Wolf RPG

"Come on Bjarte, you can make it..." 

His voiced echoed through the towering elm trees and sprawling oak branches, as he turned to glance behind him. The old male limped towards him, his body trembling and his hind right leg now dragging visibly through the damp leaflitter as he struggled to keep up.

Ansgar could see that his elderly companion was in pain, but they hadn't got much further to go. They could keep going for a little while longer — until they couldn't. 

The dark elder's paw caught on fallen branch as he tried to step over it, sending him plummeting to the ground with a heavy thud. Ansgar's ears pricked up and his mahogany eyes widened in horror as he turned back to see Bjarte sprawled out uncomfortably on the forest floor. 

In a heartbeat he was by the elder's side, his chest heaving having raced back to aid him. "Let me help you up.." Ansgar breathed as he grasped the old male by his thinning, greying scruff. "No." Bjarte's voice was hoarse and gutteral, as if death had tightened its jaws around his throat. "I refuse to leave you here, come on, get up." He tugged at the old wolf's scruff again, but the elder did not budge, did not even argue. 

Instead he let out a wheezing sigh. One which sent a chill down the young arctic wolf's spine. 

"Don't you give up now, Bjarte—" The alabaster male nuzzled at his companion's face, trying desperately to elicit a response. "Bjarte!" The old male stared back at him, though his dull golden eyes did not blink, and his tired face did not attempt pull that familiar weary smile. The old wolf stank of infection and rot. He was dead. 

Ansgar's nostrilled flared, his hackles lifting upon his back as he was suddenly overcome with emotion. The young male slumped by the elder's side, his pink tongue reaching out to lick tenderly at the old male's rotten, blood-stained leg before he let out a pittiful whimper and buried his face in the dead wolf's dark fur.

Her intent had been to sweep along the shadowed forest that blanketed one side of the isle she sought to claim. Despite the singularity of her claim—spare for Argent, who was seeking others to join them further within the valleys—she did not sway from her purpose. The solitude allowed her to heal in ways the mountain never had—the flowing river that embraced the land granting a meditative solace with its rushing waters and birdsong.

She ached for her fallen mate. Even worse were the days she ached for his kill brother and the fiery embrace she craved from him. There was no guilt that had fallen her from her thoughts and desires—simply the knowledge that it could never be.

When she heard the voice, her slender form pivoted direction, exotic muzzle pointed to the decidedly male vocals that were alluring, even though the end of her season was upon her and she would no longer be fertile.

The intrigue and desire instilled by the male voice was dampened when she came upon the sorrowful scene—the itch she felt along her spine succumbing to the emanated grief, and she canted her muzzle, drawing forward gently. Maybe her presence was unwelcome—but the quiet of the world when alone told her to risk it—if even to offer her condolences and see if there was anything she could do for the wayward alabaster soldier.

The world around him seemed to grow silent in an instant, aside from the whimpering sobs which erupted from his chest despite his best efforts to quash them. 

Ansgar felt his chest tighten and his muscles begin to shiver. He struggled to catch his breath, not because of the dark fur that smothered his face and muzzle, but because it kept catching in his throat. Any attempt to inhale the damp air around him conjoured another sob from the alabaster male, causing his back to arch as his lungs fought to subdue the pain that now seered through his veins. 

The wolf's breath hitched again, and his heart pounded hard inside his chest, threatening to arrest until — a scent filled his nose and the leaflitter crunched somewhere behind him. No longer alone, primal instincts kicked in and Ansgar finally sucked in a long, sharp breath before violently spinning around. 

"Leave us alone!" Ansgar snarled, fangs bared and fur bristling as he eyed her lissome form. 

Purposefully he placed himself between her and his dead elder, his form squaring off to her defensively as he protected the lifeless corpse slumped on the forest floor behind him.

The pirouette of a form—nothing about him vulnerable, despite the circumstance. His anger was valid, if not misplaced, and she halted her pace forward, her head inclining with respect to his demand if only because of his loss. The spring breeze ruffled the honeyed fur that cloaked her ivory spine, her tail giving an idle flick as her emerald eyes studied him quietly.

“If that’s what you want,” she offered, the smoky lull of her voice almost unfamiliar to her, given the days it had been since used. Her eyes only flashed briefly to the dark and unmoving form, the stench of death and rot making it obvious this was the path destined for the two. Not that it ever made it easier—Stigmata’s demise had been swift and unexpected, leaving her to rear her three children with the assistance only of the shadowed gargoyle of the mountain. At that moment, she missed them both desperately.

But she refused to dwell on it.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

She turned, lithe form beginning to lope back toward the poorly marked borders of the isle, continuing the scouting of the forest that seemed so interlinked to her haven. Just before she left him, she turned, exotic gaze studying him once more, not completely trusting her back turned to the stranger, but also as a final possibility. "If you find yourself needing to rest and a meal, I'm seeking to claim the land borders by the river just beyond here."

To his relief the female halted in her advance and respected his wshes.

Ansgar did not utter another word as she backed away and turned to leave, even as she offered her condolence. The only sign that he had heard her words were the subtle softening of his dark mahogany eyes, as he acknowledged in that moment that the old male was truly gone. The young male's mouth grew dry, his expression changing from one of anger to something much less fierce. Cold, unfeeling, a stoic mask claimed his features as he watched with baited breath as the female walked away. 

Tears swelled in his eyes, and clung to his dark boyish lashes — tears that he refused to shed in front of the stranger who had stumpled upon him in his moment of heartache and loss. He turned his back to her and stared back down towards the lifeless body on the floor, his shoulders hunched over in grief. 

The female's final offer, her gracious parting gift, was barely acknowledged aside from the slight twitch of his left ear. The words did not truly register inside Ansgar in that moment, for his mind was too consumed with the war that was now raging on inside it. 

The stranger finally left, disappearing into the darkness which loomed between the trees, and Ansgar was left to grieve with only the sound of the rain now whispering in his ears.