Wolf RPG

Languidly poised, the Egyptian lay in a cleansing shaft of light, licking fresh blood daintily from her small forepaws. The remains of a rabbit lay not far away, and she had relaxed fully following her meal, a luxury she did not often allow herself. From time to time, her piercing gaze swept the surrounding area, to ensure she was alone.

She would depart tonight, Hatshepsut decided, and seek out Lestat. It was time she sought out other places, and discovered what purpose Amun had for her in the Wilds. Briefly, the Regent thought of Njal, and his wife Tuwawi, and when they would depart the Creek to found themselves in another place.

Presently, as she lay against the stunted bole of the few trees that dotted the wetland, she spotted movement. Jaws paused in their cleaning; Hatshepsut watched the wolf closely. The creature's gait was calm and unhurried, carrying a lithe body closer to the bantam ruler with each passing second — and yet she did not rise, nor did she tense. Hatshepsut merely observed, both golden ears swept forward to monitor the progress of the approaching lupine.

The man, for that he was, had been cloaked by the gods in shades of smoke, like that which wreathed through a temple following a night of worship. Perhaps he was a priest, though she thought it unlikely. A ripple of tightening in her haunch was the only depiction of her annoyance with his untoward attitude of comfort in her presence, but Hatshepsut wore her neutrality as a secondary skin upon the cold mask of her face.

"I would have your name," the Regent murmured softly, her eyes raised to seek his own gaze. Pleasantries had been forgotten when he had seated himself near her; she was a direct creature with a pointed tongue. A gentle flare of her nostrils brought her his scent; the fragrance of earth and water lay across his withers, as it had Njal's own.

But she was silent, awaiting his words, the tip of her tail flexing idly against the loamy ground.

He seemed unsure, and his thirst was palpable. The man's words granted him an ever-cooling stare from the Regent; she did not care for his game. It was juvenile, and below the station that his body commanded. Nevertheless, she was no stranger to such foibles. "Then I would have the name by which you go today," Hatshepsut amended, a low, humorless curve bowing her mouth for a sliding moment.

In turn, she did not trust him; he wore a scent she recognized as that of that pack that would drive a capable man such as Njal from its borders. Such an infraction, even if Hatshepsut did not know the extent of each story's side, had immediately hardened her heart against the creatures of the Creek. The man before her was no exception.

The Egyptian waited.

She had bathed, but perhaps the scent of the Nordic man was more pervasive than previously believed. The faux smile fading from her lips, the Regent straightened her posture, gathering herself in one graceful movement to her haunches. Lapis eyes bored with icy calm into the face of the male. "I am not a fan of games," she instructed her companion in a voice of silk.

While the Egyptian kept tension from lacing her body, the Creek wolf's aversion of her requests had angered her. Though he had not a moment's inkling of who it was he spoke toward so flippantly, Hatshepsut was loathe to remain in a place that harboured such creatures.

And yet pride kept the desert wolf rooted — she had garnered for herself this patch of ground before the male had arrived, and would have viewed it as a personal weakness to move away from the man, if only to escape his irksome question.

Hatshepsut was no fool — when the man spoke what underlaid his inquiry, it was clear to her what he sought. Njal would depart soon enough, and in the interim, perhaps those around him thought him untrustworthy. And yet, it was not the Sveijarn who had proven himself thus, but the man of smoke and bated breath.

Shadow. The Egyptian did not believe that was his title, nor would she place stock in anything else he would say. Suspicion had been instilled in her mind at a young age; as Regent, as Pharaoh, she could afford to trust no wolf, for many would hate her for the title she held, as what was between her thighs did not support her claim to a hereditary throne.

"And what right have you to such knowledge?" Hatshepsut rejoined in the same gossamer voice, now baiting the male with a crass writhe of her lips. With no intention of discussing the information Njal had shared, the Regent settled in to toy with the greyscale mouse.

He spoke, but it did not change Hatshepsut's opinion of Njal, for she had set her mind to pondering why it was the shadow-beast was so pressed to disparage his comrade. The scent of the Creek had laid more thickly upon Njal than upon this cur — she was inclined to believe he had been one of its members for quite some time longer than the one who sought to tarnish his name.

"Are your leaders so paranoid, so frightened of their own shadows, that they must send men such as yourself to roam the lands and speak ill of your packmates?" A gentle scoff floated from her throat. "A pitiful existence indeed."

Her gaze hardened, cooled; she regarded the smoke-fellow with blatant disinterest now shining in her eyes, and proceeded to look past him at some fixed point beyond his shoulder. It was a dismissal, and the beast would do well to take it.

He was a vindictive little fool, spitting words of venom, accusations that foundered the moment they were birthed into earshot. With each passing word, Hatshepsut was comforted by her attraction to Njal's strength, and her support of his decision to leave the Creek was solidified. If such beasts as the one before her carried sway in the ranks, perhaps it was safer that he relocated his wife and family quite far away.

Perhaps Njal was one of those who took male lovers; perhaps this shadow-wolf was one such, and, bitterly spurned, now took up jaw against him. Yet the Egyptian had not received such a sentiment from the gold-eyed man when they had spoken — he was hale, scarred, utterly masculine. The antithesis of Thutmose, which amused her to no end.

Deliberately, she lifted a forepaw to her lips and began to clean the clinging loam from her toes. Upon the forefront of her mind was the desire to bait the male, to enrage him, but Hatshepsut knew such words would be foolhardy; she was not one to risk injury without a purpose. Quietly, she preened herself and ignored the ravings of the Creek brute.

He spoke again, in softer words, but Hatshepsut had traveled back to the verdant banks of the great River. Her gaze cleared when he took his leave, and the Regent watched as he moved gracefully away.

A slow smile crossed her lips; she reclined again, eyelids falling to half mast. A deep sigh flowed from her, and the Egyptian set about harvesting what was left of the day's warmth.