Wolf RPG

It was the law of the wild animal to resist change, to hold on to the safety and the security of what was known; but above that, there was the law to never stop moving ahead, to carry forward lessons but to not look back, and to do what was necessary to further life. So, while the silver and sable she-wolf had allowed herself the chance the mourn, she left behind the dead just as quick as she left her former home when it became apparent that remaining threatened her survival.

Her path was winding and tireless, calling upon all the stamina and endurance her ancestors had sewn into her species. For three moons she barely rested, and it showed in the thinness of her body. But at last, she have travelled far enough that the scent of man and their dogs ceased to exist, and it had been weeks since she heard the baying of hounds at her heels. She was not quick to let her guard down, and yet, as she entered a sprawling tract of stately trees, she felt that she was safe.

It was only mid afternoon, but the wild animal had no clock, and her legs bid her to rest. She scouted wide around a thicket, finding no fresh scent but that of rabbits. Satisfied, she circled in place and bedded down, tucking her sable legs and curling her tail until she was not but an inconspicuous shape amid the shadows of the brush. Her head remained aloft for a while but soon she laid her chin on the melting snow and dozed, but always with one eye and one ear open.

It was his intention to travel further south, but for the time being, the dog stuck close to the woods he was most familiar with. The stranger who had invited him to join his pack had not been back, nor had the proud female from the nearby boulder, so Prophet was left alone in silence much of the time, to either explore the woods or rest. This suited him, a solo ranger, quite well. He was becoming familiar with the general game in the area, smaller and faster than the muskoxen and caribou of home, but he was wise enough to not underestimate them. The fleet doe he spotted in the morning had seemed fragile, but it was faster and more alert than him, and reminded him of sturdy tundra ungulates enough that he dared not even waste his energy chasing one.

His focus was on small game instead. With shallow breaths, he dogged the nearly inaudible footsteps of some small critter or another with tall ears and poised body. His fur was dark and hid him well in the deep woods and he passed by tangles of wood and towering trunks with a predator's quiet manner. His quarry was aware of him, he could tell in the quickening pitter-patter of its feet, and he himself accelerated in an effort to close the gap. What he found when he rounded the next tree was not a fleeing hare, although he swore he saw a downy white hide disappear into the bushes, but a lump on the ground directly in his path.

His nose was assaulted with the scent at the same moment his hackles rose with alarum and he growled, surprised, and began a quick and choppy sidestep with his tongue flashing nervously to put distance between himself and the other.

One dark ear turned to the sound of a quick, soft whump, whump, whump that was growing louder. She lifted her head just in time to see a snow-white hare fly past her, as she had unwittingly bedded down across one of the trails the creature used to speed its escape from predators. She was immediately alarmed and was on her paws quickly, but not before the predator it was fleeing from barged in on her. She bolted, a silver and brown hare herself as she thrust through the brush, branches and twigs tugging at her fur and ears as she put distance between herself and the other wolf.

It was not until she felt she had gained enough ground for a suitable buffer did she chance a glance backward, and noticed that he was not chasing. Her supple sprint slowed into a bobbing lope and then she stopped, and turned to face him. Her ears pivoted, listening closely to her surroundings, as her green eyes appraised him from afar. He was similar to her in many ways, and did not appear threatening. She shook her coat, but she could not smell him, and her own tongue curled up to lick her nose while she watched him.

As he sidestepped, the fine-boned female took off, leaving him bereft of company. Prophet expected her to keep going until the silver-brown of her fur melded into the dark, never to be seen again, and so stilled his momentum to watch her retreat. She did the unexpected, though, and turned back with a graceful twirl of her paws. Their eyes locked momentarily but then the usual unease of holding another wolf's gaze crept up on him and he allowed his to drop, opening the floor up to the nameless woman. The scent of her lingered on the spot she had left and he approached it with deliberate steps, dipped his nose to the ground and inhaled, collecting vague information about her origin, her age, sex, and all those other pertinent things.

What was a name but something to refer to someone by? He didn't need it to feel like he had learned something of the skittish she-wolf. She was classified by scent and given a name in his own head—Rabbit, after the fleet thing that had catalyzed the encounter—and he had no need to further classify by name. Prophet was, however, a curious beast indeed and he took a slow step forward rather than leaving, parting a twiggy bush with one of his own svelte legs, and lowly said, "hello."

Her eyes followed the line of his snout as he inspected her prints; she would have done the same had his own trail been available to her. But if she wished to know him as he now knew something of her, she would need to be closer. The wind did not assist her this time, so her paws would compensate by padding forward, driven by curiosity and social inclination. He too, drew nearer, greeting with her a quiet hello.

Her tail was the first to answer. Following behind her comfortably, it was animated in a friendly sway as she approached. "Hello," she said. Her steps were hesitant out of respect, her pale eyes alert to any signal his body offered; but nothing was amiss to her and he did not seem unsettled that she would come near. Her slim muzzle extended as she closed the distance, her breath purposefully drawn to catch his scent.

Again he was surprised, pleasantly, by the fleet-of-feet wolf's response to him. While he gathered her scent from her resting place and the prints she had stamped into the ground, she drew nearer instead of dancing away. A wild part of him expected her to take the opportunity to disappear, for while he wasn't harmful by nature and didn't really believe in pleasures of flesh, he was still a predator and a male to boot. It wasn't uncommon for wolves to cross paths tensely without acknowledging each other, at least not where he was from. But Rionach stepped toward him instead, and when she stretched out her neck, he understood. She was as curious as he was about others.

His burnt chocolate fur rippled with tense agitation, something the nearness of any unknown wolf drew out of him, but Prophet held still but for edging forward a single paw. He was poised to dart forward should she take any unfavourable action toward him. Her soft voice lilted on the breeze and soothed some of his concern that she would turn aggressive, however, and he breathed light fog from his lips as he asked, "these woods yours?" There was no claim scent, but it only took one night for a drifting wolf to move in and begin setting up. Prophet could never be sure.

He only move was to creep nearer, stepping slightly astride of him so that her nose might be nearer to his shoulder, with her own available to him if he was so inclined.  She quietly sniffed at length, but his scent was primarily his and his alone, dusted with the earthy traces of the woods and the land he travelled. She had entertained the idea briefly that he had come from her home, but it was not so.

She drew back, having committed to memory general details about the wolf before her. She would know him now if she crossed him or his path again. He asked a question, and she lowered herself gracefully to her haunches, and shook her head in reply. "I flee from man. My home was three moons travel from here." Her narrow head canted slightly, here green eyes holding curiosity, but also trepidation. "Does man come through here?"

That single paw he had slid forward through the decayed leaf litter remained where it was, and after some time, he placed it more squarely. Rionach was not going to hurt him. If she had plans to do it, Prophet reasoned that she would have done it by now. A clever thought was never discounted but he gave others the benefit of the doubt and believed that sly tricks were left to the coyotes and foxes of the world. If hers had been to make him comfortable and then slay him when he was least expecting it, she would succeed at it.

Thus comforted by her lack of aggression, the man drew his paw back closer to his body and stood more sturdily. She spoke in a voice that was quiet and exotic to his northern ear, and also a hint of a draw to it. Prophet listened, then shook his head. "Not that I have seen," he assured, and it was true. Though the frigid north was not hospitable to man, they came often enough that even the Arctic wolves knew of them. They hunted the fat seals on the shore and sometimes even felled the mighty polar bears. They walked on spindly legs, upright like mobile trees, but shorter, and they command lesser hounds with stern words and jabs of their appendages.

Prophet had seen man but a handful of times and each time they instilled in him an unspeakable fear, but he had never been approached or harmed by one. When he couldn't see or smell them, they were far from his mind. If the slight silvery female was concerned about man, he could only imagine there was a good reason for it. "Why did you leave it?" he queried, curious to know if his guess was correct.

He had not seen any of mankind, but she did not trust just yet that this land was free of them. Not until she had scouted further south, and took her path east and west, would she be able to confirm that she had fled far enough. She did not endeavor to cohabitate with man anymore after what she had seen.

He inquired as to why she left, and though her gaze had drifted to glance through the trees around them, it returned to him. She flicked her tail. "Because it is not wise to stay where death is more probable than life," answered Rionach, who would not spill her life's story to this perfect stranger, and who would even hesitate to share many details at all to a close friend. To say again, it was law not to look back. The lesson she carried with her was that man was too dangerous to live near, too unpredictable, and certainly too vicious. Unlike a bear, a cougar, or even other wolves, it was difficult to avoid all of man's traps and tricks, and unlike these other predators, man seemed to kill for sport and sport alone. It was beyond her to understand that he perceived cattle to belong to him, and that her kind was persecuted for theft of his property.

"Why did you leave your home?" By his answer about man, she was not lead to believe that he had spent much time nearby at all.

"Hmm," he mused, and with a few coy steps he parted from Rionach's side, rounded a spindly tree and peered at her from around the other side of it. Her words rang true and any wolf worth their skin would be wise to follow such advice. To be a lone wolf anywhere was to be more likely dead than alive, though. Her answer didn't sate his curiosity, but even Prophet could tell when he was being deflected and he didn't deign to ask more. If ever they should cross paths again—and he sincerely doubted that they would in a world so wide as this—perhaps then he would inquire further.

She asked after his reasons and he grinned a lazy wolf grin. "Adventure," he breathed mysteriously, then tacked on, "to see the world, of course. What other reason to leave the comforts of home and family?" Except, as she said, danger. Danger was a good reason. But the tundra and the arctic beyond, though occasionally a haunt of man, were more dangerous for the sizeable bears and temperamental walruses that frequented it, and for the constant threat of starvation, all things he was accustomed to. His had been the largest pack by a single body. Hunting rights had been theirs even in the overlapping zones, but that didn't mean he hadn't come upon hard times.

Still, it was hard to think of even that as dangerous when his body was designed for it. No, Prophet had not left for danger nor in search of fame or fortune or a family or whatever other reason wolves dispersed from their packs. He had left to experience life, and that was all.

She watched with a slanted muzzle as he moved to behind a tree, her own paws turning in place so that she could face him. Her tail enlivened with a curious and playful aspect as he mentioned adventure. So, he had left by choice, when her choice would have been to remain where she was, secure in known surroundings. She was not a risk taker, not reckless, and she was intrigued by his brazenness.

"Who needs to see the world? Why leave where you have food, drink, pack? Where you know every tree and rock, and have memorized all the deer trails?" She questioned in a lilting tone. She may not agree with his way, but she did not mock him for it, and despite her disdain for some of the 'new' ways that wolves adopted, she was curious to a fault.

Her paws moved her nearer to him, and she made to round the tree, her bobbing posture playful.

He grinned lazily when she began a slow approach, and though her words touched his ears with no hint of mockery, Prophet pulled a face and pulled away from his tree as well. He began a weaving trot around the next tree, only to say, "why, to find better food, better drink and better deer trails, of course." His endgame was uncertain. His goals were short-term, usually, like finding a meal, a place to rest his head, a place to piss. His only long-term goal was to see as much of the world as he could. Whether that changed or not was up to those he encountered.

"Home is home," he offered with a shrug, "and the world could be better than home." He would understand if it was a sentiment she couldn't understand. After all, without saying so many words, he'd inferred that her departure from home was involuntary. That she would pine for the familiarity of natal lands and the promise of food and companionship was only natural, for hers was presumably wrenched from her by forces beyond her command. Comparatively, Prophet had chosen to leave, and that made all the difference in his perception.

Her ears flicked back momentarily at his answer. It was not something she could readily argue with, even if she thought him mildy foolish for pursuing the idea that the grass was greener on the other side. In her mind, if where you are provides what you need, then there is no reason to get greedy. She had been forced; with her food poisoned, her trails trapped, and her packmates slain or scattered, there was nothing left to stay for. She could only escape man and cheat death so many times.

She wound around the tree after him, the pair engaged in a lazy sort of cat and mouse as he moved and she followed. "It could be worse," she countered, lifting a brow at him. "You could leave looking for something better and starve. Or die of thirst. Or be killed." Besides her situation, there was only one other reason to disperse: to breed. Had he said he left for a chance to sire pups, she would have understood him better. For now, he was a strange enigma.

She suddenly dropped her haunches to the ground, ending the lackadaisical game. She wanted to tell him she thought his skull had been rattled as a pup, but instead... "So? Did you find any better food, drink, and deer trails?" She wiggled her ears, sitting primly with her forepaws together and her tail flicked around her.

"Perhaps," agreed Prophet in a voice that was low, smooth and utterly accepting of these potential predicaments. "But what's life without risk?" He was far from a daredevil but he knew in order to find something better he would need to put something on the line. His life was no better than that of any creature's. He licked his chops, contemplating the possibility of dying on the road, but there was nothing to living life if not discovery. For him, the northern wasteland was not the end game.

Rionach appeared to tire of their coy game of slow motion chase. As he dropped his own haunches to the stick-ridden ground, he was lanced with a bit of disappointment that she wouldn't endlessly follow him through the woods to ask questions of him. Being followed was an ego-booster for any man. It made them feel interesting. But Rionach ceased to follow and he allowed the game to fall to the wayside as he briefly attempted to read her expression in the wake of her question.

"I would not still wander if I had," he hummed, twisting his head around to regard her sidelong. "I will find them one day, the end to all my curiosity," of that he was certain.

Rionach chewed her lip, her eyes trained on him. Her tail gave a single flick as it switched to curl about the opposite haunch. His statement struck her so odd. Life always had risk. There was risk in merely taking to a stream bank for a drink. There was risk in running down a rabbit for a meal. Nothing anyone did was without risk. So, she could not imagine why anyone felt it necessary to look for more. She could only assume that his life had been easy, too easy in fact... and the intrigue she once felt toward his carefree ways shifted to offense as she was reminded of what she had just gone through.

"Must be nice," she sniffed, making no effort to conceal the bitter, jealous tone of her words as she rose to her feet. Her green eyes hard with scrutiny. "To live such a life. Nothing to worry about it. Not enough risk so you need to go be curious and see what risk can be found around the next tree..." She trailed off with a snort and strained expression that fought not to betray her pain. It was another wild law, to hide weakness and injury from all who could take advantage of it.

She did not allow him a chance to respond before she whirled away quickly, bolting like a spooked deer and refusing to slow or stop until, like the hounds before, she had outrun him.

The change in Rionach's demeanour was swift, and as he was observing her directly and wasn't quite so dense, he did not miss the offense that flashed across her features as she stood and excused herself with a scathing tongue. "Whatever you say," he said after her retreating figure. She misunderstood him, of course, but it wasn't something for which Prophet felt apologetic. He remained where he was for a time, rising only to investigate the scent her paws left on the ground, before tiring of the forest and deciding to find new sights elsewhere.

Within less than an hour he managed to banish thoughts of Rionach from his head, though he would always be left with a lingering unease over how she had denounced his reason for leaving home—a reason she herself had asked about, then made him feel wrong for.