Wolf RPG

It was time. Long last and Iqniq had completed a final patrol around the borders. The scents there were strong. The weaving paths created by their footprints were starting to feel a little more solid and permanent than the nothing that was there before. This was their home now and it was long past time for them to claim it and solidify this territory as their own.

He lingered by the whelping den. It was quickly becoming the heart of the territory as he knew it. Somehow, he'd managed to ease Tonravik into the mouth of that den long enough for them both to confirm what, in their minds, they already knew. This was their new home. This would be the new start of Tartok. Now it was time for every wolf to know it.

Iqniq tipped his head back, allowing a long howl to escape from his muzzle as he encouraged the rest of their wolves to join in. This was it. This was Sawtooth Spire.

Due to the fact that Malrok could only hear the most muffled of noises, he would not join in his father's call. Instead, his three-quarter open eyes peered toward the opening of the den, curious about the movement. He noted that his mother's large body was there, though his brothers remained in the den with him. He knew now that there was little chance of getting out of the den (although that did not mean he would not try). For now, he was content to sit, head wobbling as he watched the blurry, shapeless silhouettes move around. He did not know it, but Malrok was one of Sawtooth Spire.

The third born was also curious. His head tilted from side to side as he attempted to understand the movement around him. He rose to his paws and padded to Malrok's side, leaning a red-furred shoulder against him as he sat down beside him. He did not understand what was happening, and could not howl with his parents, but he sensed something, and he stared fixedly toward the mouth of the den.

 

It was time. 

Their travels had been long and their toil plenty, but it was not for naught. It was here their family would be raised, and truly, that was what they had become, the lot of them, in their journey. Nanuk and Echelon, sisters, Kapvik a brother, her cubs her sons and Iqniq the father figure of their group as it presently stood. They had accomplished much in the time they were allotted, and Tonravik was proud that they had done so. 

Her voice lifted with her mates, calling to all of her pack and the wolves of the wilds so that they would know. Those whose voices she did not recognize she imagined in time that she would, but as of yet, she only heard that of she and her mate and the medley her pack produced. They had done what they sought out to do; they had survived and thrived, and would only continue to do so.

Kapvik spent the latter of his enforcing their borders and furnishing his den, his quest to find Arverk postponed. No one has instructed him to pursue further than the Naaghai Lowlands, so he would not. As much as it pained him to think the whale was out there, mortally wounded and dying (or already deceased), the wolverine's place was here. It would be best to cut their losses no matter how much it effected their day-to-day routines. It was certainly harder getting up in the morning for the Epsilon. Maybe it's age. Well, he felt world weary to be sure...
INDENTEars swiveled back to take in the claiming sound, pointed to the den entrance. Some dehydrated herbs hung loosely from his teeth during the announcement. They were quickly displaced, forgotten in his hastiness to exit his lair and join in on the proclamation. Kapvik did just that, adding his voice to his pack mate's synchronous symphony. Sawtooth Spire was now theirs. We can, we will.

The time had come, Echelon realized.

From a perch higher up on the mountainside, she heard the natural rise of their claim become voice and carry into the crisp air. The winds may as well have carried it off from where she was, but she still heard the call the same. Echelon allowed it to linger for a bit, listening to each individual that she could as it lifted up to her. And then she joined them, her own little coyote-sound yowl loud and turned off in another direction — trying to raise the others of their claim. Perhaps they would draw in the curious, but she also hoped it would keep trouble from finding their homefront.

They weren't really wolves to be trifling with, anyway.

The call went up and she paused in what she was doing (patrolling, surprise surprise), ears perking as she listened for a moment. Her own voice raised as Echelon's did, twining with those of her pack. They had come together again, Tonravik's strength renewed from the birth. The brats were only weeks old but soon enough, they'd be nipping at the heels of their elders and to do so, the adults would need to keep the pack as safe as ever. She had begun her routine almost as soon as they'd arrived and she knew Iqniq did the same. Things would continue like this and the branch of Tartok, though small, would grow strong in its new location.

While his eyes were open, partially at least, things did not register just yet. He fumbled around, his legs propelling him around now more than ever in his short life. Movement was a constant thing in the den these days but now, things stilled, the first born son also peering at the den entrance. Something was happening but his young mind was not to the point where it could comprehend such things yet.

All around him, voices rose into the air, blending together to form a single note: a declaration of unity and ownership. For several moments, he simply listened, uncomfortable with the idea of joining right away. He was new and he hadn't been here for the storm and subsequent relocation. He still felt like a bit of an impostor, like he didn't yet belong. Still, he eventually added a low croon to the pack's song, pledging again his loyalty and commitment. His birth family had failed him absolutely but he had chosen this one.

You're like a phoenix rising from the ashes of your former life, he mused poetically, a wicked grin winding over his face before his howl cut off and he began to laugh sardonically to himself.

Sitamat joined his brothers' gaze as the four cubs each curiously peered at the den's bright entrance with their half-opened eyes. All he could see was a blur of light and the barely distinguishable shapes of his brothers, but he made his way towards them, stopping by Atuaserk and wiggling his tail. Something was amiss, though he wasn't quite sure what and did not realise it was a thing to be proud about. A sound rung out through the air, muffled and soft. It caused Sitamat to release his own yip, though, attempting to join in on the melody Sawtooth Spire had created.