Wolf RPG

He woke just before sunrise to a coughing episode. It lasted longer than any he had suffered before and when it subsided, he felt utterly exhausted. He was tired of breathing against what felt like a boulder on his chest and tired of being unable to walk even once around the lake without being stopped multiple times by coughing fits. To have something as simple as breathing feel like it was slipping from his control encited panic in his chest, making him draw in quick, painful breaths as he fought the sudden light-headed feeling.

With a frustrated growl, he pulled himself up from the ground only to be pulled back down on his haunches by a sudden need to hack and cough. He was seized by his ailment for a few agonizing moments, collapsing back to the ground once he was released. His breathing came in raspy wheezes as he finally gave up and stayed where he had fallen, completely out of energy to try and get up again. His episodes seemed to be worse in the morning, so he would just give himself some more time before attempting to make himself useful.

The lake would have been a prize find, if there had been anything to scour from it. It was far too broad for Valtari to wonder over, more nuisance than anything for a wolf who had grown up loving nothing more than being seaside. Here too, he had hoped to find some trace that would lead him to a holy grail of sorts—prey, namely.

But it was not to be and never once did he counter his thoughts with the concept that perhaps he was simply not that decent of a hunter. Yet if the very thing had been suggested to him, he would have laughed; he had survived thus far, hadn't he? His induction to Rusalka was still a relatively new thing, but before that he had managed well on his own or in the passing company of others.

Very much on the hunt still as he rounded soft soils, he heard the coughing of something.

Or rather, someone.

It was a brittle, hoarse sounding thing; a lesser fool may have thought it a death rattle, but Valtari's thoughts immediately darkened towards the concept that it was a continued omen. A specter lost in the reeds and weeds, mocking all who came near with their bellies knotted by hunger.

Only it was in his estimation that a specter did not take a form, though perhaps if it were to then it would be what he witnessed at a distance—pale and autumnal, a tribute to the season that was swiftly withering away and casting them well into the throes that started many a hardship.

He called out to the wolf—"Are you dying?"

If he seemed the slightest bit hopeful, he was not, yet his eyes lit against the morning sun... and his distance was kept from the fit the wolf seemed to be having. Perhaps if he were on his last legs, so to speak, then Valtari would do him a favor.

He drew in raspy breaths as he tried to gather the strength to move from the spot he had been collapsed in for hours, but he was finding it to be a very difficult task. The voice made him jump to his feet despite his dwindling energy, his muscles tensing at the sudden appearance of a stranger near the place they had made their temporary home—near Eleni. The movement made him cough again, but he remained standing and tried to hide just how awful he felt from the other wolf, afraid it would make him seem weaker than he probably already did. The stranger didn't seem obviously aggressive from what East could tell, but that didn't always mean anything. It wasn't exactly like the borders were marked like a claimed territory, and he hadn't really felt up to patrolling as much as he liked, but the smell of a group had to be obvious to the other man. When his coughing subsided, he studied than man a little suspiciously. What's it to you? he asked. He would normally be quite a bit more friendly to strangers, but he felt like shit and he didn't like someone he didn't know being so close to the wolves he cared about without knowing his intentions.

The fit went on for just a bit more; the intermittent breaks in between making him think a death rattle to come swift, but it never did. Instead the wolf seemed to compose himself in spite of his weariness, in spite of the fact that he had been some mixture of coughing, hacking, and gagging just moments before. Still, no one came rushing to his immediate aid, and they were both left in the company of one another.

When he did finally speak, Valtari found that it was not nearly laced with phlegm like he would have imagined. It was stronger, clearly annoyed, and betrayed whatever illness stowed away in his chest. And it made him dangerous in that regard, for if he had been left here alone by his peers, then perhaps he was simply a very willing participant in sharing a contagion.

"It isn't worth anything to me," he stated, "thought perhaps you'd been left to die is all, and would save you the trouble of suffering had you wanted it." A sickly being could not hunt, not that there was much to hunt around to begin with. Why let him drown in his own snot and starve? His tail swayed against his hocks once, then twice, and Valtari considered other things.

East felt so bad right now, that he briefly considered taking him up on his offer. But that was just the illness talking; he wasn't anywhere near ready to die even if it did feel like a boulder had fallen on top of him. That didn't mean he couldn't dream about the relief death might give him right now just to have something else to think about. He meant to give a huff of amused laughter, but it came out as more coughing instead. When he was sure the episode was finished, he looked to the stranger again. Unfortunately, no, I have not been left to die, he replied. I'm just trying to isolate myself so I don't get my— what was he supposed to call them? Packmates didn't seem right. —my friends sick, East struggled to reply, the words continuing to be as raspy as every painful intake of breath. We do call this area home for now, so I feel like I should ask what you're planning on doing here...other than offering me death. He managed to straighten himself up some and regard the other man suspiciously, his body protesting the use of energy as he was suddenly overcome with a strange light-headed feeling. He clenched his jaw painfully to wake himself up, scrounging up a much needed spike of adrenaline as he waited to see if any action needed to be taken against this stranger.

He watched as suspicion wound its way into an ailing frame, the wolf trying to compose himself. Valtari remained unmoving, almost statuesque if not for the gentle winds that put his coat into disarray. There were many clues to draw from what he was told, some to confirm his wonders about the relatively empty portion of the plains, others that churned up questions—like why a band of wolves would come out here, to such a void place.

"Hunting," he provided, "though there seems to be a lack of that going on here. I haven't seen a thing worth eating for days." The omens brought on by calamity; the churning sea of the north and the smoky sky of the east. He wondered if the wolf had seen such changes and decided that he probably had—who could miss them? There were signs of the trembling earth even here, though not even Valtari could explain why the land had become so angry for so long.

"So why settle here?"

Yeah, he wouldn't find much to eat here. The lake had been just as barren prey-wise as the rest of the wilds, or at least any place he had explored before he got sick. Yeah, we haven't been able to find much either. It was concerning, especially with winter near, but hoped the famine wouldn't last too much longer. As for why they settled here? He didn't really have much of an answer. It was just the best place we found so far, or that's why he thought they had settled here. The lake had been nice at first, but now it was murky and the fish had all died or been eaten, so even that source of food was gone. 

The scent of the stranger held notes of others, and East recognized that to mean he had a pack. And where is your home? he asked, always curious. It can't have been much better than here if he was wandering in search of food.

It was the same story he would hear again and again—there was no food to be found, not here, not anywhere, and thus they all fled in droves. Whether it was the shifting earth beneath their feet or the displacement from smoke and ash, the lack of food would remain yet another common thing to bind them.

Maybe these were cursed lands, he thought.

"North along the river, towards the sea. Rusalka," he supplied. "The rising tides drove us inland some time ago." That he could attest to, though not much more of what Rusalka had been before such shared misfortune. To think, even where he had stood days ago in a chance encounter was now sundered and trapped in undertow... and to wonder whether or not it would stop soon or spill into their quiet valleys beyond.

Rusalka. He hadn't heard the name in so long but still it incited anger in the former Drageda soldier. He may be natrona now, but he still hated the wolves of Rusalka. But he was alone...and very sick; how could he expect to do anything to this stranger in such a state? He stared at the man, frozen in indecision for a few moments, his face blank despite the turmoil bubbling inside him. He was happy to hear that the water had forced them from the coast, like it rejected their very presence there. He had to fight the grin that threatened to form at hearing the news. In the same moment, he was overcome with worry for Drageda. What had the storm done to them? Once he was better, he had to go there and see for himself that everyone was okay. Just a quick, secret visit, and then he would continue on his way again. His face remained blank as he finally spoke. So the coast hasn't been spared the destruction, was what he finally managed to get out. He was a coward; a disappointment.