Wolf RPG

On the cusp of Donnelaith, Malachi watched through a furrowed gaze. The land lay cursed before him, and though new growth showed in buds and sprouts, the world groaned as if waking from winter, though summer came fast upon them. He knew not what ravaged the land, only that the Wilds were exactly like he had left them - bare, and frozen in time, without the snow to blanket them. And that was enough to make the Kalderon worry.

The salty sea stung his eyes. He had never intended to return to the ocean, but one gaping stare at the land's desecration had tunneled his thoughts on the Mayfairs, on their growing children, and on the tiny faces of their newest kin he had never mustered the courage to see. And so he had ventured deep into the land plagued with famine, and to a family he realized he cared more for than he thought.

So when his heart wrestled with him now, Malachi resisted the easy press to turn away. He gave a final sweeping over the landscape, a sight that brought tension to his jaw. He had left them moments before their greatest need. He could only hope they would forgive him for that, and Malachi tipped his head to the sky and rent a howl through the cool dusk air, for @Lasher or @Dante, or for whoever would choose to meet him there.

though the call had not been for her, she had heard her fathers name in its notes; and so the fair nymph moved in its direction, the wind as her guide. in little time did she arrive before the handsome visitor at their doorstep--she had no idea that he had run with her father and dante before she was a twinkle within the eye of either parent.

though she was young, she carried plenty of gumption in her place within donnelaith the older she became. she was this forests witch--one of them--and one of the woods many protectors. she did not, by the look of her, appear to be a child. she had the build of a woman, perhaps prematurely, and so to the eye would not look to be a girl. her voice, however, would betray her in its youthful trill--though she did not think the way she developed any sort of guise, or strange by any means. some leered at her for her beauty, others looked away--though the latter would be because of their knowing that she was still a child yet.

my father or dante--perhaps both, if we are lucky--will surely come to us soon. what is it that you have come for...? she queried preemptively, keeping a fair distance from the man, surely to the comfort of her father.

There was a call for his father and his right hand – but Constantine was never far from the duties that called to him, and so the aspiring Mercenary quickened his pace, despite the fatigue and ache of his malnourished form. The foliage of the lands had only now begun to recover, and while it spurned hope in the heart of the young wolf, he could only wonder if it had come too late and they were doomed – but he would not turn from his family.
 
The caller had been an agouti wolf – one that pulled at familiarity, though the dark Mayfair could not place it. He pulled up alongside his younger sister, who now, almost at six months, was growing in to the fair wolf she would be. His ear would flicker in the direction of her soothing voice, and Constantine would not make an attempt to interrupt – instead, his form would linger protectively at her side, his eyes studying the rogue before them with mild intrigue.

loss and hunger had hardened lasher, against his will. his body had thinned and haggardness had settled onto him as if it were some ashen, ugly veil. he found himself strident, irritable, emotional; the hacking cough lingered, as did unshed tears of dread and of frustration.

malachi's howl came at one such time, and ire boiled in lasher at the sound of it. the man had stayed at the very fringes of the blacktail pack; he had never participated. and his time with them had been scarce, unremarkable. now he sought a home in their midst, lasher assumed -- his stride lengthened and it was with anger that he came upon his son and his daughter greeting the prodigal.

"you left us when we needed you most," the druid growled in a dark tone quite unlike him; but he could not help it! the rage and pain of the past month had tolled the man until he had twisted into a shell of himself.

He was not ready for the one who approached. His first thoughts turned to Eilidh, but there were differences in this woman and a lack of recognition that told him this was not her. Yet this one spoke of a similar beauty, and though he could have appraised her for a much longer time, Malachi averted his gaze. Graceful as she was, she remained a creature of value, and he refused to stare, knowing he would want the same done to him if he had been born with a grace as captivating as she.

His gaze fell instead to the dark wolf who drew up beside her, and his heart twisted. Starvation clung to Lasher's son like it did the rest of the Wilds, and Malachi felt the familiar stir of guilt burn the base of his ears. His heartbeat quickened - what had he done in leaving this family behind?

The woman spoke, but surprise could not tear the pain from his eyes when he turned to her. A child - was this one of Lasher's own? The thought she had survived brought little relief to the Kalderon, whose body already churned with shame. "I - "

It was all he could say before Lasher phased through the skeletal trees. Malachi's voice caught in his throat, and a cool dread crawled up his legs and spread through his body until all he could do was avert his eyes from the sunken leader and cave to the ground in shame and contrition. He had no defence to Lasher's accusation; his pack had given him mercy and a second chance, and he had repayed them with desertion. "I see that now." He did not deserve to receive their forgiveness, as he hadn't his father's nor Tuwawi's nor Scarlett's. "I spurned your kindness. I was a coward." He knew full well Lasher's wrath was justified, and he subjected himself to the Mayfair's ire. The words he wished to say over and over went unspoken - I'm sorry - and he dared not look upon any of the three, but kept his gaze settled on the dusty ground.

she had spoken true -- for very soon, she was joined by one, her brother, who she looked to with love and warmth... and next, her father! though the times had been cruel to him, deirdre looked to the man with adoration, admiration, and love each. for he was the scaffold to all. her mother had gone, and she wondered if the willow would return to them, and only prayed that she would. for deirdre loved her mother, heart and soul. but she did not worry for her; blue willow was strong, and surely she did as many would in this time, seeking green life to bring to them. this was simple supposing, but she had faith in her mother. 

deirdre wilted at the anger her father displayed, and looked next to malachi with a measure of surprise. her father knew this man! deirdre did not, however, but was aware of the meaning her father thrust like a sword at malachi. there was only an apology given, only shame to be seen, and deirdre, though small, exhibited a measure of calculated fierceness here, protective over donnelaith, over her father. well -- what are you now? are you a coward still? what will you, to show us otherwise? her questions had merit, and yet belatedly she realized she might have been out of line. the tone was not cruel or unkind -- there was genuine interest, here! they must know these things, surely he understood that! she looked to her father and dipped her head some, preparing for perhaps deserved chastisement. for she was a child, still, and had much to learn.

the man spoke, and while he showed contrition, lasher was overcome with anger. constantine stood close, a quiet and stalwart presence, and while he looked to deirdre, she had not spoken out of turn. this was the family whom malachi had abandoned, the clan of mayfairs upon which he had turned his back, and though taltos' heart was apt to turn soft, today was not that day.

malachi's words broke upon the rocky shores of the druid's mounting frustration, and he shook his muzzle, eyes burning with a savagery he did not oft feel. "there is no place for you here."

Malachi glanced at the youth when she spoke to him, and he furrowed his brow. Her very questions stung his mind, and had ever since he had left his family so many seasons ago. To hear them from another made their weight press upon him. To Malachi it felt like he'd been equal coward and fool all his life - so what could he do to show these wolves he could be otherwise? Words would be empty; he could only act, but what chance did he have, when Lasher did not appear willing to give him a second chance?

The ire that seeped from the dark man beckoned the Kalderon to tuck tail and accept the fate that he had finally messed everything up. There were no second chances now - but the challenge of the youth remained a louder thought, and a forsaken determination welled inside, one he had repressed since he'd led his brother to his death back in the Vale. His family had called him a fool for following his heart, but if he could choose the path of a fool or a coward, he would take the one that didn't leave him shrinking in self-pity and fear. He was sick of what he'd become, overwhelmed with his problems and unable to live because of the mistakes that piled like boulders on his shoulders. He wasn't the man he'd thought he'd become when he had been a youth - no, he had become the very wolf he'd once sworn he'd never be.

So instead of turning away, Malachi pressed further. Though he still pressed himself close to the ground in full submission, his voice came clear and firm. "And I want to change that. I wouldn't have come back if that wasn't true." To speak thus was a fool's choice, but he had set his heart on helping this family, no matter the cost. And if Lasher would force him out, then so be it. At least he wouldn't leave a coward.

malachi pressed forth, submitting fully to lasher, but the man could muster no sorrow, no sympathy within his heart. their ranks were filled with starving wolves; he himself saw no clear way for donnelaith's survival in the face of this silent and ongoing pestilence. he could not admit malachi for that reason alone, but moresow was the continued betrayal of his pack and himself.

a kinder side of taltos would have found some role for malachi to play among them, but he had nothing and would offer nothing. "go your way," the druid growled with finality; his children would support him in this he knew.

Lasher would not bend, and while Malachi wished to press further, the dark man's tone assured him any further words would prove futile. Sorrow and frustration crawled through the Kalderon's chest -sorrow for the Mayfairs and Donnelaith and his inability to break though the wall he'd help build against them, and frustration at himself for having burned yet another bridge he could never cross again.

His heart twisted and tempted him to cave into pity again, but this time, he hardened his resolve. No. This time he would not yield. This time, things would be different. He had made plenty mistakes in the past. It seemed his life was one mess after another, and three packs had suffered on account of his choice to wallow in shame and insecurity. But Malachi had had enough.

The Kalderon rose from the dust. Sorrow clung to every joint, and while he would not let it consume him again, he let the deep sadness in his chest manifest in his eyes when he braved a final look to Lasher. The dark man stood before him but a spectre of what he had once been, and Malachi loathed that he would not be able to help these wolves from within their ranks. But he held his tongue and a beat of silence from the Kalderon followed Lasher's dismissal before he gave the Mayfair a deep bow of his head out of truly won reverence and respect. His fear of the man had not wavered, nor had his love for the Mayfairs. But he was not welcome here, and he had no desire to shed blood in an attempt to win himself a place among them again.

So Malachi backed away from Donnelaith's claim and the bite of the sea and turned himself away. A part of his heart would always rest with the Mayfairs here, as it did with the Vale and Duskfire still, but he would try to move on. He had to.

The familiarity he felt towards the other wolf was only reiterated by Lasher’s words – apparently, the silver agouti man had left them at one point. He did not question the actions of his father, the reasoning behind it. He saw only that the ruling had been passed, and he took this law with silence.
 
The stranger accepted the verdict set upon him, and as he moved away from the lands, Constantine would dip his muzzle down to gently nudge his sister before setting himself out at a respectful distance from the stranger, merely ensuring himself that no further action was taken – and in part to play with the nostalgia of his mind as it teased him for the familiarity of the rogue.

Only when the other made himself a distance from the lands would Constantine trail back, his own paws leading him once more to the borders.

deirdre had perhaps too kind of heart; for she wished to see a chance given, or something of that sort. proof that the other might remain this time. but her father had grown hard with the famine, and she understood why such a thing was; already they had many mouths to feed, and for a wolf that had left them before, well, there could be nothing to spare. and so the cub stood firm by her father, nosing her brother in turn and remaining long enough only to see the form of malachi fade into the distance. afterward, she would keep in the company of her father for the rest of the time the day had to offer.