Wolf RPG

There was a large plain of grass to the north that instantly caught her attention as she wandered away from the glen and across a river. It was unlike the others she had seen around her homeland; it was not green, but a muted gold that still dazzled underneath a winter sky. Quiet made an excited chirrup, almost like a bird, as she gazed over the grassland. It seemed to be endless - covering miles upon miles of land that rolled upward with hills and swept down into valleys. The blades of grass were tall, and from this distance they looked tall enough to even tower over her. The coywolfdog trotted towards the tall grass, parting the leaves and jumping into the grass. She hoped to herself that she wouldn't get lost admidst the golden blades.

It was not all verdant grass and hedges. Charred openings of land told her that a fire once ravaged the grassland. It must have been a terrible sight to see, especially if any creature lived her. She walked through the golden land, unaware that once this had been considered a waste by its former inhabitants. She strode through golden grass, then charred wastes, over and over and over again. It seemed endless.

There was one thing of note. In the middle of another pile of charred land, was a blackened pile. Intrigued, the coywolfdog began sniffing it, her nose pressing against what she assumed was charcoal. She had no idea of the memories it had, the significance it made, or what it truly was. It was just a bunch of ash to her.

Even though he had returned home, being a scout remained in Cicero's blood. He enjoyed going out, and truthfully, it distracted him from some of the wories and shame that lay within Blackfeather Woods' dark depths for him. He had nearly attacked Kove when he had been awakened by him, fearful of the white wolf that had taken Sheogorath, taken him, the nameless wolf that would most likely forever remain without name. To go out and explore distracted Cicero from those heavy subjects, and since he was a scout he could fulfill his duties to the pack at the same time.

The scent of charcoal was heavy in the air along the plains. Cicero knew that the storms of many months ago had ravaged much, and that some territories had been laid bare by its strength. The young Scout approached a ruddy wolf that stood among the ashes, looking as though they had never seen such tragedy before. There was something poetic about the scene in itself; the blackness and greytones and the ruddy tones that stood out from them. "Fire can be a cruel mistress," Cicero said as he stepped through the ashes towards the ruddy wolf. There was no threat in his body language, although he was wary of the stranger (Cicero hadn't yet realised that Burke's scent clung heavily upon their fur, like his).

Quiet nosed the bones, sneezing as ash and charcoal seeped into her nostrils, the sound unapologetically adorable from the small creature. Backing away from the crumbling structure, the hybrid rubbed her nose gently, snorting out more of the black-toned dust as she did. A voice from the opposite side of the bones distracted her briefly from her task - a wolf, arrayed in a motley of blacks, grays, and whites, with dual-toned eyes like her own, stood there, observing the bones almost philosophically. Quiet, her paw still raised near her muzzle (which was now blackened with soot), chirruped back in greeting, placing her paw back on the ground.

Upon approach Cicero realised that the female was smaller than he. Considering his own size, it was not often that he ran into wolves that were much smaller than him. The female offered a silent greeting, and only upon his approach did Cicero realise that the scent of Burke lingered about her. He must have missed her as she had left, assuming that she was a Blackfeather recruit. Judging by her reaction, she had not met him -- or Sheogorath -- before, which was a relief.

Cicero curiously looked at the bones that she had uncovered, interested in their origins. He took a step forward, making sure to keep his body language neutral so that she would not feel her personal space too invaded, and carefully nosed the bones too, wondering what sort of animal they must have been of.

As the mottled wolf approached, Quiet shifted to the side, noticing his intended target - the charred bones she had been sniffing. Wrinkling her nose and once more snorting, her nasal passage was cleared, letting her sniff the wolf's pelt. Burke's familiar smell greeted her, causing her to wag her tail slightly in a more personal greeting. A member of her pack! She had not met many of her packmates, being the reclusive spy she was, so seeing another so far away from their dark realm was exciting to her. Perhaps he was another spy like her!

Quiet chuffed softly, a questioning tone entering the sound, asking the wolf what he thought it was, if he understood.

There was a change in the wolf's demeanour, and Cicero understood that she must have smelled that he, too, was part of Blackfeather Woods. A smile passed his lips, and he opened his mouth to say something or other, but closed it again upon realising that she was not a wolf of many words. It did not matter much to him, for although he enjoyed philosophical conversations, Cicero could also appreciate simply sharing moments. He, himself, was not a wolf of many words, after all, even if Sheogorath often was.

Cicero looked up at the silent wolf when she chuffed, and he glanced back at the bones that they had been sniffing. He liked that she was the curious type, like he himself, too. "Perhaps an unlucky wolf," he suggested, for the bones seemed large enough. But truthfully, it could be many other things, too; Cicero knew little specifics when it came to such bones, so it may as well've been a large fox or even an animal of prey, for he found no traces of a head -- from which size could be more easily told -- so far. What knowledge he had of naturalism lay in another area than deciphering bones of the dead -- a more painful and deadly one.

Quiet had seen fires before - they often swept through the thick forests and grasslands that surrounded her birthplace and the many places she worked - but she had never seen the results. Often they moved far away from the charred zone and wouldn't return to it, well, ever. It took years for a recently burned area to be restored to its previous brilliance, long past a wolf's lifetime she heard. Never before had she seen charred skeletons of any kind. It amazed her that such an element could destroy even bone. She chuffed in response, though not in agreement. These bones could have belonged to anyone. It was too late to tell.

The bones soon lost his interest, for it looked as though he could never tell what they once were, anyway. Cicero was not sure whether the other wolf's silence was comforting or disconcerting. He was left to philosophise on his own, for his words fell to deaf ears (or at least, would they not, no answer would come). He wondered aloud, "Does the silent wolf never speak?" And, would she say yes, his next question: "Is the silent wolf unable or unwilling to speak?" Later he would perhaps find out the pack had already dubbed her a name, but due to his recent absence from the pack for now, Cicero knew nothing about her.

Quiet felt slightly apprehensive as the wolf's attention left the bones entirely and focused on her. The little hybrid tilted her head, wondering what the wolf wanted with her. His intentions became clear as he asked her about her muteness - he wondered what was the reasons behind her doctrine of silence, a choice or something placed upon her since birth. Quiet nodded at his first question, then tipped her head back slightly and gestured towards her neck and shaking her head in a familiar set of movements: she could not speak.

Cicero smiled as the silent wolf answered his questions willingly. It was a strange thought, another wolf that was not able to respond in words. He thought it fascinating, though he did not say so, instead merely nodding.

Considering her interest in the lands, Cicero decided to answer some questions she might have. She seemed new, so she might not have known of the storms. "There was a large storm that caused fire here, and in other places near."

The information the mottled wolf gave not only confirmed her suspicions on what had happened, but expanded her realm of thinking in terms of this storm. She knew of powerful ones - had seen them happen - but she wondered how much of this land, this Teekon Wilds, was effected by the storm. She wondered if Blackfeather Woods itself was effected in someway. But of course, like many of her other questions, it would go unasked, leaving Quiet to chuff in response, her mismatched eyes wandered across the Plains in search of more charred bones and signs on the burned dead.

The information seemed pleasing enough, and Cicero watched her as she looked across the lands. He found himself wondering if the ingestion of ash would serve as a poison, but could not find answers before trying such. He sniffed the ashes, which elicited a sneeze, and licked some of them off his nose. They tasted of almost nothing, really, and so he did not think that they were really dangerous. Unless, perhaps, they were from a poisonous tree, but even that would make it hard to use as poison.

Instead of lingering on the ashes, Cicero looked around at what was between them. He soon found a few leaves sticking out of the ashes, having survived, of a plant he knew to be poisonous. Glancing over to the silent wolf, he said, "Only the strong survive." And, in this case, the painful ones; or even deadly if he'd have a whole bunch more plants.

Quiet scanned the horizon, her back to her unknown packmate as he, unbeknownst to her, sniffed through the ashes, intent on poisoning himself. She was focused on looking for more scorched earth, interested in what trail the storm took through the Wilds and what the magnitude of its path of destruction was. But at the sound of his voice once more, she turned back, barely noticing the smear of ash on his muzzle. Quiet chuffed in agreement, walking over to the mottled wolf and gesturing in the direction of Blackfeather Woods, wondering if he would allow her to escort him there.

She seemed to carry little interest in the poison that he had just found, and he did not blame her. When she turned towards Blackfeather Woods, clearly intent on going there, Cicero said: "Wait." He started to dig among ashes and dirt until he unearthed the plant so that he could bring it home.

Without another word Cicero grabbed the plant by its roots, knowing only the leaves to be poisonous, and chuffed to announce that he was now ready to go home.

The wolf called for her to wait, and Quiet did, looking back as the ashen wolf acquired a plant. Curious, but unable to ask her questions, Quiet simply set forth through the plains south-and-east, back towards their dark home. He must be a healer for the pack, or at least scavenging for herbs. It was not in her place to ask questions, heard or unheard.

Satisfied to have rescued the plant from the ashes, Cicero followed the quiet wolf and together they started on heading in southeast direction, home. Once they would reach it Cicero would make sure to preserve the herb properly. He was pleased with his find for he hadn't any of this type in his caches and so it seemed a good way to expand. Maybe later he would check if there were more herbs of this type there that he could bring home and dry for his poison caches.

Quiet wondered who the wolf was. Their pack was of a moderate size - she was certain that she had not met everyone in the pack just yet. To her they seemed as a family, literally. She would not be surprised if more than Burke and his children were related — that being said where was the mother of said children?

If there was one thing that always frustrated her about her silence, it was her inability to ask questions. Sure, she would be fine with not revealing important information, but there were so many things that she would like to ask that were trapped within her brain, unable to make the journey through her mouth. She looked back at the mixed-colored wolf, a fleeting glance, but to her it was a way of directing all of her unasked questions to him for a brief second: Why are you so far from Blackfeather? What is that plant for? Who is, was? Burke's mate? Who are you?

But Quiet kept walking, as she always did, towards her new home. She couldn't dwell on this for long anyway.

The questions fell to deaf ears, so to say, for Cicero did not know that she carried them. He took his poisonous plant home and since he carried it, he could not easily speak and so they carried on home in silence. Cicero did not mind the silence even in the presence of another, for it comforted him in ways, and did not break it even as they reached Blackfeather Woods and he continued on to his cache to bury the herb.