A light snow had blanketed the earth overnight, allowing the boy to blend in better with his surroundings as he stalked a few unsuspecting fowl. He crept low to the ground, skirting rocks and keeping downwind of his quarry. He was learning, slowly; saliva dripped from his jowls at the idea of sinking his teeth into something alive. Scavenged meat had sustained him so far but the effort, and dangers, he had to go through was becoming too much with the chill of winter setting in sooner than he anticipated. A rock slipped out from under his paws and he hit the breaks, skidding a bit on the slick rock, but ultimately keeping his grip. The pale ghost froze; the grouse stopped and stood straight, beady, stupid eyes looking for the source of the noise.
Desperation took hold; his lungs felt heavy, and his heart skipped a few beats; Remiel sprang forward with a cry. The grouse screeched and took wing before the boy could get close enough to snap. He chased it, in vain, a few yards before coming to a slow, loping stop. His ears swiveled forward as he watched the bird disappear beneath the cliff edge. A snarl born from frustration ripped across his features. He kicked at the snow and spun in a tight circle, growling and grousing, only to come to a stop once more. He huffed and, abruptly, flopped down into a sphinx-like pose.
He did not blend so well with the snow; but it mattered not. Exposure was an assumed risk in the open, be it a sweeping field or the cliffs that stood sentinel over the sea. He expected to be seen as he moved across them. But in the forests and the crags of the mountains he was so accustomed to, he was not but a shadow among the trees and rocks.
The wind blew crossways, betraying neither the other wolf's presence to him or his presence to the other wolf as he draws close enough, not to hear the wolf's paw slip on the rocks, but to hear the cry as he sprang for the bird. He heard also the frustrated snarl. Curious, Taggarik makes his way toward the noise, his attentive gaze not capturing the white male until his sturdy limbs climb from a small dip and he steps out around a cluster of boulders. He stops then, his ears twisting as he studies the prone form in front of him.
The frustration at yet another failure evaporated quickly, leaving him feeling numb and cold. He sniffed, fighting back tears as he lifted a paw and rubbed the side of his nose. To an onlooker it was a remarkably polarized shift in his demeanor. He flattened his ears and exhaled a fogged breath which was punctuated by a warbling whine. He huffed, again, and rubbed his eyes on his legs only to roll back onto all four paws and shake out his fur. He turned, and was immediately confronted by the dusky stranger.
His hackles stood straight like spines down his back, and he whisked his tail to indicate his unease. "What?" He barked, trying to keep the anxiety from his voice and failing. "I don't have anything for you to steal if that's what you're here for...!"
Maybe it was a bit rude to presume the dark male was here to bother him in the first place, but the benefit of the doubt wasn't something in his social repertoire.
This one was defensive, the fur along his spine rising into threatening spikes, his tail signalling his discontent. Taggarik's stance did not change; it remained neutral but confident, his expression blank through the accusation that he had approached with ill intention.
Honor was inedible; it did not feed the body, and the spirit of the wild was best satisfied by surviving another day. He was not above thievery, but this wolf had nothing to steal, and he was still satiated from his last meal. He settled himself onto his thick haunches, his tail tucking against a hind paw.
"What will you do when winter comes?" He asked, his deep and gravelly voice calm, even.
The stranger was impassive, and that unsettled Remiel. In his limited experience, most wolves would be bothered by such blase insinuations. But not this one. He watched as the stranger simply took a seat and leveled a question that cut deep, right down to the heart of the overarching problem he was facing. What would he do? It wasn't something he'd been able to solve so far and, clearly, chasing down grouse with his limited skill set was getting him no where. But how could the stranger have known he was a loner, and not some pack-born yearling?
Was he missing something here?
Remiel's expression shifted around between indignation, anger, frustration and confusion before finally settling on skepticism. But instead of a snarky comment, what came out instead surprised him. "I don't know!" He snapped, only to blink and wrinkle his nose. "What does it matter? Are you a winter know-it-all or something?" He retorts.
His snappish retorts had no affect on the neutral expression Taggarik bore. He was patient in most things, and he knew the sharp words were born out of sheer frustration. The most challenging of seasons approached and it put many on edge. Uncertainty was too prevalent, especially in the life of a lone wolf. It was in his own as well, but he head learned since to meet difficulties with sense, not frustration. It was this levelheadedness that drove him now.
"There's a mountain range north of here, on the other side of the long river." He said. "I'm assembling a pack. You can find me there. Or not." Tagg rolled his shoulders, and returned to his feet. He was no salesman, nor would he expect a pitch at his door should any of the wolves he invited show up. He pivoted, and at his leisure made to leave the younger wolf, having no want of simple conversation, preferring instead to tend to what he must as winter encroached.
Obviously Taggarik wasn't interested in rising to the bait.
Remiel glowered at the other wolf, ears set back and twitching at the distant sound of gulls and waves below the ridge of the cliffs. His own breathing was louder than usual in his head, until it hitched in his throat. A mountain range? A pack? Before he can even conjure up any questions, the stranger rose and made to leave. The hungry youth finally deflated as his anger and frustration left him. The fur on his shoulders settled and his ears flattened. He felt as if his heart had burned a hole through his stomach.
"... wait, what? Wait!" He hollers, but doesn't make to chase the other wolf. "Why?! You're so weird!" He cried. Remiel felt as if he was rooted in place. It wasn't as if he was welcome to follow the wolf, but he didn't want to stay here. He drew his chin against his chest and watched the retreating form in silence, brain addled with confusion.
Last post for me :)
The boy hollers after him, and he pauses for but a moment, long enough to turn his broad head and offer the younger wolf a subtle smile, and a soft chuckle before he continued on his way up the coast, toward the mountain range he spoke of. His path was undetermined; straight or winding it would depend on what he encountered along his way.