Wolf RPG

A misstep sent a dark female tumbling down a sudden decline in the earth, punctuated by an ear-splitting yelp as her slim frame hit the side of a lodgepole and fell still.

The Endore had spent little time exploring her new domain, preferring to spend the days since the fight in isolation so she could nurse her wounds. She was told to rest by her two companions countless times, and eventually gave in to their demands. Now that she was able to leave the confines of her resting place, the female had become overeager to make her mark and, in doing so, had underestimated the bowl's odd terrain.

She winced as she pulled herself up from the tree, feeling the telltale sting and burn of two of her countless scabs splitting. A muffled growl of exertion fled through her teeth as she hauled herself to her feet, lashing her tail like a cat and flattening her ears. The Spine was an inconvenient amalgam of forest and foothill, impossible to predict for one such as her who had come into it with the intent of taking it over. She hadn't had any time to learn its dangers, as she was reminded when she glanced at the lodgepole and saw a shock of red where one of her wounds had impacted it.

In the days following the demise of the original Spine leadership, silence had settled in over things. At least for Mordecai, who had taken to living like an outlier, withdrawn and lurking within the confines of their northern borders. The upheaval had left him with mixed emotions, and the losses they had gone through had tained his view of their grounds considerably. In a sense he felt loose of any debt he had held; he had for the time being lost the purpose in needing to prove himself to any one or particular thing. His brooding or lack thereof had not yet to come a head, though the flim of summer had begun to peel and erode from the region. The days still burned hot, but the nights had tingled with a chill familiar to him.

For days he considered many options, ranging from seeking his brother out along the coasts to simply vanishing from whence he had come. But those windows of opportunity — at least the latter — had closed. He idled, wraith-like in the late foliage and instead took watch of the life around him. He had spied those nursing wounds both visible and not, and had gone as far as to try and catch glimpses of the usurpers that had filed into their ranks. Mordecai had been surprised that there was no witch hunt to oust them, but it only solidified what he felt was becoming a sorry state of opinion in the air. Perhaps Cara had failed to keep her post; he had paid no more mind of their ongoing situation since Lecter had succumbed to the forces beyond his control.

Instead a once-subtle frustration ebbed up into his being as the days carried on, and it became the only thing that pulled him loose from his reverie. Just as in this instance, it was the unfamiliar cry of pain that drew him from his roost further up the uneven slope. He pursued it, only in time to see a lithe form sorely untangling herself from the wooded mass. He did not recognize her by appearance alone, but his senses told him he knew her otherwise. From the banks where Jinx had been slain, intermixed with blood and the scent-deadening waters. A low growl built in his throat, his gold eyes bored through the foliaged depths to her form. He wavered uncomfortably dominant, unabashed in his display to her. It spoke the volumes of his distrust, but he did not make any move to expand it into a full-blown threat.

She forced herself to turn away from the wet slash on the bark, just in time to see a mottled golden male picking his way down the slope. This one was unfamiliar and, as he drew near and raised himself into dominance, clearly unschooled in the ways of the wild. Ptarmigan had killed the Alpha and bested the Alpha's champion, and so it went without saying that she thought her claim legitimate, whether or not that was true in the eyes of her would-be followers.

Though her sides smarted and she wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and whimper, Ptarmigan had let go of the easy summer days of a loner when she made the conscious decision to seize an opportunity and commit treason against her species. Now, she would at least make certain it was for something. She lifted her head defiantly, meeting his gaze boldly and pulling her tail and ears up into sharp angles.

“Down,” she commanded, but given her injuries, made no move to enforce this command. It felt awkward on her tongue, of course, and for a moment she scrambled internally to hold herself together. Being in charge wasn't her forte, clearly, for the look of indecision over this command and its effectiveness wavered in her eyes despite her efforts to hide it.

Her reaction time was impeccable, and he found amusement in her display. Cara had certainly did a number to her, though the same certainly went in reverse. He eyed her openly, putting to memory those scant details where flesh and blood stood clean from the pitch black inkwell of her body. She put on a good show, but Mordecai was disinterested in it. Instead he looked beyond her to the weaving and distorted slopes of the foothills, wondering if he would see anything, or anyone else watching in the distance.

There was nothing. Nothing that he could pick out, and his attention wheeled back to the usurper.

“You're in no state to be giving commands.” He lacked malice in his words, though an indescribable fury did burn within him. If she moved to force him, he had decided he would only add to her wounds. But if she didn't, then he had no intentions of attempting to put her down. In a way that he had an uncertain feeling with, she had done them a favor by putting Jinx out of her misery. Yet it should have been theirs to do, not an outlier from who knew where. They had been lucky, he thought, to have at least kept Jinx contained within their borders. What he didn't know was that they hadn't, at least at one point or another.

“Who are you?” He knew what she thought she was, could tell that she intended to try and keep it. But what he didn't know was who she was, and perhaps why she had been brazen enough to try in the first place.

“I am the sole one in the state to give commands,” Ptarmigan retorted, waving the tip of her tail rigidly above her hinds as though to remind him who was in charge here. Intimidation tactics weren't Ptarmigan's strong suit—it was a miracle she had won her challenge at all—but she kept her eyes firm on him nonetheless. A keen observer might see the hairline fractures forming in her composure in the way her lip trembled and her ears slightly faltered, but she did a fair job of holding it.

Then she replied with, “Alpha.” He needn't know her name just yet, or anythin, not until the attitude changed. In the meantime, the Endore would be difficult and defiant, even if he asked five or six times.

Her rebuke rolled off him like raindrops; it did nothing to either improve or dampened his mood. If she thought herself in charge, then so be it. But then and there, Mordecai felt he knew better. She had gotten lucky and won the battle, but the war she had started with them all internally was far from over. When she wouldn't give out her name either, he couldn't help but scoff quietly, shaking his head much in the way one does with a less than favorable decision.

And he decided then and there that he didn't have time or want to deal with her.

With complete disinterest, the tawny Ostrega turned away from the battered wolf. He lingered for a moment more as though he considered giving her a parting statement, but thought better of it. There was not another glance back to her as he strode off, his pace brisk and thoughts beginning to turn elsewhere. He didn't anticipate her following him, not at that pace or the length at which he was willing to go to be alone. There was simply too much left to do and while Jinx and Lecter may have departed the earth, he knew the pack needed tending to. No matter who was in charge.