Wolf RPG

As morning broke, Tonravik loosed a wide yawn and looked to her cubs that presently slept. Today there was a strong feeling of wanderlust within her, one that bid her exit the den for more than some seconds. And yet... she needed to keep her cubs within the whelping den. Despite the attack the other day, the coyotes no doubt drawn in by the prospect of what they foolishly presumed to be easy pickings (ending in their demise), Tonravik was sure that Iqniq and all the others within the pack had since ensured that the territory was as safe as could be, this area in particular. It was her instinct that kept her from letting them out... but, as for letting another in, there was only one she trusted so much with the task. Not even her aokkatti came to her mind. No, the wolf that came to her mind was none other than her own mate... whose relentless testing provoked her once before but as her aggression waned as the days passed, she realized that the next step with him could be taken.

One cub had roused and poked at the side of her muzzle, provoking her to wretch and release her latest meal. The others awoke due to it, and moved toward the meat to gobble it up. It kept their attentions away from the mouth of the den, and so she summoned the ruddy wolf that was no doubt nearby. She called to him in the name their cubs would know him as: father. "Atâtak," she summoned, her sons presently busy with the task at hand, "Uwaneraiiagit," come here now.

The crack of dawn came down upon him. The soft light of morning felt harsher somehow as it cut between the trees and landed directly upon his closed eyes. He could sense the light without opening them and even still it was blinding enough to rouse him from sleep. He shuffled backwards impulsively and placed himself in the shade. It was better now, but the sun's disturbance was enough that he could not completely send himself back to sleep.

No matter. There was movement in the den. The world was slowly waking and the smell of bile and vomit as Tonravik fed the children their breakfast reached his nose. How she managed to still have something leftover in her belly after a long night's sleep was beyond him, but at least the pups were fed. Regurgitated breakfast. Yum. He was glad he'd outgrown that.

He wasn't expecting to be summoned. His station outside of the den was so commonplace there was a vague outline of his body in the dirt and grass. Nevertheless, he was called. "Uwaneraiiagit, please..." he amended. She was welcome to teach them her language, but the least she could also do was teach them to be respectful. Manners and all that good stuff.

Iqniq poked his nose around the edge of the den. "You called?"

Tonravik stared emptily at the dens mouth as he corrected her, something that went over her head. "I called you," came her tired reply (in response to what she thought was his summons); that  he was amending what she said, adding to it how she ought to have used manners—things, truth be told, she had not been taught herself extensively of how to verbally apply—was unknown to her. But there he was, nosing at the entrance. Her hackles lifted for a moment before she allowed herself a moment to get used to his presence. They would get there. And they would get there soon. 

So the dark leader drew herself further backward, knowing the babes were too occupied eating to get in their fathers way should he enter in the next few minutes. Her paws flexed against the open air as she looked to her children and then, the den entrance. "Come see your sons," she invited. And then, "Enter slow... they may grow excited." And get in his way, and become a victim of bulldozer Iqniq. Alright, that was more her alley than his own... and maybe he did not need telling, but was it not a good thing she worried at all for them? Maternal instinct indeed existed! It showed itself, now and again. 

Tonravik wanted to be sure he would not eat them before he relieved her... and so, for now, she remained inside. Her eyes remained watchful... if one cub were to get in his way to the point of becoming an obstacle, she would draw them backward so her mate could find his room. Their meal was near-gone, and by the time he did shuffle inside there would be no evidence left. She intended to fill her own belly... Tonravik hoped to do so herself this time.

His ears fell flat. The amount of dots that failed to be connected there left him longing. "I know what father is in your tongue." The words were just as flat as his face as he crept forward and made himself known. Belly to the ground, as he'd army crawled towards the entrance. He lingered as far as she'd allowed on every other day. As far as he knew, it was every other day. If she was thinking anything different, he was not privy to those thoughts.

Not yet. Not until she shifted from where she'd made herself a barrier at the mouth of the den and with drew to give him passage. He looked to her as she spoke. Question lingered in his gaze. Was she serious this time? Or was she luring him in as an excuse to exercise her pent up aggression? He couldn't be sure. Nevertheless, he moved forward, still army crawling towards them as he kept his movements slow. Who was that red creature who lingered in the doorway? Dear old Dad. At your service.

Paw over paw he crept forward. She did not growl nor threaten him in anyway. Iqniq let his body slump, muzzle to the ground as he woofed for his boys. Come to papa...

Tonravik didn't get his next words and tilted her head, clearly perplexed by it. She knew all the words in his tongue–Tonravik had simply missed that his addition of "please" was a request that she tag-on that word to her request. Tonravik had taken his words literally, as ever, and the cave-woman had thought he wanted to summon her. As he entered slowly but surely, Tonravik still did not think differently-she had misunderstood. 

As he came in, Tonravik was only stiff. But his entrance was gradual, and with each inch he covered her tension died. Her eyes looked to her babes, who looked to her but once as though expecting her to stop them. Typically they would be right... But, not today. They each–as a herd–bumbled toward him. Tonravik belly-crawled forward herself to be nearer, but her mate still had room for his whole body. 

She introduced them, giving him their names, and looked to him. Her tail thumped against the ground gently. “They cannot go outside yet,” Tonravik informed, idly nosing one. Her dark eyes fell to him, near-indiscernible with the light he had blocked. “Is all well?” She spoke of the pack, and of him, too; their conversations were often cut short by exhaustion or the bear cubs demands.

Something new, something from the bright world, the one that blinded him at certain times of the day. The wolf even fit in with the Bright World, his red pelt blazing in the darkness of the den. Atuaserk did not yet make the connection that his own brother's coat was similar to his Father's. He did not have such cognitive thought yet, though he would soon enough.

When the mother unit didn't stop him, the first born picked up speed and bounded towards the new thing, the one he'd seen glimpses of but that Mother had always stopped them from seeing. Of course, his brakes weren't quite working just yet and he ran full tilt into the creature of Bright World's face.

Warm. Soft fur. Teeth were ignored as the creature was climbed upon so that Ata could reach the highest point. There were things like on his mother's head, soft and sensitive (ears), things that he now tried to attack with tiny teeth and childish sounds.

He awoke ravenous as ever and, after successfully untangling himself from his brothers, the last born made to prod at his mother's mouth. He had discovered this tactic not too long ago after watching one of his sibling's do the same. The food was very different to what he was used to but he very much enjoyed it. The cub's tail started wiggling happily as Tonravik brought up their breakfast, undeterred by the sight and stench of it. He dived forward, bumping shoulders with one of his brothers as they too woke at the smell of food.

The two adults' exchange went unnoticed, not until Sitamat finished his share with a satisfied burp. When a large figure suddenly crawled in from the den's entrance and blocked the sunlight, though, his attention fully shifted. He glanced up unsurely at Tonravik, making soft whining noises as she looked back down at the cubs. The scent that emanated from the bright-furred form was familiar, but Sitamat had yet to put a name to a smell. He lagged slightly behind as his brothers bumbled forward to greet the stranger — their atatak.

Atuaserk fearlessly sped right into the giant and immediately began to climb to the summit. The darker boy crawled forward, mimicking Iqniq's posture as he crawled slowly towards him, gazing at him curiously with a guarded gaze.

Fully inside the den now, Iqniq paused and watched as his children stared back at him as if he was some sort of stranger. This... was what he'd been afraid of. He'd never wanted to be a stranger to them. He'd wanted to be someone the knew an looked to as another figure that was "safe" in their world. No matter. He'd work hard to make up for lost time and soon they'd all be as daring as the child who climbed him like a mountain.

Atuaserk. He knew their names now that he'd been properly introduced. The first born was daring, almost as if protecting his siblings by taking that first risk to check out the new wolf who was to be known as father. Tonravik asked a question. Iqniq parted his mouth in reply before the child stepped across his muzzle and cemented himself to his face in order to nibble at his ears. Well, well. Two could play at this game.

Distracted by the child, her question was forgotten. He lifted his head from the ground, balancing Ata upon his face and muzzle in some sort of game. To make it more interesting, he flicked his ears, pulling them from the boys mouth before lifting them once more to place them back in range. A very early form of hunting, perhaps. Either way, he contented himself with this one's boldness while the others tried to decide what to make of him.

Not knowing how deep-rooted his fear was, Tonravik herself worried not. The mother had no doubt he would not be a stranger to them for very long now that he had been given inner access. He had been persistent out there; she doubted he would even leave, now. One cub went to conquer the red mountain and the other bear-crawled toward him. Tonravik did not encourage him, if only because that he did this was an invaluable skill to have in the wilds. Not every wolf was approachable. While she did want to nose him to her mate in knowing he was safe, she refrained. Tonravik did not want him to think that her doing that meant he should always be so forward. All the same she did not reprimand Atuaserk; it would be easy to unlearn the habit of rushing at another if taught properly, but their father would not be the object of that practice.

Tonravik rest for a minute, but kept her eyes on them. She was particularly interested in the game that he played with his ears. It truly was all fun and games until their overeagerness brought milk-teeth into the arena... and the ears were a particularly sensitive area. The cubs would in the next coming months learn restraint, but at (nearly) just a month that sort of control was foreign to them. "Kigutit," she spoke in warning, of "Their teeth."

He hate his share of their mother's offering, and then turned his attention on the red wolf. The third born did not charge as the first born had, nor hang back as much as the last born. He was calm, relaxed, and approached with his tail swaying in the air. His expression was open and curious, and completely friendly. He looked up at his father as he balanced his brother on his face, and then he crept forward to brush his crown against the plush furs of the red wolf's chest. He then turned and rubbed himself against him, making soft indescribable noises as he did so.

His legs worked to keep him upright on the suddenly unstable 'ground', small claws gripping where he could on his father's muzzle. His goal were the soft things, the easily chewed things, but they kept flickering out of his reach. His tiny teeth would clamp shut on empty air just after the things moved, and then moved back, only to start the game all over again. A paw was placed higher up on the Big Wolf's face, over the arch of his brow, working to steady the pup as he aimed for his target.

None of this worked of course when that paw slipped, and the rhino was sent tumbling to the ground not far below. In puppy-vision, it seems like miles, but the boy was silent save for a soft, surprised yip as he initially fell off.

He glanced up to Tonravik every so often as he moved forward — ever so slowly, inch by inch. He was wary of the stranger, but Atuaserk's boldness spurred him onwards, his movements slightly quickening as Pingasut then strode forward. He watched as the smallest brushed his head against the other wolf's own vibrant fur, glancing up and down as he made the connection that hey, they looked the same! What that meant was lost to him for the time being, but Sitamat's tail began to wriggle at the epiphany.

It abruptly stopped when the eldest suddenly came tumbling from the sky, his large body making a soft thud as it hit the ground. Sitamat stared in horror, eyes wide as he looked up again to the creature that Atuaserk had fallen off of, wary once more.

Ata seemed to take great joy in their little game of airplane. He pawed at Iqniq's face and the father wrinkled his nose as one of his paws got caught in his lip. Spitting it out, Tonravik warned him this game might grow not so fun and quickly. "Nahh. I'm sure it will be– ow!" he folded his ears more solidly as Ata slipped from his face and toppled to the ground. He lowered his head, catching the boy to help aid in softening the landing. Then he licked him, encouragingly. Time to get back on that horse.

Their fox boy was similarly bold, he ventured up to the plushness of his chest and Iqniq scooped a paw towards him to cuddle back. He nuzzled his nose into Ping's scruff only to lift his head and expel a puff of air from his nostrils towards the boy's ears. Done teasing, he gave the boy a healthy lick too and turned his gaze towards the youngest who seemed unsure. Iqniq shifted and stared back at Sitamat, lowering his head to the ground as he lightly pinned Ping beneath an armpit to cuddle him further.

"Has he always been so timid?" Iqniq asked, casting his gaze briefly towards Tonravik before turning his puppy-dog-eyes towards their youngest. He let his eyes linger for only a few moments longer before he scooped Ata up into the tangle of his limbs as well. For now, he could overlook such reservations in four. He was a new figure. Unfamiliar. No doubt his large form would take some getting used to. But for those who were bold enough to greet him? Iqniq tumbled with them on the ground as he showered them with his fatherly affection.

Tonravik's ears shifted as Atuaserk landed a blow, and she moseyed forward as she watched her cub misplace a foot. Could a fall from mount skull be fatal for one of their size? She did not know, nor did she desire to risk it... but fortunately, her mate was quick to catch him before he could plop on the ground in a painful belly-flop by moving beneath him. The cubs, each of them, seemed taken by the man. Malrok presently kept close to her, perhaps sussing out the situation himself before diving into it himself. Sitamat was nervous, she gathered from his scent.

Her mates question was met with a thoughtful look. Had he been...? No. But he had been presented with nothing so new as this in his life, and also, his reason for not being timid might simply be because his love for food trumped his nervousness. "No," she responded at last, then she tilted her head as she looked to him. She wondered if that mattered, truly, when it was not him or who he was that caused their son to behave as he did, simply an innate part of his personality. Their shared, indescribable instinct that dictated them. Her, more than others. It was how she was raised. And if his instinct told him to be cautious, he would soon learn through experience that around this ruddy male, no caution was needed. The others were brave and bold and made a mad rush for the change, and Sitamat was simply adapting to it. Their memory of this, of she being the only face they knew, would be short lived and perhaps forgotten in the scheme of things. The cubs would never want for company... and surely, their fourth born would warm up to the man.

The third born was in his glory. He snuggled into his father, and in turn, his father scooped him closer and lavished affection upon him. He cooed softly, burrowing his head further into the thick, fiery fur. The breath of air upon his ears caused them to twitch and he looked back, a silly smile on his lips. His father licked him, and he tried to lick back but his salmon tongue missed as Iqniq turned his attention to Sitamat. No matter, he was where he wanted to be, and wiggled in as close as he could when his father's leg pinned him in its crook. His little tail did not cease wagging.

That Iqniq had saved him from a disastrous fall was barely known to the boy, who was already up and going after all four paws were on the ground again. While he wasn't terribly loud, he was energetic and adventurous, which might be just as bad. He was just preparing to go for Tonravik's ears when he was suddenly scooped into his father's immediate reach. The tongue swiped over his forehead and Ata's teeth snipped after it, to wrapped up in play to settle down at the moment.

And yet as soon as their father kept him still for a moment, his energy left him in a whoosh and suddenly he was yawning, curling against the warm fur of dad's chest.

Sitamat didn't register that his parents were talking about him and his timidity. He didn't even spare them a glance, instead watching his brothers as they interacted with the large, foreign creature. Atuaserk was unfazed by his tumble and continuously sought unprotected extremities before being nestled in with Pingasut, who effortlessly blended into their father's fur. The two had settled, and Sitamat cast a glance back to Malrok as if asking what he thought of all this.

Turning back, the boy sucked in a breath and crept forward once again, summing up all the courage he had in order to greet the unknown man. He seemed harmless enough. Of course, Sitamat had no concept of what danger really was yet, and only relied on instinct for the moment. And change, to him, was cause for concern. He stopped as he reached Iqniq's muzzle, which lay level to his own head. With gentle prods, the boy inspected his father's nose, bumping it with his own and wagging his tail at the strange texture.

Two of his boys cuddled in against them. Iqniq gave them each their turns, going back and forth between Ata and Ping as he nuzzled their wiggling, squirming bodies with all the attention he'd stored up from waiting outside for what seemed like an eternity. Lots of licks. Lots of nuzzles. All things to let them know he cared for them and that he would be, for all that was within his realm of capability, there for them. He was safe. He was home. He was father.

At long last the forth born crept towards him. Iqniq stilled, careful not to make any sudden movement as the boy approached. Sitamat sniffed his muzzle, exploring and searching for anything that might make him grow weary. With his whiskers aggravated, Iqniq sneezed. His nose twitched and he pulled the dark pup into the arms of his embrace so he might cuddle with the rest of them.

This? This he could do for hours. He wanted his pups to know him and now that he had entry, he wasn't about to let them forget.

He basked in his father's affection, and had no intention to move. His contentment was made all the more profound when he was joined by his brothers, and he cooed softly as he snuggled with them. Surrounded by this warmth, he felt his eyelids grow heavy, and he did not fight to keep them open. But even as he dozed, his little tail continued to twitch side to side. Iqniq need not worry; the third born accepted him wholly. He was now part of the fox's inner circle.

Sleep pulled hard at the boy and he quickly found himself struggling to stay awake, wanting to see what else was going on. However, being tucked in against his father's fur was pure bliss for the small terror, the warmth emanating from the red fur of his sire making it ever harder to resist. In the end, he lost the battle and drifted off into a comfortable, quiet dreamworld. A heavy sleeper, not even the sounds of his brothers playing would disturb him.