Wolf RPG

Although he could see none of it, the world outside was growing dark. Dusk was upon them, and soon night would drink up the rest of the sunlight and lay it to rest. Malrok had been in the dark since the day he was born, and it would be another day or so before he would see his first light. For now, he crept around in the darkness, testing his legs with more and more weight each time he used them. He was shaping up to be a strong, driven, and curious wolf. Of course, there were infinite opportunities for his life to change in the blink of an eye, but he was not concerned with these things. And for once in his waking life, Malrok was not concerned with food, either. For now, he was content to explore the den, wobbling along the outside perimeter of his home, checking every nook and cranny.

The mother bear slept soundly, on her side, before the mouth of the den. She had learned to use her body as a barricade as her sons could crawl easily now. Rarely did they seek to go around her yet, still interested in her milk most of all. Although she slept well, one ear was cupped backward. The alpha female was wise to the potential of invaders, and listened for them while she snoozed. She was adept at recognizing things to take caution of, and anything that sounded near caused her to wake. Presently, all was well. With all inside the den, she worried not... for the while.

He continued along the wall of the den, nosing each little crevice as he went. This was one of the things in this world Malrok enjoyed. It kept him quiet, too. So long as his curiosity was sated, he did not cry, nor whine, whimper, or wail. An occupied mind was a quiet mind. Of course, the quiet would not last—not with Malrok at the wheel. He encountered something strange. Something he had not run across before. It moved when his nose touched it, but it was not soft like his mother and siblings. It also was not warm to the touch. He would have thought it a stone (for it was roughly the same size), but it had moved. Malrok squeaked in surprise, stretching out a paw instinctually. His first enemy.

The squeak emitted was a different squeak. The sounds had classifications, now: hunger, restlessness, constipation, cold, lost... and the sound emitted was not one of those. The mother lifted her head, dark eyes honing in on the dust-colored Malrok who was the source of the noise, watching as he moved in a superman like motion, lifting his leg—the mother was quick to get to all fours and step over her cubs to pluck him from where he stood before he could touch anything before she assessed it. In doing so, she wheeled around and deposited him among his brothers, and it was then she turned to look down at what he had squeaked at, trying to figure out what it was he had found.

He would not be allowed to fight his own battles—not today. Swiftly, he was picked up (and he immediately went limp, as was customary) and placed among his siblings. But he had been exploring! Determined, Malrok squirmed his way out of the sibling spaghetti, weak limbs pushing him along the den's floor once again. He had only his sense of touch, smell, and taste to guide him, but they were enough. Again, he gravitated toward the same spot, only to bump into Tonravik's front paw before he began to whimper and cry. This was no fun... no fun at all!

Tonravik could not discern what it was. So the mother was swift in delivering an end to it in whatever way was necessary so that it would no longer disturb her cubs, regardless of whether or not it was a threat. Anything and everything unapproved of would be treated as such, and whatever that had been was the second victim of her protective nature. She felt her son bump into her paw, and recognized his pace had increased. He was a quick one. Tonravik only stared at him as he cried, thinking of how much she unapproved of that... before she lifted her paw to let him investigate the same space he had moments ago, although without any threat of death and danger nearby having removed the thing totally. Having inspected the space briefly to be sure she was not letting him walk to his early grave, she observed.

The foot moved, leaving Malrok's path unobstructed once more, and his stubby, worm-like tail wiggled around sporadically. He had won! What he had won did not matter, only that "he" had cleared the path to the thing he had wanted in the first place. His legs pushed him along until his nose picked up the smell of the object. It was no rock, that was for sure. Malrok had encountered several of them in the den, but this one was different. It was slick and smooth, and now it was broken. Death was not a concept he would learn for some time, but it was what the beetle's fate had been. As with many things in his world, Malrok opened his mouth and touched it with his tongue, intending to explore it with taste this time.

His brother extracted himself from the pile, bringing Atuaserk around to the land of the living. He was a heavy sleeper at times, and at other times, he was not. Now, he was dragged from sleep with movement and the vibrations of his mother moving about the den. Malrok made no such vibrations just yet, and by the time he did, his older sibling would be attuned to them no longer.

Fumbling to his feet, the chubby cub began his attempts now at navigating the den, unwittingly running head on to bump into Malrok's side. His balance wavered now, and he made attempts to not end up on the ground, or on top of his sibling.

As her son went to sniff at the beetle, Tonravik unceremoniously swept down to eat it. She licked it off of the ground, likely swiping the tongue and pugged-muzzle of her son in the process, and swallowed in one fell swoop. Crunchy, and strangely satisfying... but not so satisfying as meat. Tonravik, in her youth, combed for meaty dirt-dwellers and ate them until one tasted particularly awful. Now doing so was a necessary evil, and she did not so much mind the taste of beetles. She had a feeling it would not be the last one she ingested.

Then came the first-born. Here he bumbled, and the mother watched him. If he were to collapse into his brother, she would let him. If he were to collapse on the ground, she would also let him. The mother knew the boys would have to learn for themselves... but at least, the fall was not so far that he would feel pain. Just disappointment, if he could even recognize that emotion yet.

He got only the tiniest lick in before his mother swept it away, and he sniffed around searching for it again. It was lost, though, and he had been defeated. This was quickly forgotten with the arrival of one of his brothers. Slowly but surely, he was coming to distinguish them from one another. Although they all smelled quite similar, they had slight differences in their scent, each one. He had managed to sit just before his brother nosed his side, stumbling only slightly with his front feet before steadying himself and regaining his balance. A wobbling head turned in his brothers direction, intent on mouthing him now that the beetle had disappeared from memory.

He struggled, his muscles working their hardest yet in his short life. Perhaps being able to see would have helped but as it was, the boy teetered on his small paws, a front one sliding out a bit farther to steady himself. The rocking and shaking motions of his possible fall ceased and everything was right with the world again. His brother's mouth was an aggravation, however, and Atuaserk's paw came up to wave at him, possibly push him off. When he was unsuccessful, he lurched forward, mouth agape to 'attack' him in kind.

Tonravik watched as her first-born fell and her second-born nearly fell himself, but kept in his sitting position. They battled with their mouths, duplicating in a toothless way a jaw spar, globbing one another with nothing but their gums. Tonravik knew this was a battle neither won... or, was it? How did things work in their tiny minds? Was this even a battle? Or was this a ritual of recognizing one another, brother to brother. The cubs certainly made her think more than she was used to, but Tonravik contented herself in thinking that already her sons were practicing something. Unlikely, but she did not care.

Malrok's sibling attacked—if it could even be called that—and his instinctual brain took over. The second-born's tail helicoptered behind as he rose to all fours. He charged forward, intent on toppling his brother over and coming out on top. The tiniest growl rumbled in his chest and throat, causing Malrok to stop mid-attack. He fell back onto his bottom. The sensation had been strange, though he could not figure out where it had come from.

The eldest never heard the growl and so, didn't stop now that he had started. He moved towards Malrok in an ungainly bound, apt to knock his brother over if he was allowed. This was the first of many play fights, the chubby pup sure to instigate many on his own in the coming months. He had already risen to the challenge of using his back legs and now, he would use them against his blood-related foe. In all this, he remained as quiet as he ever was, no growls or squeaks to be heard.

Oh, no, he hadn't fallen, had he? No, he still stood. And Tonravik did not prohibit him from his graceless blob-leap, which in truth looked like a struggle in itself. The battle of the titans was more like battle of rocks that could move... it was interesting, to say the least. Who would win, who would lose? Her forelegs moved around them in something of a coliseum, and she watched to see how the younger brother would react. Would he be knocked down? Would his older brother have missed him entirely?

Still startled and curious about the vibrations in his throat, Malrok was unprepared for his brother's "attack." Atuaserk crashed into him, and the second-born fell to his side. Shocked, to say the least, Malrok growled again, this time ignoring the rumbling sensation in his throat. Instead, he bit at his brother one or two more times, trying to come out on top... but in the end, he would not. Malrok would be defeated this time, and he would eventually bother Tonravik for food, a bath, and comfort.

His goal was fulfilled, knocking his brother over though he proceeded to mouth at the second born, nipping where and when he could. Unbothered by the similar treatment from Malrok, Ata remained on top until the 'fight' ended, his energy depleting now that he had expended it. His mother's blockade of legs around them was an obstacle as he sought to escape them to once more navigate their dark home until the mother-unit put him down to rest once more.