Wolf RPG

For the first time, in a long time, a warm air rested over the valley accompanied by a picturesque cerulean sky practically devoid of wind. Even the tiny song birds were surprised at the unlikely weather, but they enjoyed it all the same. Little chirps and whistles signaled the first arrival of spring, although it was bound to recede when winter reclaimed its icy grip in the following weeks. It provided a good opportunity for Tuwawi to explore without being hindered by the elements. Already she had patrolled much of the Western half of the territory, and now she explored the Eastern side. An area where the creek ran slow, and a downed tree, provided a perfect bridge to access the unexplored part of Swiftcurrent's land.

During her excursion the three year old unexpectedly came upon an intriguing place -- a small purchase of land wedged betwixt a small grove of young beech trees. A few large boulders slept here as well, and the red head perched herself atop one to investigate. A few small shrubs of bramble scattered here and there, with long saplings growing in between. A perfect den site she thought to herself as she inspected the area, finding no one had yet to piss on it. For a moment she pondered if Njal owned a suitable home... but shrugged and smiled, thinking it unlikely her rugged husband would have fractured something for them both, as her arrival had been on rather short notice. This area would make a good home. Far away enough from the river to avoid flooding, and close enough to the heart of Swiftcurrent to avoid vagabonds.

Without further ado, the determined Tuwawi broke first ground (finding it somewhat thawed, but still difficult to work with), and began to sculpt the earth.

In his third effort to continue surviving this winter, Haunter had only just met Fox a few hours ago and gained asylum here at Swiftcurrent. It was the first pack he had crossed in over two weeks and he had sought entry right away. He cared not for the content of its members, but rather for the constant shelter he would be provided and the better chance at feeding himself—and to a lesser degree, his packmates—during his stay.

It was doubtful that the black dog would remain until spring, but he wasn't one to look too far ahead into the future. The miniscule Alpha had given him a couple tasks to tend to, but he figured he could save those until the next day. For now, he would spend what remained of the day's light to find himself a suitable den.

He was scouring dryer areas when he found her—a splash of red amongst the otherwise drab, winter-garbed scenery. He thought it was the Alpha (which was what initially made the one-earred wolf pause), but after staring for quite some time, and being unable to identify the scent of her, he realized it was someone else entirely. His ear twitched, and his acidic eyes followed her work quietly like some sort of stalking shadow. The stilt-legged stranger definitely seemed creepy in this fashion, though it was not the scarecrow's intention.

He would have moved on silently without disturbing her at all, but an itch at his hip caused the dark male to curl into himself slightly and gnaw loudly into his fur, teeth clicking as he preened through his shaggy fur and chased tiny, obnoxious vermin across his skin. It was a solid minute before he was done scratching, and turned again to face the den-digger.

At first, the earth turned easily beneath Tuwawi's paws. Lightly packed decaying autumn leaves still layered the ground under the melting snow, intermingled with the old burrows of small animals and their old acorn caches. However, soon the dirt became hardened from the frost as well as layered with the mangled roots of trees. Her work became strenuous, and it wasn't long before the Eta's paws ached from moving dirt. She had made some progress... but there was much left to be done.

So absorbed was she, that Tuwawi did not hear or smell the approach of the swarthy newcomer until he began to fervently itch at his pelt. The noise surprised the red crested woman, and caused her head to pop up from her shallow burrow, dusted with streaks of umber sand. At first, she was put on the defensive - his presence catching her off guard - but she began to slowly realize he minded her no heed. Tuwawi cocked her head, somewhat unamused by his aloofness. She approached, already slightly off put that someone mingled at her den site so soon after she had discovered it. "What are you doing? Trying to make yourself bleed?" the small woman chided as the stranger finished satisfying his itch. Tuwawi moved closer into his personal space with a steely gaze and a posture that reflected her higher rank. The man's scent was only faintly Swiftcurrent, and she became suspicious of his purpose - reflected in the narrowing of her almond eyes. "Mm, what it your name?" she asked as her vision traced his ragged and unkempt features.

She approached him, as hotly as her cape was red, and her storm-born eyes were locked tightly on him with an irritation that matched her tone of voice. Haunter averted his yellow gaze, aware of her higher position in the pack and yet unwilling to challenge it despite her size and his confidence that he could defeat her if he wanted. The tip of his tail wiggled nonchalantly, but his hackles had prickled, slightly defensive.

Of course he wasn't trying to make himself bleed—a question he ignored entirely—but when had invaded his personal bubble, he peered sidelong at her face, noting the scars that littered the right side of her face; the same side of his own skull that had been rent of its ear. His remaining one twitched, and he kept his eyes off hers, as respectfully as the feral wolf could manage.

"Haunter," he answered in his gravelly monotone, not returning the question because... well, his social skills were little to nonexistent.

Only a single word slipped from the man's jaws as chose not to acknowledge Tuwawi's scolding. Haunter, he called himself — a somewhat unconventional name for a wolf... at least to Tuwawi. She would have guessed something Inuit based on his dark appearance, given her time spent in Tartok. "Mm," she hummed acknowledging his answer. Lucky for Haunter, she didn't require a prompt for an introduction, "I'm Tuwawi... Sveijarn," she answered him with a slight pause before uttering her new surname. She was still breaking it in.

The smaller painted woman backed away, appeased by his display. "You are new to the Creek," she stated as her tongue rolled over her chops casually, "Where are you from?" A sentiment of distrust still hung in the back of her mind, and her gaze tracked the shadow closely. Despite this, she was curious of his heritage and what role he thought to play within Swiftcurrent.

Tuwawi. He committed the name to memory, if only because he thought this was what he was supposed to do as a pack wolf. He had never been much good at remembering names or even faces for that matter, especially given the fact that anyone hardly ever introduced themselves to him or did him any sort of good. The first seventy-five percent of his life had been spent in fights or corned by the mistrust of his black fur and leering yellow eyes. So he was used to Tuwawi's wariness, and it did not bother him that she was acting slightly defensive.

He bobbed his head slowly to her statement, keeping any vocalization to himself, until she further pressed him for information he would've rather not shared. "From the east and to the north," he said vaguely, though after two years of travel—and having not been a part of Hollow Mountain for quite some time now—it seemed fruitless to mention any particular area.

After a moment he motioned his long muzzle towards her well-placed den, after deciding to try his paw at being some sort of social. (This was what a pack was about, after all.) "Your digging make you hungry?" he asked, by way of inviting her to a hunt on such a clear day.

Haunter's vague explanation of his heritage was of no consequence to Tuwawi. She hadn't expected a full pedigree, or anything beyond the single sentence he had offered. It was enough that he had answered willingly, and so she nodded in affirmation, satisfied. He was an ominous creature, but would be a good asset to Swiftcurrent.

Tuwawi's eyes followed his, back to her half-dug den. She shook her coat at the sight and sent small bits of earth back to their maker. Already, her paws hurt from just the thought of how much work sill needed to be done, so she was relieved when he proposed a hunt. "Ah, pleassee yes," she exclaimed swinging her head around in an overtly melodramatic way, a wry grin painted on her crooked muzzle. "There were some mule deer tracks around here the other day. Seemed like they were heading towards the meadow in the south. Want to try those?" Although the smaller breed of deer didn't leave well worn paths like its other relatives, its size would be easier for the two of them to handle. If they were lucky, they might be able to catch one heavy with fawn. It was Spring, after all. Although perhaps Haunter had something else in mind.

Not used to seeing smiles in his presence, when the small Tuwawi turned back towards him and was grinning, Haunter was slightly confused at its latency. He might've smiled back, but his features didn't support the expression, so his face remained more or less neutral against her genteel countenance. Still, because he felt her joy, the tip of his tail began to wag, which soon traveled along the entire appendage as she explained the sighting of mule deer. Her idea sounded far better than what he'd had in mind, which was to wander about until they each found something to individually partake in.

He nodded in affirmation of her choice and then began to slowly lope south as she had directed. His long legs moved in deliberate gradualness to accommodate the length of her shorter ones, but she was a spry individual, and hardly needed the compensation. He looked at her sidelong, and in an effort to further become acquainted with those he was living with, asked: "have you been with the Creek long?"

Although Haunter offered little expression upon his inky face, the gentle wag of his banner was enough to interpret his interest. Again, it made Tuwawi recount her time spent with Siku's wolves in Tartok... there had been little need for a verbal words as well, and it spurred her to become perceptive of other's body language, fluent in time. She was a creature born between two worlds, although she felt better seated in the plains than the mountains.

Tuwawi moved at Haunter's side, her brisk trot keeping in time with the man's longer strides. He move like his name suggested, ebbing as if he was just a shadow beneath the pines. The ember casually buffered against his coal-coated shoulder when their direction changed, warming up to the new recruit. His tact and intuition were appreciated. 'Have you been with the Creek long?' the shade queried in his baritone voice. "Not long. A few weeks, maybe," she started as he silver eyes lifted into the corners to try and remember. Time always went by so fast. "I moved here when Neverwinter Forest disbanded, and found my mate Njal," she explained, face softening at the mention of her husband. "We had been seperated a long time."

Slowly, the musk of deer began to grow, and Tuwawi's pace became careful as she tested the wind to consider if they needed to change their position.

Not used to impromptu touching, he found himself glancing at Tuwawi when she wasn't looking, each time their shoulders brushed or connected. It made him feel strange because it wasn't unpleasant and it didn't make him want to rip her slender little head off, which was a new sensation for the newly accepted wraith. Usually touching him elicited some sort of violence, but this was neither aggressive nor truly affectionate, so he found his mind wandering to yet-untouched ground, confused and interested all at once. Was this what it meant to be in a pack? To be fond of those around you even if they weren't your blood?

Haunter wouldn't know, because not only had his birth-pack hated him, but his family had as well. Kindness was a foreign concept to the aging male, one he was just only now beginning to understand.

He grunted as she told him how long she had been here, and then mentioned her mate, whose name he had heard from Fox when she had asked him to patrol. He wasn't quite social enough to offer any condolences or otherwise on her renewed relationship with Njal, but Haunter seemed engrossed with her story, his one ear held tall and attentive. He was trying to think of what to say, when the scent of deer came onto them stronger, fresher than before, and his silence became deeper as even his breaths quieted in a hunter's fashion.

There was no need for talk now. With a last, meaningful touch of their bodies, the two wolves instinctively parted for the hunt, eager to take tactfully opposite sides on the small herd and begin their breath-taking chase.

Silence was cast between the pair when the aroma of prey became stronger with each progressive footstep. Tuwawi spoke nothing else - knowing that the hearing of their target was sensitive, and they would surely be found out if she continued. The fond thoughts of Njal were set aside momentarily as her athletic body assumed the posture appropriate their breed; hawk-like and focused, coiled like a pistol. Only a simple look was shared between like-minded eyes before the two strewn apart in either direction, like wildfire and smoke, hungry for success.

Hunting with enigma was as natural as how the creek flowed through Teekon. Swift and strong, without hesitation or thought. Their pattern divided seamlessly as they moved towards their stations, experienced hunters on the prowl with expert precision. Tuwawi moved cautiously between thin cover, stopping only when the lumbering beast stirred. Patience was a virtue, but also a necessity, and so the Eta took her time. Finally she crouched beneath a low-laying pine, dilated gaze locked with purpose. The dark shadow of Haunter's ruff crested her vision, and became the catalyst for the chase.

Tuwawi burst from her lookout, silent like a bird of prey but with the deadly intent of any predator. The smaller does scrambled, surprised that a wolf had loomed so close as they grazed, and struggled to find footing. When they did, their sinewy forms took off, but the Swiftcurrent woman worked had to flank them towards her partner, eager to ensnare the fattest one.

It was natural, almost easy hunting with Tuwawi. She was small, but seemed capable—and though he could not see or know her position, the smooth, soundless way in which she had reacted to his own movements before their splitting, led him to trust that she had tactfully placed herself. Haunter hadn't often hunted with other wolves, but it came as innately as breathing did, and having had to survive more or less on his own for the last four years, he had become a very skilled hunter in his own right. He was glad not to be dealing with an amateur—a she-wolf built to run, made to hunt.

And she did not disappoint; herding the frightened herd right into his wide and willing jaws. Most of them had scattered, a lot of them sticking together in their weaving flee, but Tuwawi had targeted a plump doe, round with a growing fawn, and she goaded the bounding quarry close to where she had last seen Haunter's hunched shoulders—and there he was to receive their prize.

Launching himself forward, the deer bleated with fear and the sense of impending doom as his jaws met the base of her long neck, teeth not quite lodging into her jugular. But the force of his jump and the two creatures combined weight had thrown them both off-balance and sent them to the ground with the doe's front hooves barely missing his stomach and grazing his side with no injury to him to speak of. He held on—forcing the doe to remain trapped with him as it struggled to get up—and waited precious seconds for Tuwawi to come and finish the job.

Adrenaline flowed through Tuwawi's veins unabated as she gave chase. Sinew stretched while tendons absorbed the shock of her footfalls, a creature designed to hunt and kill — fined tuned by three years on this earth and sculpted by its hardships. Hunting in this way was something of a specialty for the Kindred raised wolf, who had acted one of the packs quartermasters during its reign. The training had been hard, but it left the robust woman with a particularly useful trade, as her figure revealed itself well suited for such a skill. Now, her inky lips curled, fangs asunder, as she tore after their quarry with deadly intent. The dear cried out as it struggled to speed away, only for its exit to be cut off by the red wolf's partner.

Haunter, who had been hidden in the shadows, was nothing but a wisp of smoke as he swiftly intercepted the doe, well carved muscles flexing while the obsidian hunter grappled for a hold. The man's strength allowed him to find purchase easily, sinking his enamel into the deer's supple cervical in a tactical move. His vibrant eyes were wild with hunger for success, but remained sharp and intuitive as he held fast, felling the creature with a single pounce and sending them both to the floor. The frail legs of the mother doe flailed fruitlessly, her rectangular pupils wide with fear as she looked into the jaws of death.

Like a blaze of wildfire, Tuwawi skidded to slow her juggernaut approach, nearly flipping over the doe in a somewhat overzealous stunt. Yet, she recovered easily and immediately clamped her slim muzzle upon the doe's trachea, teeth rending muscle and flesh apart as the jugular oozed vibrant, well-nourished blood onto her palate. The beast continued to struggle as its life slowly ebbed away, assisted by the shock it endured, and soon it left her mortal shell completely. However, it was still warm beneath her assailants, her underdeveloped child surely still alive as well.

Their pursuit had been quick, calculated, and successful — everything a hunt should always be, and it spurred the Swiftcurrent woman's chest to swell as she savored the sweet taste of victory. Haunter had proven himself to be more than an able warrior, and even though they had only just met, the specter had already earned himself a favorable place of respect in Tuwawi's mind. Heavy huffs of breaths made her nostrils flare as she remained attached for a few lingering moments following the doe's death, releasing her grip when satisfied.

Tuwawi took a step back to admire their work, blood stained tongue rolling over her chops in a contented way. Her almond eyes looked to the sooty ghost to share an expression of gratification, a subtle tip of her head acknowledging his fine work. There would be plenty of food to share between them, and enough leftover if other members of Swiftcurrent joined in. The huntress reclined for only a few minutes before rounding their supper to greedily pluck away at the haunch's fur with little chomps of her front teeth.

From the corner of his eye, the red-caped crusader of this hunt, swept down like some small, vicious peregrine, and latched firmly onto the life-giving spot just above Haunter's own jaws. He felt no irritation from being able to make the kill himself, as Tuwawi's jaws were just as capable as his own, and he felt the same amount of pride and hunter's joy as she did when fresh blood trickled down over his clenched muzzle and face. The two wolves held on—with Haunter slowly easing himself from between the doe's weakening forelimbs—as she died, giving her life, as well as her unborn child's, to the wolves and their pack.

He released the ungulate's punctured chest a moment before his partner freed her throat, and he stood back with a hungry tongue swiping his jaws repeatedly as the small female admired their handy work. Quite a team the couple had made, and Haunter was glad for their success where he had failed many times on his own. This was what it meant being in a pack; because when you excelled you did not excel on your own and did not have to share the joy with only yourself. Likewise, if they had failed, Haunter wasn't sure where he would've put the blame, but this thought wasn't presently in existence because they had indeed succeeded.

As she was his superior, she had immediate dibs on the kill. He wasn't presently starving, so made no objections to the matter. He sat down on his own haunches as Tuwawi began to dig into the lifeless doe's meaty haunch—his yellow eyes continuously eyed the belly, as he would enjoy ripping apart some of the underdeveloped fawn himself—and he waited patiently until it was his turn.

The two would have their fill and then divide the rest for their pack and leave whatever was left to the wandering scavengers of the earth.

Haunter waited patiently, as the rules and rites of their breed declared, as Tuwawi began to eat. Yet it wasn't long before he joined in, as well, to feast on their bounty. The two wolves made quick work of their quarry, consuming the choice organs for themselves while leaving hardier fare to be cached away underground. The cardinal dressed woman savored the richness of the meal she voraciously consumed while the bouquet of scarlet blood shamelessly smothered her maw. There was a certain palate to their supper — the flesh generously laced with the first herbs of Spring, and it made it all the more delicious.

Eventually Tuwawi's belly became rotund, her appetite sated. It gurgled merrily as she reclined, content to rest for many hours to digest the enormous meal. She took a piece of the leftovers to store by her newly dug den, leaving the rest to their pack and the earth. Then, Tuwawi departed, but not before offering Haunter a good-meaning farewell and the silent wish to hunt with him again in the near future.