Wolf RPG

Once upon a lovely time, Goldhawk had trod these very borders in search of a home, and had been a gnat's breadth from getting one. Such was the strength of Donnelaith's numbers, they hadn't had room in their ranks for the roaming soldier, and so he'd moved on with honours, eventually (through a series of emotional events and an encounter with mortality) settling at another pack, Neverwinter Forest. But Goldhawk had not forgotten the premature stab of loyalty he'd felt for Donnelaith, a pack that had sounded so like his previous one. And so, while it wasn't the done thing, Goldhawk wanted to show his quiet fondness for this pack he'd never known.

It was very early in the morning — the sky was still dark, and strewn with pale silver stars. Goldhawk, whose lovely coat shimmered in the darkness, moved silently over the fields that separated Donnelaith and Neverwinter. In his jaws was clamped a large, young hare, freshly killed. He hadn't hunted it on Neverwinter territory, and he certainly hadn't taken it from their caches — this little gesture was Goldhawk's alone, and had nothing to do with the handsome new pack he'd been welcomed into. So on he ventured, keeping considerable distance from the marked borders, and keeping his eyes out for any patrollers. Only when the coast was well and truly clear did he make his move — venturing closer until he was only a tree's breadth from the border of Donnelaith. Then he placed the fresh prey delicately on the thin grass, cast one last gaze at the choppy shores beyond, and turned his back to leave.

He was swift to do so — for he wanted this gesture to be a silent one, and not one he should receive any kind of praise for. But Goldhawk had accidentally left behind two things. One: a pure gold strand of fur, draped across the dead hare's nose. And two: the remnants of a wish for days long gone.

morning had long advanced, the sun's golden rays oblong and slanted as it pierced through the gloomy brume of the forest. the hills lolled silently in a ghostly glimmer and out to the sea lumbering gouts of fog rose and fell like the shapes of distant and goliath whales. tachyon had enjoyed the tranquility the morning offered, and before long he found himself trailing along the border in his morning walk. he had gone along the eastern breach before noticing the scent of a comrade he recognized. curious but not at all alarmed, the pale druid traced the fading scent until at length he came upon a butchered hare. he nosed the offering carefully, a wistful and gentle grin supplanting on his broad features. quietly the wolf raised his head and scanned the vicinity, as if looking for any trace of goldhawk's departure. unfortunately the cheery fellow was long gone and the only company tachyon had was the lifeless present the noble wolf had left upon donnelaith's borders.