Wolf RPG

It had happened purely by accident, his stumbling upon the herd of dimwitted white-tail deer. Mordecai had been taking advantage of a good morning in the open plains when the first few heads of the ungulate had poked up in the verdant, reed-like waves on the horizon. With a dense fog narrowing the distance that he could initially see, he had startled them some good few dozen yards off. What had been a quiet, uninterrupted walk with his thoughts had turned into a standoff instantly; for several minutes, neither wolf nor deer moved. And when they did move, their moves may as well have synchronized. It never mattered what Mordecai ultimately did, for as soon as they were ready after being put on the alert, the deer made a hasty retreat to somewhere else in the most nonchalant way.

At first, the newly accepted Silvertip wolf feigned interest in them, and trailed them from a distance at which they became faint silhouettes. He was north and east of Silvertip then and ascertained quickly that they were turning south. Good for him, as he now wanted to willingly drive them towards the open. Not to hunt, no, Mordecai wasn't that headstrong in his abilities. He wanted to nudge them in the right direction, to take stock of them and count. To learn and watch them in the ways that had been imparted to him through time and practice. Though no master hunter by any means, he knew it would be in his favor to gather information to share with the one wolf who had extended her home to him. And not just to her, but the others beneath her and above him as well.

But as luck would have it, the deer became impervious to his gentle guidance from afar. The younger ungulates were cocky enough to steer the bulk of the herd towards the river, where they would have the advantage of crossing versus just one wolf following them through the grasslands. It was perhaps well too late for him to realize what they were doing until the sound of the rushing waters came to his ears, and triggered a response he would more than likely deem ill on his part at a later date.

Mordecai gave them chase.

Like a black ghost, Atticus haunted the boundaries of Blacktail Deer Plateau. He found purpose there, in ensuring that no unwelcome stranger intruded into their lands, threatened their safety, or stole food from them. Their pack was stable but small, and there were too few guardians for him to give anything but his absolute best effort at keeping them safe. Especially with their Alpha male injured and unable to contribute much himself, and with the puppies being old enough to wander around on their own some now, it was more important than ever that their lands be secure. Atticus did everything he could to make sure they were.

And so he watched the strange wolf from afar, running deer closer and closer to the river that bordered the western edge of his territory. As the deer began to cross, the wolf followed them and Atticus could wait no longer. He considered the river his, and the soil on the near side of the river was unquestionably his. He arrived as the deer were emerging from the river onto his side of the bank, dripping and panicked, and they fled down the bank away from him. A great snarl tore from his throat and his eyes blazed with malice as he stopped in chest-deep water and warned the stranger -- get away from my lands!

So focused in his pursuit, Mordecai never caught sight or wind of the sentinel that stood guard on the other side of the bank. But he certainly noticed him when that flash of black broke the horizon between him and the game, all teeth bared and snarling in the waters that already threatened to slow him down completely if he let up even a little. But Mordecai was forced to do so, not wanting to either go barreling into the nuisance, or find himself with a face full of fangs.

Instead, the hunting Ostrega had to let his prey go for the time being. Bristled and primed, his adrenaline-charged body tore through the water to whatever higher ground he could achieve, if only to pose and threaten very much in the same ways. He was irritated, seeing those dimwitted ungulates fade out against the fog and foliage well ahead of him on dry land. His lips curled back to display his teeth; a snarl bubbled out over his tongue as he angrily lashed his sodden tail upward. Lands be damned for the moment, he was sore over the interruption of his tracking.

The other wolf responded aggressively, and had Atticus not been so keyed-up in the moment, he might have felt a sense of dread spreading through him. He didn't want to fight again. And if he'd known that this wolf was from Silvertip Mountain, he might have begun to see a trend -- a trend which indicated that clearly, Silvertip Mountain's Alpha needed to teach her boys a thing or two about pack boundaries. Atticus didn't know all of this yet, though, and so he merely responded in kind: with intense, unyielding aggression.

He didn't waver or change his stance. He stared directly into the face of the agouti-coated intruder, blue eyes hard, teeth bared, back and legs rigid, and tail held high over his back. A dark, sinister snarl rumbled steadily in his chest, and was interrupted only long enough to say, "Only chance. Leave now."

The other wolf was persistent, not taking the opportunity that Atticus gave him to leave the area unscathed and return to wherever it was he had come from. The tension between the two males hummed and vibrated like a powerline of ugly, negative energy, threatening to explode at any moment with the slightest movement or provocation. The mottled agouti stranger came no closer but gave no ground either, and Atticus wasn't stupid enough to attempt to attack him whilst wading through water too deep to move swiftly in (let alone fight), so for the moment, they were at a stalemate. Atticus backed up until the water lapped just over his toes, his teeth bared and the challenge burning in his pallid eyes. If the other really wanted a fight that badly, he would have to come the rest of the way to the shore and throw the first punch.

Mordecai watched as the swarthy creature moved to a better standing. That alone put them on more equal grounds, which didn't fare well for either of them if things went any more awry. He had hoped that the other wouldn't have proved to move, if only so he'd keep blocking in the path in a lesser friendly spot. Another low growl emerged from the depths of his wet chest, and the Silvertip Ostrega fumbled for just what to do.

That was when he decided to try and slink by, closing in the distance between them minutely as he kept to the shallows. Maybe if he could slip by he could flee better, and perhaps take up the pursuit of the ungulates where ever they had gone. Assuming they hadn't just gone running towards the Plateau and into the waiting jaws of the pack that resided there.

They stared one another down for several moments, neither of them making a move, but neither backing down either. Atticus remained tensed, ready to act quickly if the other wolf suddenly decided to ford the river and attack. But the fact that he hadn't done so showed Atticus that he wasn't dealing with a stupid wolf here. Rather, he got the impression that this was a pretty intelligent, calculating individual here.

Finally, the rival wolf began to move, but it was not directly toward Atticus -- rather, he began to move along his side of the riverbank. It only took the black Beta a moment to figure out what he was doing. His opponent was not interested in intruding on a rival pack's territory, nor did he care to engage in a pointless fight over it. He wanted the deer, and Atticus estimated that he intended to get to them by slowly skirting around and past him to get to them.

The only problem with that plan, though, was that as long as the deer were on his territory, they were his and he had no intention of sharing them. So he moved with the wolf, following on his own side of the river, keeping pace with him so that no matter what, he would have to engage with Atticus if he wanted to cross the river.

As he moved, so did the dark wraith through the waters. Mordecai could have sworn under his breath, but the words eluded him in sound and mind. He did not believe he could outpace his counterpart, but he knew he could be a thorn in his proverbial side. So he kept going, careful not to take his eyes away and in his footing against the wet and slick stones beneath his feet. How far would he be pursued out, he wondered? How far did the Plateau believe it had reign over the shores of the river and the surrounding flood plain?

The herd was lost for good, and with it Mordecai had begun to relinquish the burning desire to give them chase. But appearances were as good as posturing in their world, so he had little qualms in acting as though he had every intention of coming across again when he could. And perhaps he would; no Ostrega was free of stubbornness over something, and he had long been instilled with the stubbornness to do as he pleased.

It was a standoff the likes of which Atticus had never seen before, neither of the males willing to give ground and yet, at the same time, neither willing to breach the subtle tension that separated mere posturing from actual violence. Atticus knew what the other wolf was doing. The earthy-coated stranger obviously wasn't interested in the deer anymore -- and anyway, they were now making their way into the forest that unmistakably belonged to the Plateau wolves -- but he was testing Atticus, drawing him out, seeing what he was made of and how far he was willing to take his defense of the lands he guarded. Atticus could play this game all day, though, so with a faint grin etching its way onto his face, he sat down where he was. If the stranger moved, Atticus would mirror his movements. If the stranger wanted to sit and have a stare-down, well, Atticus would do that too. The ball was in the trespasser's court.

For minutes more, they persisted in their bizarre trailing of one another. The ground beneath his feet went from the marshy shoreline to solid earth, and the temperment of everything changed. His anger began to wane, only standing then by mere stubbornness of not giving in. But even Mordecai grew bored of their posturing in time. It wasn't until the faint grin began to emerge across the face of the other that he reconsidered what he was doing. As pleasurable as aggravating the other for the loss of his quarry was, it was less pleasurable now that it had become amusing.

But it was also just that: amusing. He returned the grin watery at first, but more steadily as he realized the oddity of their meeting. Just as well that they did not descend into violence, as there was little to gain. With a potential skirmish fading from the horizon, Mordecai pulled back in distance from the other, suggesting that there were no hard feelings. And when the time seemed appropriate, he left the increasing cover of the wood, to return to the stretch of shore he had come from and steadily make his way back to the vista of the snow-capped mountain.