POMPEII / open, joining

Blood. That was the only thing that marred the gray wolf's features. Drying, scarlet blood. It was fresh, covering his right temple. The lupine's thick coat was also dirtied from traveling through the hills, and it was evident that he needed a washing. Not that he liked being a dirty person, but being a wanderer required getting your paws muddy. That was exactly what he was: tired and worn. Though, there was something oddly alluring about the mascline's rugged appearance. As for the blood, he had gotten into an accident while navigating the slopes and crumbling cliffs of the loner lands beyond the borders. It wasn't serious, but the pounding in his ears made it clear that he needed to stop somewhere soon to rest... maybe for a long while. The brute knew how to survive on his own, since he had been doing so on-and-off since he was young, but he was a social, pack-orientated animal (even though he wasn't the most social). He just needed to rest.

His name was Bastille. He didn't look very old, only about a year old or so, but he was wise beyond his years. He had taught himself pretty much everything he knew, whether it be hunting or self-defense or surviving on his own. He was mostly independent and reserved, though his presence was one to cherish. The wolf had a good heart, and it would plain to see when you got past his rather unnerving appearance. Blood wasn't exactly a great sight to see anywhere.

The male stopped on WindClan's borders, letting a breath escape his maw. He adjusted the satchel that was swung over his neck and shoulder, lifting his hazel eyes to the high mountains. It was beautiful here. It was too bad that he couldn't appreciate the scenery without his head throbbing like mad. "Hello?" Bastille spoke after clearing his throat. He knew better than to cross the boundaries. As a territorial animal by instinct, he knew that skipping past the scent line would mean trouble, and that was the last thing that he needed right now.

Oh, it was a fellow canine. She didn't appear threatening, and she actually seemed like she wanted to help. He was thankful for that, but admittedly, it was strange seeing a civilized person. He had hardly run into other loners on his travels, and most animals he had seen had been hunted... by him. Bastille wasn't a feral beast, though. He knew how to talk to others. Hell, without his rugged appearance and satchel of survival tools, you wouldn't really expect him to be a loner at all. "Yeah, I'm very tired, actually." The gray wolf blinked, answering truthfully. Bastille was level-headed and respectful, and he was never really sarcastic unless around close friends. "This is WindClan, right?" He had never lived in a clan, but he had heard all about them from his mother as a pup. They each had their own names and unique traditions and territories. Some were good, some were bad, and some didn't lean in either direction. Bastille didn't realize that he wanted to settle into one until recently. "Could I stay here, perhaps? Just for a little while, if you need me out of your fur." He shrugged. He would understand if they didn't trust him or didn't want him in the clan. He would be fine on his own, anyways; he always had been. "I... just need something for this." Bastille gestured to the bloodied fur upon his temple. It wasn't serious, but the dull pain was growing bothersome.

Bastille blinked his soft, hazel eyes. Ah, he was waiting for the female to ask that. Unfortunately, it wasn't anything exciting like wrestling a bear or getting into a brawl with a hungry cougar. "I had a little tumble on a cliff. Hit my head." He shrugged. There was no smiling, no nothing. It wasn't like he was emotionless, though he tended to keep a lot of things to himself when meeting strangers. He liked to be formal, after all.

The wolf turned to the lion, visionaries narrowing. Oh man, he was really big. He seemed peaceful though, so in return, he would be the same towards the other. "I'm fine." Bastille reassured Luke politely, glancing at his satchel. "I have a canteen of water in here." He had also eaten earlier that day.

The other one to arrive was another dog. She looked younger than him, though she seemed kind-hearted. He hadn't grown up around lots of children, but he still had a growing soft spot for them. Bastille's eyes lightened as she spoke up, and he said to her, "I just need cobwebs, I think. Maybe a disinfectant, too." He wasn't trying to boss her around, but only trying to make it easier for her to find what she needed. Bastille was no professional medic by any means, but he knew how to tend to his wounds because of all of the time he spent living on his own.