Wolf RPG

So fell an odd, odd silence. The shy little waif had spent so long now in the company of the band of broken travellers, and even when there had not been talking there had been the soft pad of their paw steps or their gentle breathing as they slept. They had filled his ears, and his eyes, and quite certainly they had filled his heart. But it was a fragile heart still traumatised by the events that had come before, and now the boy was a creature so timid that he felt he would not have been welcome at Marauder's Keep if Harlyn hadn't been here to vouch for him.

It was late afternoon. The day was dragging but the sun stayed resolutely up and about, bright as you like, golden at the corners. Little Voice had slept nervously, then awoke. He had done nothing in the pack so far — not even explored, a sad irony given his history as a Scout. But now he had to do something. So he ventured around the edge of the willow forest, soft white paws almost silent, big eyes taking in everything with great uncertainty.

Grace was on her own morning walk, limping along the borders in place of her adoptive mother. Having been ordered away from the invisible line, the creamy elder had sent the yearling in her wake. The Rose girl was happy to leave her scent a little stronger on the Marauders lands, having gained more and more confidence since her day of joining. She was still quite skittish of strangers, however, and so when Little Voice's paw steps were suddenly heard behind her, the russet girl lowered her ears and tail before glancing nervously back at the white male. She gives a shy smile but stays quiet.

The little one faltered when up ahead he saw something that was neither tree nor rock. It was a wolf — small and shy, just like him. He paused, then tentatively continued to walk, keeping his distance but showing an obvious interest in her. Little Voice blinked at her scars, visibly startled. What had hurt her...? Was it a cougar...? Was it here?!

Despite being fully grown and relativley strong, even with a bum leg, and bigger than this little halfbreed, the girl held herself close and low as she stretched out her muzzle to sniff in his direction. The charcoal faced female blinked golden eyes at him, and her smile did not fade. Her russet tail wagged a few times, but as the white male reacted to her scars she lowered her eyes and ears to the ground, as if it were all her fault.

Little Voice was shy by neither nature or nurture. He had become this way due to serious trauma, and as he watched the kind-looking girl recoil sadly as he looked at her scars, he wondered if she was the same. He tilted his head and regarded her questioningly, no longer looking at her scars. If she didn't want him to, he wouldn't.

Perhaps, had she a different family, Grace would be a bold young warrior. Perhaps she'd still be soft spoken and a natural healer, kind and sweet, but by her own nature. But fate gave her as a daughter to a cruel man, and now the damage had been done. 
The male gave her a look, asking silent questions with his eyes. For a long moment the russet girl stood, thinking, and eventually spoke softly. 
           "Abusive family."

Torturous mountain lion, abusive family... the two were not that dissimilar if he really thought about it (and he would). His heart ached with sympathy for the girl, but he didn't reach out for a cuddle: he knew he wouldn't want that if he were her. And he was still too tormented to strike up a real conversation, so Little Voice thought for a moment and then wagged his tail lightly and offered her a smile. He got into the beginnings of a pouncing position.

He was offering to play.

The little ghost was silent, but that was okay by this one. Play was initiated, and Grace was easy to relax. The russet yearling fell into her own play bow, bouncing around with her awkward gait. Time with packmates seemed exactly what she needed, and her worry about the stranger was gone as they played.