Wolf RPG - there’s a sky underground

Not sure where in the Dozzle timeline this takes place!

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Any exploration deeper inland on Szymon’s behalf tended to be out of necessity — not wanderlust. Today was no different. He was a creature of habit whose machinations were generally predictable to the point of being boring, and when he got done refreshing the territory borders with rubbings of fur, spatterings of urine, and rime-slick smears of fresh blood from a recent kill, he circled southeast as he always did — huffed discontentedly at the screeching of the gyrfalcons as he always did — turned his back on them with an irritated flicker of his tattered ears as he always did — wait a minute. Why are they so quiet?

Muscle memory had begged the tightening of Szymon’s muscles and the automatic, annoyed flattening of his ears, but with a quizzical furrow of his brow he realized that there wasn’t any screeching going on.

Something was different here — and Szymon Cairn didn’t like different.

The temperature had dropped alarmingly after the Donnelaith fires, as if that wasn’t enough to deal with alone, and an ice storm had turned the world into a virtual ice skating rink a few weeks later. The wolves of the bay didn’t have to worry about it quite as much, for the abundance of salt had done wonders for breaking up the slick rime that had tried its damnedest to settle — at least when it came to the sandy areas. The utter silence, though, was new. Cautiously the black-banded Leviathan traipsed nearer to the rocky hillock, and as he began to climb he became aware of a tensile disquiet in the earth beneath his feet. Decisively he turned, deciding at once to get the hell off the ride he’d unwittingly stumbled upon — but it was all for naught.

A good portion of the ground Szymon stood upon broke away from its mother cliff, cracking like a hollow gourd and taking him with it. A strangled yelp, automatic and not precisely out of overt pain, withered in his throat as he careened down with it. The ice had weighed the mountainside down, finding its way into a fissure that might have gone unnoticed otherwise — at least until the spring rains weakened the edges of the stone. Dragging himself out of the rubble, he limped a few meters away, moving his limbs gingerly until he was certain everything was in working order. It was then that he noticed what the rockslide had engendered: an opening in the hillside itself that gave way to a subterranean forest of sorts.

A warm subterranean forest.

“Doe!” he howled, butchering her name for him to capture her attention. “Ki-kayi-ki-ka-kayi!”

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Doe, too, avoided the inlands reaches of their territory. It had become a habit to skirt them when Skellige still reigned, as she'd been wary of incurring his wrath. If the silver-banded Leviathan hadn't needed the woods, then neither would she. As the days and weeks and months dragged on, it'd simply become second-nature to ignore the darkness that laid between the trees. Even after their brother left, she and Szymon had remained loyal, had clung to their life upon the shore.

No longer, apparently. The return of their daughter had left Doe feeling giddy and light, and she'd followed after her husband that day in hope of wearing down some of her excess energy with some adult exercises. It'd become a sort of foreplay for the woman to sneak after her mate - the way a cat stalks after her prey.

But instead of turning to meet her with a grin on his maw, he disappeared, a strange yelp coming from his throat. It was a comical sound - one she had trouble associating with her stone-faced husband - and Doe might've laughed if she hadn't been so worried.

"Sy?" she called, bounding toward the place where he'd disappeared. Fallen, she corrected herself, looking down the narrow chute that his body had furrowed into the earth. There was a dark tangle down below, and at the end of that was her mate. Doe couldn't see him, but the sound of his voice was enough to send her leaping - and then tumbling - after him.

Doe landed on a warm, white cushion with a quiet umphf knocking its way out of her lungs.

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Thwump!

Szymon produced a sound not unlike a balloon swiftly — and noisily — deflating as the air was knocked from his lungs in a dizzying rush. “Mm,” he murmured pleasurably as he propped himself up in the gloom, his mouth clumsily finding Doe’s ear. Carefully rearranging his limbs, he hooked a foreleg over her hip and made to draw her tight against him — and he was sorely tempted to christen the new and exciting discovery he’d made with an act far darker than the cavernous hollow they found themselves in.

He knew they ought to explore the area — there was merit in moving the pack and the surviving children further inland, especially now that Qilaq had come home — but Szymon had more selfish things on his mind at present. He’d been worried about Doe, especially in the wake of the awkward meeting with Arturo’s wolf, and the renewed light in her eyes made the stony-faced Leviathan feel unusually frisky. “Were you following me, minx?” he questioned teasingly, recalling how swiftly she had come to his aid.

It soon became apparent that she was, and after some vigorous reaffirmations of their affections for one another, Szymon and Doe returned home to their children and their niece.

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