Wolf RPG

The scent of blood was a beacon to the tawny male, as it was to any predatory animal, granted, but his very particular business was blood, whether it was the agony of another wolf or weakened prey. It drew him forth like it would a shark. So when the raw, metallic tang hit his nostrils it sent a tenacious message, wrapped in the wild and somehow delicate eau de Fox he wouldn't ignore. He immediately took off to find her.

You idiot, he accused languidly as he laid eyes on her and strode close. But you know, if you die the next time you pull your lovely shit I'll be sure to carry on your legacy. The world should know of your valiant efforts to piss other people off, he said with a touch of his ordinary cheek. He wasn't going to attempt to persuade her not to continue with her antics—the truth was that he admired them. It was like looking at himself. That, of course, added to the fact that he sincerely doubted she would listen. But he certainly wanted to know why she was on the verge of obsession with a couple of wolves she'd thrown out of Swiftcurrent Creek. She seemed well on her way to filling the shoes Lethe had left behind for her in a way all her own.

He didn't wait to be invited. With a strong protective urge he hadn't imagined he could feel in a case of utter stupid, he closed the distance between them and settled with her left shoulder against his deep chest, pulling her in gently. He took a moment to survey the damage left between her shoulder blades, but preened the fur behind her ear as he did it. It was ghastly. His prediction for what might happen next time could very well be dead on.

Of all he’d expected of the audacious spitfire, he hadn’t expected her to have nothing to say, particularly not with his craggy attempt to provoke her. In the silence that followed he considered the last conversation they’d shared and the awareness that he thought she’d picked up when she’d also become a leader. The idea had been born only from her words, and quite apparently her words meant nothing, even to her. Actions were all that ever mattered to the tawny male, and yet he still inexplicably felt the pulse of a will to protect her as he nosed softly through her fur. Her silence, as it turned out, was fine by him.

I’ve got a stash if you decide you want something for this, he said without the usual edge in his voice that perpetually gave colour to his words. With the offer hanging in the air between them, though, he made no move to put physical distance between them and he didn’t wait for words before administering triage to the ugly-looking wound she’d brought back from The Sunspire. Carefully and with gentleness he rarely practiced, his tongue began its soothing work, beginning at the clotted edges of the site where fur and flesh used to sit between her pretty little shoulders.

As he continued to clean her raw flesh he thought of what she could possibly have done and felt annoyance beginning to eat away at his patience the longer she seemed perfectly content to merely stand there. Instead of pausing, however, he lapped at it with increased efficiency until his work was done, and when he finally did stop he was unabashedly abrupt about it, unwilling and possibly unable to mask his indignation whether she cared for it or not. He stepped brusquely away from her and was positively statuesque as he stood looming near, displaying quite another side of his ordinarily nonchalant self. His shocking yellow eyes held her dull, stony greys and did not let go while he watched her as she appeared to remain unmoved.

Now, are you going to tell me what happened? he asked as though he didn't at all expect her to oblige and answer him. Also as though he was thoroughly prepared to accept this, but not without the grain of insult that she would be throwing in his direction by holding her tongue.

He might have snorted like an agitated stallion at her “harmless” display of aggression if, in his mind, it would have any kind of effect on her at all. He couldn’t possibly know that she did in fact realise how moronic (sans oxy-) it actually sounded. Although he’d lacked all patience a moment ago he was complacent with staring and refraining from opening his mouth for the entire duration of what she had to say.

When she finished he paused and deliberately let dead air creep between them, but not for long. I wouldn’t dream of repeating any of that stupidity to anyone, he said with inflection, as if it would placate her instead of annoy. She couldn’t and in all likelihood would never know it, but for the sheer act of telling him what had happened instead of telling him to piss off (which she was probably growing closer to rightly doing for his verbal savagery) or worse, avoiding the question entirely and maintaining her silence, Razo felt something he couldn’t place a label on. It made him uncomfortable, and so he pushed it aside. He wouldn’t be led wayward by feeling.

And which others? he demanded with an edge of hostility while his eyes narrowed and burned further into hers. It wasn’t as though he should care who she’d persuaded to follow her idiocy, partially because of the particularly idiotic nature of following her to begin with and partially because Serengeti, as far as he knew, was already gone. Bazi, Fox had mentioned, was available to be spoken with, and Njal and Tuwawi surely had better, more responsible things to do, like raising and protecting their four tiny children from an instigation such as this. Who else did he have any reason to care about in a pack whose company he made a habit of side-stepping?

He’d heard the last bit of her dialogue well enough, acknowledged it, even, but it didn’t sink in straight away that Fox might not return. And— come to think of it, where are you running off to? That irksome feeling came back to the forefront.

It doesn’t matter who the others are. She managed to rile him with such a simple sentence and such utter simplicity itself that suddenly the only desire his body knew was to snare her by the scruff and pin her violently to the earth on which she stood. Just as quickly as rage had transpired, a wave of calm settled over the knavish wolf in absolute contrast There was no outcome in that scenario that did not involve turning his back on her exactly as he would proceed to do. Somebody should have surely been present to acknowledge such a measure of rationale in his moment of beastly vehemence, but although Fox stood before him, Razo was better off standing there alone.

She needn’t have bothered with further words, because although he heard the sound of her voice he ignored her final two trivial words of retort and had turned away from her the moment she finished speaking them. She would handle nothing, and at that point in time he chose the most convenient option he could reach: he would turn his back to Swiftcurrent Creek as well.