "Lead the way then I guess, Lucky-duck."

[Kylo]

Lucky-duck? What does that even mean? Oh well better not ask since they seem insistant in calling me that, he mused silently to himself. Shoto repressed a laugh at the comment on his home and smiled behind his mask.

"Ah yes. It's a very safe place out here to be honest. The mist keeps those who may wish to attack us at bay."

He finished packing his fungus and sniffed the air before turning back the way he came. He looked back to make sure the werecain was right behind him before setting out towards his home. His sharingon whirled behind his mask as he stepped about carefully. He had left chakra markers along the way out so he could make his way home in the mist.

"What is your name by the way? Mine is Shoto Tanaka," he asked conversationally. Hopefully his new friend would be up to conversing or this was going to be a long quiet trip.

He came across his first marker and released it with quick, nearly imperceptible, hand sign. It would do no good if someone else found them and made their way to his village. Though hopefully the many sink holes and dangerous paths he had weaved around them would be enough to keep nosy ninjas at bay.

"Make sure to only step where I step. I wouldn't want you to fall down a sinkhole or get trapped by tangled undergrowth."

[Saahs]

"Oh well, that sounds dandy," Flyyn remarked. "Can't say I'm fond a' the dampness but it's got its uses, eh?" He canted his head to the side, eyeing the stranger. The way the guy spoke of his home, he was a peaceful type of character. Hopefully, this village was as well, or at least not unwelcoming to strangers. ... Particularly strangers who raid ancient holy ruins for artifacts.

His eyes followed the masked other, ears perking up as he turned after him. Yes, no worries mister mushroom man, he was right behind you. You mentioned magic, silly, there's no way in hell he was sticking around there any longer than he had to. That would lead to fainting! His head reared up as the other spoke up, having had been watching the ground for where was safest to step. "Y'can call me Flyyn," he answered. Bobbling his head, his eyes flicked this way and that in a heehaw sort of manner. "Or insufferable dipshit, that seems t'be a nickname lotsa people like t'call me by." He wasn't even annoyed by it. The fact he could get on people's nerves so was fantastic.

"Oh and m'personal favourite one is 'Oi you wi'the face!'" The werecain snickered up a storm as he followed Shoto. "'S ta meetchya, Shoto."

His head remained upright, ears straight up as he trotted behind Shoto. Of course he was paying attention to where he was stepping. He wasn't that dumb, especially not after being told to do so that specifically. "Y'seem to be followin' a certain path," he observed lightly. "Y'know yer way around real well? Or didjya leave some kinda trail? Or 's it both." No worries, Shoto, you found yourself one hell of a talker.