Anyone wanna be stalked a little? (Side note: roll a 1d15, kill him on a 15!)
There was a legend about the creek of this place - it wasn't known to the residents, but rather the pests that frequented the area. Rumors which had turned in to a full-fledged myth even before the wolves had come upon the water. Barton had heard the basics of it, and was lured in. Something about
an offering being given in exchange for
wishes. With winter settling in and Barton nowhere near the level of preparation he should've achieved, he was ready to test this myth. But to do so, he'd have to sneak past the wolves that lurked in the area.
He'd made it beyond the edge of their garrison like a true thief; taking time to roll in their collective scent whenever the pungent odor could be found. It was foul, this smell. The musk of urine and wolf scent, hiding him for the time being while fleet steps carried him through the bog. He thought he had been spotted on more than one occasion, and hastily ducked beneath a log or lunged to keep his wiry form concealed in shadow; at least two different wolves passed him, hurrying along for their own purpose, and when they departed he felt his paranoia lessen.
Just a few more feet - he could smell the water - just a few more, and he'd be at the creek's edge.
11 (edit: your lucky day!)
With luck on her side, Root has taken up residence in a new pack. Her spirit having long since broken and her hope dwindled, has rekindled enough to believe things might one day return to normal. Her health will return optimum, her faith restored, and she will be useful to her new home. The screams still linger in the back of her mind, the cries for help, but she hadn’t looked back. There was nothing she could go. Going back to see the wreckage would have caused more harm than good and, so, Root moves forward without looking over her shoulder.
She can’t endure to see the damage unfolded so many weeks ago. She has keep her gaze in front of her, blinders to each side of her face, healing both physically and mentally.
Even though her feet ache from travel and she’s been given reprieve in this new place—Lost Creek Hollow—so long she proves herself worthy. The skills she provided the leaders should be a walk in the park. She wouldn’t have listed them if it were not the case and as long as time is on her side, for once, she might be able to pull it off. Birthright and family has little pull in a foreign land. She has their trust, however minor it may be, for now.
When she crosses path with another canine, she hesitates. Several yards away she stands to watch the coyote, hurrying in his adventure to who knows where. Root doesn’t know her geography of the land just yet but there hadn’t been mention of a coyote living in the land; that would be important, right? For security, so wolves like her might not try to chase it away. A low rumble occurs deep in her chest and she takes a few steps forward, not bothering to keep herself silent. Her body is hunched enough so she can spring forward when noticed—and if he doesn’t notice the stalking, she can take him down.
He is within sight of the creek's weaving body, but something stops him. At first it is like a gust of wind billows from the depths of the hollow that freezes him in place, head up and body rigid with uncertainty. But then there is a shift - either in the wind or his mindset - and Barton reacts to the oncoming wolf as best he can. At first he begins to hunch in the classic style of a coyote cornered; a wild lashing of his tail snapped it in to place along his rump, almost touching his belly, but he tries to relax. If he is to reach the water and test his luck - test the myth - then he had to act the part. He smelled like a wolf already, like a member of this pack. All he had to do was prove himself to this stranger.
But her bared fangs and deep warning growl were offsetting his natural inclination to escape. He wanted to run for the hills and keep his body intact, unharmed. A steel will kept him firmly rooted. The coyote's tail raised up, batting in a friendly manner at his hips, and then raising more, hesitantly dominant. The beast leveled his autumn gaze at the approaching stranger as if he were offended.
"Halt!" He commands, voice shaking only a little.
He steps away from the stranger and wheels around, baring his fangs and dropping his tail. "A man gits welcomed up in this here place, an' this is the welcomin' I'm gettin'?" Barton channeled his frayed nerves in to a look of dissatisfied offense, his head pulling back a bit, before shaking back and forth. "Ain't right, jus' ain't right. Y'all pickin' on me jus' because I'm small, like e'body else." Tsk.
Maybe that would work. The boy's body prickled from spine to tail, with the latter puffing out like it had been hit by electricity; but he was just anxious, and clearly not pleased.
iThe coyote spots her and drawls on about something that takes Root a second to realize is reprimanding. Her brows burrow between her leafy green eyes, adjusting his posture so she stands once more at full height. The coyote is small compared to her, or other wolves, but he’s going on like he’s allowed to complain. His teeth shimmer wet with saliva and Root’s own lips curl in disgust as he rambles, bristling himself up to make it look like he’s bigger than he is. He still doesn’t compare.
Root remains still, watching the creature, but she doesn’t attack.
“If you’re supposed to be here, why are you so defensive?” she asks with a slight tilt of her head. Her ears cup forward and sh turns her body as if she might start to circle him. “You were sneaking to… wherever it is you were going,” she reminds him.
While she doesn’t advance on the predator just yet, she doesn’t leave him alone or give in to what he’s spitting. He smells like the scents that linger on the borders of the pack but is that proof enough to warrant belief? With a dissatisfied hum, she cranes her head slightly as she takes a step forward. “I think if there were a coyote allowed to live here, I’d be informed about it before they let you loose, don’t you think? The alternative doesn't seem wise.”
Root doesn't give the coyote long to answer before she dashes off after him, chasing him out of the territory.