Wolf RPG

His grief was too great to be contained among the trees. Each moment he spent among them, Renoir was reminded painfully of Lasher. Though they had spent such little time together, he felt as if he was connected to the older man - and now that he was absent, the boy had many questions. Many thoughts that would go unanswered. And, unknown to him now, he held a great amount of rage towards whatever entity had stolen the man from his family.

There were no words in the pale man's lexicon to form such thoughts aloud, and he felt the pent up emotions begin to drive him wild; so, without a word to anyone, he departed from among the sequoias. His steps pulled him south through the thickest weald he had ever seen, and beyond, to the shadowlands between the mountains. When he came to a halt it was in the thick of night, and the sky was glittering with such a decadent display — something that surely Renoir, of all beings, would see the beauty in, and revel beneath.

Yet he saw these stars and felt only a keen sense of loss, and with an anguished cry he roared up at the heavens, cursing them with all the vehemence he could muster. As his slurred call dwindled in his throat, choked and strangled by the intensity of his feeling, the boy collapsed in a heap upon the terrace and felt the sting of hot new tears within his eyes.

After his time searching for a single berry among a sad wasteland (a symbolic search for life in desolation), Noctura decided to venture a short distance west. This time it was not because he was guided by the stars, but because he had caught scent of prey. Real, tangible flesh. The dark prowler followed the rabbit and then, when he had ventured through most of the night, reeled so he was chasing it east instead, desiring no more distance between himself and Ryūjin.

Then a great howl went up, and Noctura, recognising the voice, stood up alert — and the rabbit was lost.

The stargazer moved his great form towards the anguished voice, and there found... Solèy? it was the name he'd given a nameless soul based on a flower he'd identified in another tongue. "Solèy" had never looked so lost.

Renoir had always been a precocious thing, even from birth. Sensitive to the behaviors of his siblings, mostly. Careful around them, nervous for a time, and then boisterous and whimsical. He did not carry an aggressive bone within his body, but felt everything keenly, openly. The loss he felt now was akin to losing his sister, his parents, his everything — although Lasher had not been his everything. The boy had resisted temptation when it presented itself. He had done it so that when the losses came, as they always did, the hurt would be minimized. Perhaps this was the only reason he had not fallen catatonic within the groves of sequoias. He was nearly at that point now, but was rooted to the world through his anguish and grief.

As he sat there sobbing in to the new growth, his head tucked awkwardly against the soil while his limbs splayed out around him like immense rivers of gold, he heard a voice. It was familiar but also not - something from days ago - and briefly, Renoir's addled brain misidentified the voice as that of the man he had cared for — he raised his head and expected to see Lasher. But that was nonsensical. While he saw the burly dark figure, he knew it could not be the man who had just recently left this world; yet he longed for it to be him. The boy hastily blinked the tears from his eyes and, sniffling like a child, tried to compose himself.

It was the dark man from the meadow. A kindred spirit. Renoir sighed and pulled himself from the dirt, but did not clean the soil from between the furs of his chest; he was marked with streaks of grime that were unbecoming, but he wasn't thinking about his own image at this point. Ou, he murmured, sniffing sharply, and looked away, embarrassed. I 'ave... Lost someone. It was all he could manage as an explanation, although the dark man had not asked.

The rabbit was swiftly forgotten, for what was lost prey when compared to a lost soul? Solèy seemed lost, and he swiftly told Noctura why. He had lost someone, either to death or distance (two things that were in some ways the same thing), and knowing Solèy this loss had some philosophical depth. Sometimes the stars themselves communicated a little like this, in an abstract manner that could still be very physically felt.

The large wolf of Ryūjin sat down heavily beside his friend, but not too close. For Solèy, despite feeling things strongly, was evidently embarrassed by the tears that shone in the moonlight.

He was reminded briefly of the discomfort he felt around Jolon when he was like this, but he sat still and didn't depart unless Solèy called for it. Instinct told him that companionship would help Solèy shine brighter again, but he was unsure. Noctura was inexperienced in this kind of expression. Truly lost? he asked gently, and thought of when the stars were "lost" in the daylight.

The boy nodded slowly. He could not quite put things in to words, not entirely, not yet. He looked utterly ruined. His eyes, heavy with emotion and tired, could barely drift to look upon the man nearby to him. There was silence. A long silence, drawn out and thick like a weighted fog. When Renoir was more composed, he tried to explain; but his words were heavily accented, and perhaps made muddy because of this. Da.. Da hunger. Heat, too. It took 'im from me, his tongue slipped out and he licked the salty tears from his snout as they slowly dribbled down his face, elongated and pointed down at the dirt. It.. hurts.

There was something vulnerable about Solèy, certainly, not helped by the delicacy of his large frame. The freely flowing tears added to this further, and although Noctura felt sympathy he did not yet get the impression that he should walk away and leave the man to it.

So he had lost someone in the famine. Ryūjin had been lucky in this regard, having lost no great bulk... though Ezi was remembered.

Look above, Solèy, he requested softly, and turned his own silver eyes heavenwards. There shone a million stars and more. When the brightest stars burn out, they leave behind a light that never fades.

The man's attempts to sooth the boy were kind, but ineffective. Through the blur of his tears Renoir could only see the blackness above him, and the pinpricks of light swam like worms upon a carcass. He blinked to try and clear his vision and it worked for a moment, but his grief was strong. The tears continued.

It is da same, his words hitched in his throat, and he swallowed with some difficulty, tasting the salt of his tears on his tongue. Da same for him. Oh, mwen wishes... Wish it did-ent 'appen, but it had. It had, and there was nothing to be done now but let time go on, and let the healing happen. But Renoir was too hurt. He could not imagine a world without Lasher. What would become of Donnelaith? Of Deirdre?

The dark wolf was as lost as Solèy, but in a very different way. He could not relate to the fellow's loss, nor to his reaction to it. Furthermore, while he did consider Solèy a friend, he did not truly know him — he did not know what would help him, or what he could latch onto. And yet to walk away, or fall dumb and leave him to it...? Noctura could not do that.

Would you let me howl with you, he requested, making an educated guess that what Solèy needed was to let his emotions out, loud and long and free.

He was quiet for a few minutes, or tried to be, sniffing to try and stop his nose from dripping or listening to the tears as they dripped off his chin in to the grass. But he did nod, and after looking briefly to the man's dark features and tracing the contour of it through the shade of the growing night, he looked up to the sky, and lifted his nose so as to greet the stars with song.

Noctura's own howl was deep but lucid, like — ironically — a clear sky entirely devoid of stars. Together they howled in harmony, and, closing his eyes, Noctura could hear the extreme sorrow in Solèy's cry. It would scatter among the heavens and make his lost star shine brighter.