Wolf RPG

As of today, she was fed up. Fed up with not being able to form her own opinion on this perplexity, fed up with her siblings as they skipped and played like nothing of importance was occurring. Their bliss pissed her off because she wanted to be that ignorant, that worry free. Jökull was...wired different than them. She was overly introspective while Maera,Valtýr and Lárus were happy not thinking of anything other than how full their bellies were, how warm they were, how loved they were. Jökull was not so blessed. She wished – o, how she wished! – to think, to live, to learn like them, but she was born without that component they all so joyously shared.

Someone moved in their bundle, rousing her awake. Lárus was piled on top of Maera while Valtýr was nestled behind her, head propped up on her butt. Her “pillow” of choice had been Lárus' midsection...which churned noisily now that she rose her head. Light shone through the mouth of the den, warmly inviting. Judging from the intensity of those rays, it was early morning. The smell of bedewed forage and gradually heating earth was placating physically, but not mentally.

Growing tired of her siblings, she wiggled free of their cluster and walked out into the open world. Some twigs at the den mouth were bedazzled by papa's loose fur, swaying lazily as she brushed past it. The grasses were cold and sharp to the touch, but it felt so very...salving to the torment inside of her. It staved off the inevitable as she padded out and away from the den. She went far, but not far enough to pick up on the scent of her family. Surveying the area, she thought this place to be good enough; a tiny ring encircled by compact leafage. No one would see her unless they entered the ring. It made this location all the more perfect.

Something was happening. Something big and potentially life changing. Mom and dad may or may not have spoke of this something, but Jökull sensed it. Tuwawi and Njal always lit up when laying their eyes upon their brood. They both hid the gravity of leaving Swiftcurrent well, but Jökull could see the infinitesimal traces of grievance in her parents' eyes. Time and time again, Jökull was left to her own devices to deconstruct what troubled them so. Lately, that is all she's been doing. Thinking, sleeping, even skipping out on certain familial activities; distancing herself in pursuit of understanding something she was not yet old enough to comprehend.

Jökull – self-proclaimed Alpha, dictator, warrior princess of the Sveijarn – began to cry. Tears welled within her eyes before messily streaking down her cheeks. Her grief was quiet. Nothing loud or intrusive, just near inaudible huffs and snivels. She...needed to cry. A lot. Out of sight and out of mind. For a couple minutes.

Jökull had been far too absorbed to notice that someone was approaching, but Bazi's entrance was not what one would call silent. It was almost as if she made her entrance known, tail sweeping over emerald grasses noisily. Deep down, the Sveijarn was grateful that the snowy she-wolf had not sneaked up on her. Sorrow – however unfounded – was draining enough as is.

Looking over her shoulder to inspect Bazi with one tearful eye, Jökull sniffed loudly at the woman's endearment of squish. Raising her paw, she wiped her tears on her arm before facing her superior. It was embarrassing being seen like this; raccoon eyes and all. Jökull wanted to be looked upon with reverence and fear, but all this gushing was not helping her image.

So, like some forlorn hobo coming to terms with the fact he'll never be rich, she quietly walked over to Bazi with her head and tail low. Seeking shelter in the space between her front legs, Jökull looked up at the sky and mumbled “why?” Bazi was sad too, so she wanted to know why...