Wolf RPG

It was late—very, very, very late. It was so late it was early. The sun would come up in an hour or so. Peregrine hadn't slept in what felt like days, and he was exhausted. But his mind and heart were finally clear... well, relatively, at least. He felt he had arrived at a sound resolution. Now he just needed to find Fox and sit her down. When he thought of her, his chest did a funny thing. He ignored it.

Using his nose—which actually seemed new and improved, in spite of its gnarly state—he tracked her down and found her snoozing near the edge of the rendezvous site. For a (creepily) long time, he just stood back and watched her sleep. He thought of how much she had hurt him. His chest did that fluttery thing again.

Steeling his jaw, Peregrine walked up and gave her nearer ear a sharp tug. When that didn't elicit a reaction of any kind, he looked around to make sure nobody else was around and slapped her square on the ass. "Wake up, @Fox!" He took half a step back, then dropped the ever ominous, "We need to talk," on her.

Stalking a wolf was a level 80 Wrath of the Lich King undertaking - and the wolf in question was a worthy adversary. Judging by his formidable beard, Peregrine was pushing six or seven - an era in wolf years and enough time to sprout eyes in the back of one's head. Shar-Kali had at least six, and used them regularly.

She had yet to spend significant time with Peregrine. His status within the pack seemed to be in limbo, and the gossip girl in her was itching to find out what had gone down. She was a retired woman now - technically, anyway - and neither bingo nor CSI could really hit the spot.

He moved through the night like a shadow - Shar-Kali followed behind, keeping her distance. Was he going to meet an age-inappropriate bit on the side, or plotting to sell his pack into slavery? Oh, the possibilities!

Unfortunately, the wolf in Peregrine's sights was.. his wife. It wasn't as juicy as a off-site tryst, but the first thing he said to Fox caught the elder's attention. We need to talk. Them's fighting words. Shar-Kali hunkered down to listen, poised on folded legs like a cat on a railing. It seemed the leading pair would be airing their dirty laundry in public.