Whitefish River the raven unfolded its wings and turned daylight into dark

Tall and draped in snow, the mountains were something his eye could always appreciate. His gaze crept up the densely forested bases, across boulder strewn faces and along narrow draws, to where the earth ended and the sky began. Though he had been chiseled out of the rugged northern slopes, Skwol had no desire to see them beneath his feet any more — a bad fall as a pup had secured that in his mind long ago, and so he took a route around them.

He meandered as water did - in a seemingly aimless and winding way, taking the easiest passage offered. His status as a lone wolf and the season at paw bade him to be mindful of energies spent. Though aware of the dangers of his situation he was not uneasy about it. The blood of travellers was his. He had been taught to survive and he was healthy. His nonchalant way of moving, of simply being, betrayed his confidence. He looked to be a wolf roaming lands well known rather than a stranger to new places.

The spring may find him slimmer and wanting but it would not find him a corpse.

Thirst tickled his throat. Skwol snatched a bite of snow, chewing it messily before going for another. His manner of snow-eating was indisputably playful; with his nose dipping deep into the drifts and his head shaking and paws frolicking as he chomped. This he knew was not the best way to drink and soon he was scratching along the edge of the river, heavy paws and thick blunt nails searching for weaknesses in the ice.

she had been faring as well as such a creature could in the winter — although it was difficult to get weight to cling to her bones she was more or less healthful in appearance.

but these fruits did not bear without a certain amount of effort, and that was getting more difficult to muster up with all of the land she'd been covering aimlessly.

two, almost three years old and she'd always done this by herself.  she spoke no english and was temperamentally unsuited for pack life, and though under normal circumstances she did not mind the solitude it was doing a number on her mind this year.

she cut her way through the accumulation of snow, head down and eyes slit as the occasional burst of wind tossed up wisps of blinding flakes.  

something drew her from her travels and her ears swiveled as she raised her head, the loud crunch of snow that meant something was nearby, wolf or prey.  she put her nose to the air and scented and as she drew near, a large pale wolf was frolicking in the snow, taking it into his mouth and chomping wildly.

she stood and watched, confused, until he started digging at the frozen river.

behind him, she came from her clearing and put her nose to the snow — cold! — and halfeartedly spread her paws in front of her, taking the frozen slush into her mouth.

well, it wasn't the worst thing she'd ever put in there, but it was cold and bore little result.  why would he do that?

It took no time before he found where the ice was thin and brittle and his massive paws broke and crushed it until he had a suitable hole to drink from. The white wolf bent down and lapped gingerly, slaking his thirst with unhurried mouthfuls so as to avoid a cold-headache. He even partook of a few splinters of ice, gathering them on his tongue and chomping them between his molars. Like the snow before, this served no purpose other than it was a small, simple thing that he enjoyed doing.

Finished with his business at the river's edge, Skwol raised his head and turned around, licking the last bit of moisture from his mouth. That is when he saw her — and at once, all the peace and ease in his manner left him. The soft furs of Skwol's plush coat hardened into daggers, and his yellow-gold eyes flared as he skimmed his ears over his skull and drew his mouth back in a way that exposed teeth from his canines to his molars. His tail squirmed anxiously as it pressed against his hocks, and his strong spine sloped down as he hunched back into himself and away from her.

This display of raw, visceral fear was disturbingly brief; only as long as it took for the white wolf to determine that she was alone, that no pound of hooves nor holler of devils accompanied her, and that took no time at all. He surged forward then with a savage thundering roar, his eyes now blazing with a rare and dangerous fury. Skwol's ears were flung forward, his tail ram-rod and bristling, and the only teeth he bared now were the fangs he wanted to bury in her throat. He charged her with frightening speed and unstoppable power of a runaway freight train, in the same spell-binding way that rooted stupefied deer to the tracks and doomed them...

...only, he did stop.

Snow flew ahead of him as he braked, until he was frozen in total stillness except for the rapid flaring of his nostrils.

This dog smelled like a wolf.

she crept forward in the snow as the stark smell of water burst through the ice, and it only came to her then how parched she was.  she paced quietly in the snow behind him, ghosting forward and forward so that she might be able to steal a drink —

and then he turns, hackles raised to make the big beast seem even bigger (especially in relation to her).  his eyes flash with a hardness she'd seen once in her stay in the teekons, but it is tinged with something the other individual had probably never felt — fear.  he coils tightly, receding into himself before launching at her.

she yelps! as her legs skitter furiously to take her away from him, and as he charges she makes circles around this side of the river.

and then he stops.

reigi continues straifing, never still, but slows down and lets out a soft whine.  drink.  let drink.  thirsty. 

Skwol trusted his nose before his eyes. If it was not for that he would have been on her already, tearing at her hide and wanting her dead. It was so uncharacteristic for the white wolf. He was much as a hunter as the next predator but he never enjoyed the act of killing, and never did so without inarguable reason. She would understand if she knew what he had been through, what he had saw, and what he had lost; if she knew the story that was narrated over the baying and snarling of hounds.

She whined at him and he understood that she implored him to let her to the river. He responded by licking his nose and snorting like a mad bull. His feathers were still ruffled and he was not done trying to make sense of what he was seeing and smelling. He trusted his nose but was so dog-like in her appearance that he refused to let his guard down so readily. It was not her that he felt threatened by — he was still expecting more, and the darting of his eyes around their surroundings and the careening of his ears as they strained to listen farther betrayed that.

But there was nothing more. Long tense moments passed with him holding his ground and searing her with the burning hurt and firey rage in his wild stare and still there was nothing more. The white wolf broke his frozen stance at last as he shook his coat vigorously. He sniffed at the air and then the ground in front of him, as if checking the calibration of his nose. The snow still smelled like snow, his tracks smelled like him, and she still smelled like a wolf, but he strode forward seeking further confirmation.

There was an element of dominance to his determined approach. Something else that was uncharacteristic of him, even more so out here in no wolf's land. He demanded with a raised tail and head that she yield to him, but he did so without any aggression. He told her with long, unwavering steps and a focused gaze that allowing him near were the terms of the uneasy truce that was between them now. And he told her as he drew closer, by extending his snout forward, that he wanted only to acquaint himself with her.

This is a bit on the long side for me - just enjoying exploring Skwol in this scenario! :D

 

i love it!

she didn't know the exact thoughts burning behind his skull —

tear bone from flesh, tear sinew from bone

— but the way those sulpherous yellow eyes glinted in the winter sun was telltatle enough. he reminded her of the stranger she'd met in the meadow reminiscent of a van gogh painting; lavendar and corpse-rot fills her nose and bile burns in her throat as she remembers something about discarded remains and something bitter, salty.

they remained statuesque as if movement might shatter the air between them, as if breathing too hard might set something violent in motion that couldn't be abnegated. the seconds between them stretched and she counted them by the steady whup-whup! of her heart; one-two, one-two, one-two.

finally he moved, shaking his coat out and she nearly screamed.  instead, a broken whine-bark caught in her throat.  he demands things of her and her hips lower to the ground, tail tucked between her legs as she begins to lick the air, and if he closes enough distance, the underside of his muzzle.  

She easily submits to him and her tongue catches his chin as he presses into her space. Held stiff moments before, his tail swayed in a gentle wag; a clear indication of how affecting her submission was to him. It both pleased and reassured the wolf, who took the opportunity she afforded him to scrutinize her scent by sniffing at the thick furs along her nape, neck and shoulders.

His inspection carried on until his nose had moved to her rib cage, and by then he was satisfied and stepped back from her, licking his lips and turning his head to face the river. His ears relaxed, and his tail casually drifted between his hocks. His aggression had passed and now it was he who sought to reassure her with these calming signals. Skwol moved away, pausing once to sniff at the snow, until he had retreated two lengths of himself and settled onto his haunches.

Questions still danced in his eyes as he looked her way and there remained a lingering uncertainty and unease that was not outwardly shown. But his nose had confirmed there was not a trace of devil nor dog on her and his nose had always guided him.

"You look so much like a dog," he commented.

he comes close to her but she is not unused to such intrusion.  he does not make it far before he backs off, moving in an effort to make her comforatble. cautiously she returns a more neutral position, tail still thrumming.

she breaks from their close proximity as his words travel in one ear and out the other.  she meets his questioning gaze and cocks her head sideways, struggling to comprehend but ultimately failing.  he was talking to her, maybe about her... but that's all she got.

reigi began making her way towards the open water, slow as to not startle him again, keeping her front to him as much as possible.  her ears remained back atop her skull, and a desperate whine made its way from her throat.  why couldn't anyone understand her?

The way she cocked her head and seemed to strain to understand him reminded him of a pup that was too young to grasp the spoken language. It brought a subtle frown to his face. The white wolf was making an effort to accept her in his proximity but found his discomfort growing again. He knew the tongue was not needed for communication and he no longer perceived her to be an immediate threat. But he was, as any proper wild animal was, inherently wary of the new and the unknown, and that disposition was in the forefront without the support of his pack and the security of his own territory.

She moved toward the water and Skwol rose to his paws and loped away.

Last post unless she pursues him. Thanks for the thread!