Wolf RPG

Enough time had passed to suggest that the Frostfur family would be staying put in Jade Fern Grove. It wasn't all bad - there was plenty of food, ample sources of water, and plenty of things to occupy the children.

It wasn't until the scent of ash had started to fade that the fog around Bazi's brain began to lift. Bit by bit, she restored herself as more than a source of food and warmth for her children and began to take an interest in what they were doing - and feeling. In the wake of such trauma, something was bound to have gone wrong in their development.

Swift was her first port of call. She journeyed into the woods, nosing at plants that looked like his brand of 'interesting'. Finding no sign of her striped son, she called for him. "Swift? Are you there?"

In their birth home, he had been eager to scout the plants the lay around the rendezvous site when they had first moved there. Now, in their new home, he was not at all. He still did not see the good in this place; he was certain there was bad behind every tree, under every rock, hidden in every shadow. Yet still, he collected his plants, but he did so within a distinct boundary around his parents, particularly his father, whom the boy latched on to while his mother had become despondent. Despite this, he kept his distance from his family. He did not play, nor speak, nor cuddle.

His mother called to him. He had been resting in a plump patch of ferns, hidden from the world but still near to his family that he could spy their movements between the fronds. He begrudgingly rose to his paws and went to her, a scowl on his face. When he found her, he stopped and stared, his voice hard. "What?"

A sour-faced little boy dragged himself out of the greenery, greeting his mother with a snarled "What?" She blinked down at her child, stunned at his tone - but did not give voice to the 'now see here young man' that appeared on her tongue. Swift had kept to himself since their arrival at Jade Fern Grove, closing himself off from the family. Just like his mother.

"What yourself," Bazi responded lamely, squaring up to her son as though preparing for an actual physical fight. It felt ridiculous, and she slumped back into herself a second later. Swift's eyes glowed with angsty anger. "You hate it here, don't you," his mother grumbled, her face tight.

For several moments he did nothing but stare at his mother, as if she was the sole reason his world was upside down, but it was not her fault, and he did not blame her. In truth, the sour Frostfur was not entirely sure what his problem was. He truly had no specific reason to hate their new home, nor any real reason to love the one they had lost. He simply felt out of sorts, and it did not help that his mind was slowly becoming burdened by pervasive thoughts that were not his own.

"It's not fair," he sniffed. He slumped, falling back on his rump and hanging his head. His ears were slicked back and his brows still knitted. "Why couldn't the storm go somewhere else? Why did we have to move? We don't know this place..." he glanced around with a wrinkled muzzle. "What if something gets us?"

"It's not fair."Swift mimicked his mother's posture, crushed by the weight of his own thoughts. "What if something gets us?" Bazi should have played the part of a responsible parent in that moment, managing the delicate balancing act between reassuring her son and defending her husband - but she didn't. "Then it's your father's fault," she responded roughly, eyes averted. "He always liked forests. Couldn't tell you why - there's nothing to defend."

His mother's words did nothing to comfort him, and he huffed audibly as he swiped a pebble across the dirt with a paw. "I hate it." He growled. He rose to his paws, and walked to the nearest tree. "I hate this tree!" He roared as he swatted at it. "I hate this rock!" He stomped on the rock. He trudged over to a clump of ferns then, and tore them to pieces with his teeth. "I hate these fer—!" he stopped, as his eyes fell upon a particular plant. His face scrunched into his most angry of scowls. "I HATE THIS YARROW THE MOST!" He yelled as he ripped the plant out from the ground and threw it aside. "I don't care if it's good for fevers and cramps! I don't care about toothaches!" His tirade ended in a sniff as he once more fell back on his arse.

Bazi rather enjoyed the temper-tantrum that followed, imagining Swift's rage as a beam of hot light going straight through his father's stupid head. It wasn't until her son suddenly started spouting medical facts that her internal grin faltered, replaced by a knotting sensation in her gut. Bazi padded forward and around her child's slumped body, lowering her head and seeking his eye. "Swift," she began, studying him  as she might a stranger. "How do you know about yarrow?" Bazi had almost forgotten the word - and the plant, even though it was the only natural remedy she had ever been introduced to. No-one else had come forward as being even remotely interested in the art of such things, so then, who had taught Swift?

His mother came to him, and proposed a question. He looked up, not responding immediately as he considered. He looked down at his paws. "I don't know," he said, quietly, the blazing anger he expressed earlier now simmered. He pawed absently at the dirt then looked back at his mother. "I just know..."

If he was not still so frustrated with everything, including the newfound racket in his head that spouted all this medicinal knowledge at him, the boy might have taken a liking to the fact that he knew these things but his own mother did not. In fact, none in the pack did as far as he was aware. There was a flicker of something, pride perhaps, in his chest, but it did not show and he did not entertain it.

"When I look at a plant," he shared, opening up to his mother in a way he never had before. "I hear about it. In my head." He tapped his temple with his paw. "I hear what it is, and what it does."

Bazi listened patiently, watching her son's expression as it shifted from anger to some complex blend of emotions she could not decipher. The words themselves sounded like utter nonsense, but there wasn't anything childish or make-believe about his tone. Whether the voice was real or not, he believed it - and the information it relayed to him was accurate (at least for yarrow).

Bazi didn't know how to respond. Her instinct was to slap her son around the mouth - a technique favoured by her own mother in face of things she did not like or could not understand. Bazi licked her lips, quelling the urge to follow in Shar-Kali's footsteps. She fixed Swift with the least judgmental look she could manage, which looked a little constipated. "Does it.. only tell you about plants?" she asked, abruptly flattening her ears. The words sounded beyond ridiculous.

He could tell that his mother was not sure about what he was saying, but he was encouraged to continue sharing with her when she asked another question. His tail gave a slight wag. "No," he informed. "I hear about hurts too. I hear how to make them better." With the plants, of course. It was almost the same thing and yet it was not. He was compelled to elaborate. "I know their names too. I know where some of the hurt comes from," he paused and knitted his brows. "I know some hurts... never go away. Can not be made better." He sighed, as if this knowledge placed a weight upon his shoulders.

Bazi didn't particularly want to imagine the types of hurt he was referring to - what didn't kill you rarely made you stronger, despite what the old adage suggested.

".. OK," Bazi said. There was a finality to her tone - some reluctant version of acceptance. There had to be a reasonable explanation for Swift's knowledge; perhaps a hedgehog was whispering in his ear at night. "I know.. yarrow. That's it, though. A female from another pack taught me back when mommy was friendly and chirpy around strangers." Can you imagine?

He looked at her with a small smile. She accepted what he said, sharing with him that she knew about yarrow but nothing else. His tail wagged again. "Maybe I can show you some?" He did not wait for an answer. For the first time since coming here he did not feel quite so strange or angry. He actually felt a bit excited. "Come on," he said to his mother as he strolled off into the forest. Whether she was following him or not, he was going to go scout for some plants, and if she followed him, he was going to dump some names and perhaps other tidbits on her.