Wolf RPG

He was bruised, bitten. The alpha had been keen to beat him, to take every chance to shove the coyote to the ground, to remind him of his place. He was successful; only the place he was reminded of, his true place, was not the one Rakharo believed he had been showing him. No. He was resolute. He submitted, took the aggression with hardly a flick of an ear, unshaken in his resolve to do what he had come to do.

He hunted for her, bringing her rabbits, rodents, and meat from wolf kills. Whatever he could catch or find. He did not go into the den, he left it just inside the entrance for her. When he rested, he rested just outside, a silent sentinel. In fact, his cryptic presence he did not bother her at all with, not even speaking a word to her. He provided, and guarded, and that was all. For now.

This morning was no different. He had managed to catch a roosting partridge unawares and now carried its limp body back to the den, tossing it just inside with a dull thud. Breakfast without fanfare, fresh from the field. He settled to his stomach just in front of the entrance, head laid across his paws.

Her eyelids had unsealed, though only the tiniest slivers of stonewashed blue showed. It would be another day or two before they really opened. Regipre didn't even realize the change. The little sight she was granted was fuzzy and gray. She relied much more on her senses of smell and touch to continue guiding her through the days. Taste played a major role too, of course; more often than not, the little gift clung to Tomahawk's breast like a leech, drinking the shares left by her doomed hybrid litter mates.

This morning, she fed until she was fit to burst, then turned from Tomahawk, crawling right over her brother and sister as she made her way to a destination unknown. Previously, Regipre had had no qualms eliminating where she slept and fed, inevitably leaving her mother to get rid of the mess. Now, she felt an instinct to move away from her mothers' and remaining litter mates' warmth to empty her bladder and bowels.

As soon as she could no longer feel any of their soft warmth, Regipre paused and evacuated, leaving a messy and odorous puddle on the floor. She grunted, then sighed. Now it was time to return to Tomahawk's flank. But before she could, something came tumbling down on her head. It caused her to squeak, though it didn't hurt so much as surprise her. Regipre rumbled, then let out a wee growl as she began to thrash, trying to avoid getting smothered by the strange thing on top of her.

Food came to her via the childrens' father. Were it not for him, they likely would have been killed sooner rather than later. Tomahawk knew that she owed him nothing, though. He had said as much when he had given her the gifts. Rakharo was pleased, at least to some extent, seeing as he did not take her gifts away from her. They needed to be nourished in order to grow into strong, willing workers. And that was exactly what Tomahawk planned for them. She was not under any assumption that they would live any kind of different life. They belonged to Rakharo, and anything else was not even in her imagination.

A thud indicated another delivery, and Tomahawk crept toward the mouth of the den, finding Regipre there. Without emotion, the coyote pulled the bird off of her child, then put the child back with the others. She did not need to be outside the den, not yet. Tomahawk returned to the food, giving the male coyote a lingering stare as she tore into the bird's meat.

He was unaware that the bird had been dropped on his daughter's head. He was not even facing the den, but as though sensing the stare he turned to look, and met Zafra's eyes with his. There was nothing to read on his countenance. It was stoic as he watched her consume the food he had brought her. They had not spoken since the last time they had met away from the plains, before he allowed himself to be captured, and if she had left the den to do more than relieve herself he was not aware.

"Any requests for your next meal?" he asked half-heartedly.

Just as suddenly as it had dropped on her head, the feathery weight disappeared. Regipre kept punching the air with her arms until her mother's mouth closed over her midriff. Instinctively, the pup went limp in Tomahawk's jaws, though as soon as her mother set her down on the floor, the week-old coyote rolled onto her side and began to flail... just in case her unseen opponent decided to return.

When it didn't after a moment, she righted herself as much as such a young whelp could, then scooted forward, unaware of her direction. When her nose bumped into Tomahawk's ankle, she wrinkled it and then sniffed her dam's leg. She associated the scent with food and began rooting around for a nipple. Regipre didn't find one but a dew claw would suffice for now.

Perhaps a smarter being than herself would have asked him why he had stayed, why he had been complacent when Rakharo had pissed on him. But Tomahawk did not. She merely assumed that he—like her—had finally found his place in the world. He asked a question, and she looked at him, unknowing of his reasoning for asking such things. "Meat," she replied, emotion devoid from her response.

Regipre nudged at her back foot, and Tomahawk scooted her back toward the others with the same limb. The mother ate the rest of her male meal, eyes never leaving the coyote who had fathered her children. When she had finished, she sat, staring, allowing the children to keep themselves occupied.

She answered, with the same enthusiasm as he had showed in asking. "No fish then," he murmured. His sharp focus dropped from her face to peer around her in an effort to catch a glimpse of the children he now provided for. But he could not see much past her. "Let me see them." She need only move aside, but even as the words crossed his mouth he doubted she would humor him.

Tomahawk's gentle scoot was met with an indignant squawk. She found herself pushed against her siblings, who whimpered and mewled. She didn't hear it, though she felt them beside her. Huffing, the young coyote rose onto her wobbly legs, her head thrust forward. She appeared to leer at her mother's backside, especially with her partially opened eyes. Regipre stood like that a long moment, gathering her bearings, then shook her head as if bothered by a pesky fly.

As if to exact revenge on the mother who kept trying to thwart her, she squatted abruptly and urinated. It was only a small amount—she had voided her bladder just moments ago, after all—but the instant the flow stopped, she took a bumbling step backward and promptly sat in the warm yellow puddle.

"Not yet," she replied, Dotharan sliding off her tongue like it had done for so many months prior. "Not until they go outside." Even if he could not understand her, it did not matter. He would need to learn their language sooner rather than later. The children would not be ready for that next step for at least another six or seven days, she thought. Perhaps she was being too protective, especially of the one that Rakharo had almost bitten in half, Papref. Layaffi would not allow her gifts to be out of her sight unless it was absolutely necessary. Thanks to their father, she'd only needed to escape for moments to relieve herself and drink.

She had nothing more to say to him, and so she retreated back into the den, picking up Regipre by her scruff and placing her with her siblings along the way. She ignored the small puddle that the child had made, though she was quick to clean her of the mess.

His ear flicked as one of the pups squawked, and then turned back as she spoke. He did not understand their language, and nor did he care to. He would not need it for what he came to do. She answered him by retreating further into the den, picking up the pup that she had hidden behind her as she went. He caught a glimpse of the child's tail, but little else. It would have to do for now; this was not his first rodeo and he knew there was no arguing with mothers, no changing their minds no matter how cunning he could be.

He rose to his paws and set out into the plains once more. He would bring for her whatever he managed to find next. It was likely to be meat, but he had no intention of actually honoring the request.

Tomahawk swiftly collected her belligerent pup a final time, pinning her to the den floor and vigorously cleaning her of any traces of urine. Regipre squirmed at the indignity of it all, yet she was still just a weeks-old puppy. The stroke of her mother's tongue over her small body triggered a sense of sleepy security and prompted her to shut her barely opened eyes. Despite her usual pluck, the damp whelp faded fast, her paws kneading at her mother even as she slept.