Wolf RPG

For days, she trailed along the coast.

Ever emboldened by the quest to see how far she could go before someone caught up with her, Phoebe had long stopped considering whether or not it was a just thing to do. She had stopped considering if perhaps she had overreacted by taking off wordlessly into the night repeatedly. What had started out a simple go home had turned into something more and now had snowballed out of control.

She really had no idea how far she had gone.

All that time alone hadn't done wonders for her either. She was hungry, sure, though capable enough of hunting on her own to keep even the worst of the hunger pangs away. But she couldn't fell a deer on her own and frankly, the coast hadn't offered up the most filling of morsels. Not surprising, really; she'd always been a creature of the inland, of the untamed sprawl belonging to none other than the hinterland.

And she had stewed in her own thoughts for far too long, an unhealthy shade to cover her thoughts even now. She had initially feared being found away from home. But now? She was surprised that no one had come to fetch her, had come to question what she was doing there. How selfish it was to anticipate that she thought, as all within the confines of the glade were surely too focused on themselves to wonder after her and how she slipped about them like a wraith.

Yet like a wraith she crossed the sands towards a line of timber, moonlight the only thing to light her way. Such a path became hindered swiftly—borders. They were faint, out here, but the scant markings were distinct and mixed with the brackish air. She had sensed them once before, along the plateau some many miles behind, and then avoided it. Phoebe thought to do the same here, feeling anxiety digging away a pit in her stomach, and then remembered what had brought her out here in the first place. It steeled her resolve, but only briefly, and she fumbled at what to do next with uncertainty writ cleanly on her features.

She only needed to work up the courage to surrender to the unknown.

It was harder than she thought.

It seemed strange now, patrolling Rusalka without Vengeance's presence. Raleska refused to think of him for too long; it turned her thoughts dark and bitter.

She had stopped by @Erzulie's den that morning to see how the gilded she-wolf fared, and then swept in an orderly fashion up along the perimeters. Kaertok's scent was heavy here -- as was another wolf's. A stranger.

Drawing immediately to her full height in suspicion Raleska prowled through the deadfall and moss, eyes falling eventually on a girl her age; black-furred and seemingly unsure. "Who are you?" Raleska called by way of greeting, cutting straight to the chase without much need for formality or obeisance. She could not help but suspect everyone these days; either they pulled a Vercingetorix and stabbed people in the back, or they pulled a Vengeance and left town when you needed them most. Maybe it was a "Name-Starts-With-V" thing; she hoped for this svelte loner's sake that her name did not also begin with the accursed letter.

Quietly, she mulled over what options that laid before her.

She could have turned back and forged her way somewhere else. Perhaps even gone around the territory altogether. But curious did bait her to know what kind of wolves would dare live along the coast. She had no experience truly with dealing with strangers outside of her own home turf, and those she had the priviledge in encountering already were in some way tied back to her family.

And she had never paid much attention to how her parents had gone about their business either. Phoebe lacked the natural curiosity that some of her siblings had, and to some extent even lacked the friendliness they possessed as well. She had spurned herself free of Rannoch's company the first chance she had gotten, steered clear of the children he had brought with him. His mate. All of them. And when things with her mother and father had progressed and netted them another round of siblings to look after, she had sprang away from them too.

These thoughts did not prevent the momentary swirl of homesickness washing over her.

But the arrival of a stranger from the territory she scoped out certainly did.

The she-wolf was a dark thing, very much just like her. A brief reminder of home in that too, though she was presently captivated by the surefooted approach her company made to her. Her voice was every bit as direct in manner and sure enough, the yearling found herself fumbling for a moment. If she had been anticipating a friendly hello, this was apparently as good as it got, and maybe that was how it was supposed to be all along.

"I'm Phoebe," she managed to get out after a moment of confusion. "Who are you?"

Raleska drew up to her full height and watched confusion as it waffled across Phoebe’s face; it sparked residual traces of doubt that Raleska promptly chased off. Who even was this chick and why did she look confused? Did she not expect to get approached (read: apprehended) when she was proverbially on someone’s front steps?

And who asked “who are you?”?! Raleska felt her ears pull back — she’s supposed to ask questions, not the stranger! Um, Raleska. As if it were obvious when it really wasn’t. Why are you here? A hint of impatience edged in the girl’s voice — god, she sucked at being approachable.

Why was she there? It was a loaded question. She didn't know where to begin with that and given that certain note of impatience, doubted that her company was there for story time. Phoebe's brow furrowed all the same—was this how things were supposed to go? Who are you, why are you here, what do you want, and the like. Endless questions, though not unreasonable. Her mother had said similar before, and recently, though not at all directed at her children.

"I was curious, I didn't expect to run into anything out here. Or anyone. It's been nothing but sand and water." She kept her answer short and simple, but couldn't help the burn of curiosity that arose of what lied ahead. "What is this place?" And why were they there, of all places? Why here, she wanted to ask, but wasn't sure she'd actually get that sort of answer. Why was anything where it was?

It was a shame Raleska did not recognize Phoebe as her ex-alphess' daughter — it might have softened the stern mien she carried with her, sharp as a battle axe. 

Her chest puffed as Phoebe asked what this place was. It was Raleska’s home, her birthright. Her pack. This is Rusalka. A pack, obviously. I’m its’ beta. She measured Phoebe for a rather lengthy pause, and then growing suspicious, posed a question she was anticipating the answer all too intently to possibly be casual. You Drageda?

She mouthed a silent oh as Raleska explained the relative obvious—of course this was a pack, ha-ha—but it was drawn more from the fact that she stood in the presence of someone in a position of power. Surprising, really, to think that someone more or less around her age would be suited for such a thing. Her siblings were a mixed bag certainly, but Phoebe had never aspired to such greatness.

She hadn't time to dwell on it either—those shrewd moon yellow eyes were on her intently, and Raleska's query had a certain edge to it that almost felt accusatory. Phoebe felt her brow furrow yet again at the foreign title, her ears turning back with a broad note of bewilderment. Maybe it was this sort of forwardness that made leaders.

"Drageda?" She repeated it back, not quite with the finesse the other had. "What's that?"

Raleska watched Phoebe intently, ready to draw and quarter if one whit of recognition was detected flickering across the yearling’s face. As much as she expected to read guilt, all Raleska detected was a settling of confusion.

She sniffed, dismissive of both Phoebe’s apparent innocence, and of the subject at hand. Someone we don’t care much for. Raleska answered promptly, though her tail flicked as if gesturing away the subject. So, do you need anything else? Raleska was fine to barter tiny pieces of information with a stranger, but she missed (and how terribly she missed it!) the opportunity here of guiding Rusalka’s newest prospect.

Someone we don't care much for was certainly a telling thing. She didn't have the most familiar experience of dealing with the undesireables, but she knew enough to parse together the potential that it most likely meant that Drageda was the sort to cause harm.

Or at least that was the justification that came to her like a flash of lightning. It also lent an explanation to why this place was so well guarded, and perhaps why so many others had reason to keep their doors firmly closed.

She bypassed the parting question for one of her own.

"Did they hurt someone in your pack? I'm a healer, I could help," because such things were privy to her moral compass, however wildly it presently spun. It was the right thing to do, wasn't it?

Raleska, being direct, expected a direct answer. Unfortunately, her guarded inquiry was met not with a reply, but a question. A flicker of annoyance darted across her features, but she was quick to expel it -- it would do no good being a leader if your constant RBF and snarkiness chased everyone both good and bad away. She supposed she could live with it if it chased everyone away, but then she wouldn't have much of a family or social network to fall back on.

Still, she could not help the barb that snaked its way into her reply. "That depends. Can you help the dead?"

Could she help the dead? She hadn't tried to, her experience with death was relatively minimal. Distant relatives of a sort that she knew vaguely, that were better connected to her mother than anyone else. But it was the sort of statement that jarred her thoughts and lowered her gaze to the sandswept earth at her feet.

"No," she admitted—she couldn't help the dead any more than the dead could help themselves. "I'm sorry, I'll... just go then." Better she had, she suspected, not entirely one to trade barbs with acquaintances, especially those of a more assertive intent. It wasn't long thereafter that she disengaged entirely, turning away from Raleska and away from the coast altogether.

Perhaps she'd find something better in the interior.

If Raleska was a better, less proud creature, she might have called for Phoebe to stay. Instead, she watched the girl go with a steely glint to her gaze, her lip firm and chin tight. The dead were dead, and that was that -- any remorse she felt for being so cold was soon completely gone as Phoebe faded from view.

Maybe someday, Raleska would not shoot herself in the foot and scare away potential allies -- but today was not that day. Unrepentant, the yearling turned hotly on her heels as soon as she was sure Phoebe was gone for good, and stormily made for the Grotto.