Wolf RPG - waltzing the waves, diving the deep

Please let @Stockholm post first ~

Leaving the island behind was, for the foreseeable future, unavoidable — and in a way, this made it easier for the tiny dancer to nestle in the hallowed shadow of her great protector and strike out for the mainland. It was a question of survival. For days after Stockholm had broken the news of Doe’s passing to the atramentous sylph, Doe’s Shadow had burrowed into the forlorn clot of earth that still smelled poignantly of its erstwhile occupant — spice and salt and sorrow. That Doe’s scent — whether truly discernible or simply remembered fondly — was overwritten with a fine-spun web of decay was something Coelacanth found devastating, but still she would not leave it, until finally Stockholm’s stalwart presence pressed through the grief and pulled her out from beneath its morass.

Now, as they approached the glassy chain of mirrorlike pools where salt met sweet, Seelie paused. One dainty forepaw traced an uncertain step, melting the frost beneath it. The water here was still too warm to freeze over, but the chill in the air was evident in the rime-limned grasses. It was like walking into a memory, and her tufted ears twisted upon her head as though she could still hear Marbas somewhere — but she had made her peace with the loss of the leonine wolf, and his disappearance could be written tidily away with a hopeful happy end, unlike dear Doe. Hesitantly she turned to Stockholm, her paws restless and stirring up sand as she bounded a few steps forward and kicked up the brackish delta water. For a moment it seemed she’d forgotten what they were looking for or why they were here — but most importantly, she’d forgotten how to dance.

She turned, craning her neck to look over her ink-feathered shoulder at the Gampr, and offered the timorous two-“note” whine that she used as a summons for him. She had loved this river once, and its brilliant, lonely deltas — but at this uneasy reunion her driving emotion was uncertainty that bade her to smash her tiny body against his broad breast, hips curving away from him and finely-sculpted head tilting back desperately so the whalebone white of her eyes glinted like twin moons. “Love me?” she begged, seeking his reassurance in her typically doggish manner, wet tail whipping damply against her hocks and trailing like cuttlefish ink beneath the surface.

The weight of failure hangs heavy on the Gampr’s broad shoulders. He holds himself personally responsible for Doe’s death – he was her leader, he should have provided better for her, kept better track of her somehow, done something different. And once he had been able to coax Seelie from her mourning, he had led her inwards to the depths of the island (because he was not about to let the sheepdog from his sight, lest something happen to her as well) to survey what may or may not be accessible to the Undersea wolves in regards to prey animals for the winter to ensure no others met the same fate. When they returned from their scouting mission, the few wolves that had remained before were gone. Another failure. Another loss. Another weight pulling him down.

Without the strength of a pack behind them to prepare for winter the Armenian had convinced the elegant sheepdog to follow him to the mainland. Hopefully small prey would be more plentiful, and they would be able to find suitable wintering grounds. It has been a long time since the Gampr has had to face winter without the comfort of a human structure to retreat to when he desired. And as he walks with Coelacanth along the banks of the Totoka he feels a pang of regretful longing for the Man and the life he led with him. If it were not for Seelie, Stockholm would most likely trek out of the Teekon Wilds to find humankind again. At his core, he is more dog than wolf. But not even desire for the familiarity of that life would make him abandon the lithe silhouette who walked beside him now. Fate had woven their paths together, and he would walk beside her until death took him from this plane of existence. No other worldly force could take him from her.

A soft, gentle whisper of a whine pulls him from his thoughts and his paws still in the sand as Seelie presses her body against his chest and contorts herself in a manner that strikes him as both feline and serpentine all at once. He dips his head, burying his nose in the feathery soft fur behind her ear and chuffs softly. I am yours, you are mine. I will always love you.

He nibbles gently at the silky strands of fur there before withdrawing suddenly, stepping back and to the side, cold water splashing up around his paws as he drops into a play bow, tail arching up in a tight curl over his back – for a moment, the weight threatening to drag him under is gone, and she is all that exists in his world, and he wants nothing more than to make her happy. Dance with me.

Stockholm’s somber mood was not lost on the ink-etched empath, and for a moment she was assailed with a rush of guilt so thick her breath seemed suddenly to coalesce, lodging uncomfortably in her breast and stilling the desperately loving whine that hummed tunelessly in her throat. The Gampr’s longing was absorbed and adopted by his tenderhearted companion — and though the desiderata differed, the feeling was the same. The restless energy that always seemed to churn within Seelie’s noodly sheepdog limbs stilled as she melted against her protector, breathing in as he breathed out, feeling the warmth of his affection along the jackknife point of one tufted ear.

Coelacanth wasn’t prepared for Stockholm’s sudden evasive maneuver, and as he withdrew on paws that were surprisingly fleet for a beast his size, she toppled like a stack of poker chips knocked asunder by an overexuberant hand. The picture of beauty and grace, she dropped like a rock into the water with slim jaws flung wide in a soundless yelp of surprise, then flailed about in a whirlwind of wildly windmilling limbs to regain her footing. Tossing her head with indignation that was only half-feigned, she “glared” at the larger wolfdog with delirious love and just a touch of mischief swimming her Neptune eyes. A poor parody of a snarl shaped her dew-dappled muzzle as her own tail arched over her sloping spine and flagged the air. It wasn’t quite dancing, but her movements were innately balletic as she cavorted about, zooming in excited [and slightly anxiety-riddled] hairpin curves, but always, always looping back to get in Stockholm’s face.

Since recruiting Whisper, Durnehviir had struggled to find other loners. She scouted the coast regularly, as she'd crossed paths with various wolves in the approach to Winter and it seemed to be a popular place to linger, but luck was not on her side. She longed to see Constantine succeed with the swelling of Ravensblood's ranks once again, though her true drive was an entirely selfish one.

A chance to reproduce would soon be upon her, and she fully intended to seize the opportunity. She needed a strong pack to help her defend any pups she bore and strength came in numbers. Determined, the russet Frostfur trailed the length of beach just North of her home for most of the morning, though her search was fruitless. Defeated, but making a mental note to try again elsewhere tomorrow, she turned toward the forest.

She followed the river as she often did, for it brought her directly to the woodland's edge. Lost in her thoughts, the pessimism in her reminded herself that her group could easily remain a small band of four for a long time to come, that the bitter weather of the cold season might have driven lonely wolves from the open coast to settle further inland. Durnehviir thought of the she-wolf Pebble who she'd met some months before, wondered where she might have wound up and if she regained her lost memories. Wherever she was, she hoped she was well, though the crimson Frostfur could not deny her quiet disappointment that she'd decided against a place within Constantine's bleeding forest.

As she plotted her next plan of action, movement up ahead captured her attention. Durnehviir paused to observe an unfamiliar duo in silence, ginger ears tall atop her crown and pearlescent eyes bright with curiosity. She hung back a while to continue watching the joyful pair, a willowy obsidian female and her powerhouse companion, before continuing along her intended path with a new spring in her stride. With a friendly lash of her feathery tail, the lithe dragoness announced her presence to her newest acquaintances with a cheerful "hello!"

Seelie is far too fast and agile for him to have a chance to truly “catch” her as she zips around, but it’s an enjoyable game – no, not quite dancing yet, but for a moment at least they are both free of the burdens of their own thoughts. He nips at the plume of her tail as she whips past him and twists evasively when she comes back around to get in his face, a wide grin pulled across his muzzle as he trots after her.

It is the feathery sheepdog who notices Durnehvirr first, coming to a sudden stop – an inky statue, ears perked forward and one slender forepaw slightly raised. Stockholm slows his gait and turns his attention to where Seelie is looking as the unfamiliar wolf approaches. He cocks his head to the side slightly as he turns to face the approaching shewolf, everything about her posture is friendly and welcoming, but instinct causes him to casually and tactfully place himself between her and Seelie. Just in case.

Still, he whisks his tail amicably, actually glad to see another canine about. “Hello. I hope we aren’t trespassing, my apologies in advance if we are.”

He hadn’t noticed any scent markers, but it’s also possible he had been brooding so deeply that he missed them. Undersea clearly still lingers in his subconcious to make his first assumption upon seeing another canine that they might have accidently lapsed onto a pack's territory.

Although Stockholm’s protective instinct preempted the sheepdog’s natural anxiousness almost before it could surge to the forefront, a ripple of nerves ran through her anyway, starting as an inquisitive quiver of her nose and shimmying down her spine in a quick shockwave of a full body tremor. She woofed softly, feathered tail whipping like a live wire as her tufted ears alternated between slicking submissively against her skull and popping forward in interest. Did Durnehviir want to play, too? Seelie was in the mood, now — and that sweet, “hello!” had sounded so friendly. She butted the bridge of her tapered muzzle against the Gampr’s burly shoulder and allowed her forelimbs to dance a quick tattoo while her gamine hips seemed to move of their own volition, arching skyward in a playful bow. Hey, bespoke the airy, toneless whine that huffed from her lips and the quivering of her brine-dappled whiskers, ask her if she wants to play, too!

When the pair turn their eyes upon her, Durnehviir noted their behaviour with interest. The darker of the two, still excitable despite the sudden arrival of a stranger, did not respond with words. She left that role to her larger companion, who placed himself protectively between her and the russet wolfess. Aware of it, Durnehviir slowed her pace and maintained a comfortable distance; having travelled most of her life with only Viinturuth as her companion, she completely understood that natural distrust of others. She'd have defended her uncle with her life if she had too, and didn't doubt that this pair would do likewise for one another.

"You haven't," she responded with a smile, "I make my home within the forests just South of here." Canting her muzzle, the crimson Frostfur studies the hybrid duo briefly. Her pale eyes linger a moment longer on the strange, spiked contraption around the stocky brute's neck, but she fails to bring it to attenton with words just yet. Instead, she offers a polite introduction: "I am Durnehviir. Who are you?"

Though Durnehviir’s restraint wasn’t greeted with any overt demonstrations of gratitude, Coelacanth appreciated it on a subconscious level; for beneath her exuberant exterior lay a sizzling network of anxiety-riddled nerves that always seemed to teeter just on the edge of a fight or flight impulse. The russet female’s next statement sent an unsettling ripple through this network, and something in the little Groenendael drew taut. Her posture did not alter significantly — her paws still danced and her hips still shimmied, but there was an added layer of disquiet to her body language: she kept more tightly to Stockholm’s side, cerulean eyes growing wide and wary, and her pert pink tongue darted out to swipe anxiously across her black button nose.

The nearest forest to the south had belonged to Teaghlaigh once — but Arturo Fearghal was no more, buried under the guise of a wraith named Witchdoctor. The last time Seelie had passed through Ravensblood Forest everything had been abandoned — and now she feared, admittedly irrationally, that Blackfeather Woods had expanded its influence across the entirety of the inner continent and reached its corrupt fingers nearly all the way to the sea. They never should have returned to the mainland! Pack or no pack, they were safer on the island, far away from here.

Durnehviir.

She didn’t seem bloodthirsty and sadistic, but Coelacanth whuffled fretfully nonetheless, her nose twitching and quivering as she sought to draw in the paprika-furred beauty’s scent. No. No. The foul scent of decaying corpses and maladies unspoken was blessedly absent — Seelie would have known it anywhere. Still, she was curious about where Durnehviir lived and with whom, though there was no easy way to express this. Tipping her finely-sculpted head from one side to the other with tufted ears pricked forward upon her skull, she relaxed once more, and the wide set of her eyes crinkled once more at the corners in pleased relief. Everything would be all right.

The aphotic sheepdog cross twisted to look entreatingly at Stockholm, trusting him to make the introductions. She didn’t really speak to strangers herself anymore — the little bit she’d managed to master had since fallen away — and anyway, she liked the sound of his voice.

Good, they weren’t trespassing. Stockholm had spent his life among dogs and humans, his time on the island is the longest he had been in the company of wolves that were not enemies, and some of their inherent customs and behaviors were still foreign to him. He personally doubted his ability to talk his way out of a trespassing faux pas without things ending messily.

“Stockholm. And this is Coelacanth.” He purposefully fails to mention where they hail from, the island is their secret, for now. He is aware of the shift in unease that ripples through Seelie, but it seems to subside on its own, and Durnehviir has done nothing to set off his internal alarm system, so he allows some of the tension to drain from his muscles. He shifts his weight and pushes his shoulder gently against Seelie for a moment, it’s alright.

“Since you’re from around here, perhaps you could help us out... I must admit I am painfully unfamiliar with the area.” And perhaps there is something they could offer in return for information. He isn’t sure what yet, but where he comes from even something as simple as giving directions deserves to be repaid with a kindness or service.

Mind if we fade this? It's pretty outdated. :X

Stockholm and Coelacanth, he said. She flitted her pale gaze between the two, noting the strange turn of demeanor in the silent female. Where previously she'd swept into a playful bow, she now stood trembling with anxiety. Concerned, but mostly curious, the lithe Frostfur canted her tall ears back and decided to fix her stare to the large male rather than gawking at Caeolacanth for fear of making her feel even more uncomfortable.

Dogs were so strange.

After a quick bump of his shoulder to his dark companion in assurance, he turned his attention fully toward Durnehviir. She straightened, focusing on his words, and offering a curt nod to accompany her friendly retort: "of course. What do you wish to know?"

Yeah, it’s been awhile! I thought you’d forgotten about it. ^^ Thanks for coming back to it! Powerplaying Stockholm with permission ~ ♥

After learning that Constantine had decided to settle in the forest that had once belonged to Teaghlaigh, Coelacanth felt immeasurably relieved. He was a trusted ally, and Durnehviir certainly seemed nice enough. Although Seelie and Stockholm would have liked to meet with Constantine personally and wish him well, the ember-kissed female regretfully informed them that he was presently tied up with other matters. Had an offer to join the pack been extended, they would likely have accepted — but perhaps it was for the best that no such overtures were made. The Groenendael and the Gampr made up their minds to return someday once they’d figured out where they would settle, bid Durnehviir farewell, and continued to frolic and play in the glassy river delta until they curled up to sleep side by side, utterly exhausted but perfectly content.