Wolf RPG

Something was happening, though Valtýr didn't know what. Mommy and Daddy were constantly running around, doing busy adult stuff, and their faces looked sooo serious. Even Tuwawi, who was usually able to masquerade deeper thoughts, struggled to maintain her composure around the children. They all picked up on it, even Larus and Jokull. Something big was about to happen.

Valtýr didn't know how to feel. Happy? Sad? Excited? Instead, he tried to distract himself from thinking about why Bazi looked so sad, or why Daddy had such a sharp glimmer in his eye. The toddler skipped out of the den into a brisk, late summer evening and kicked the long grass with his front paws to try and stir up some bugs.

His mother left him with the same stern warning she issued every night before heading out to cruise for insects: "Stay here. Don't try to fly. It's harder than it looks. You'll kill yourself. Do you hear me, young man? I'll be back at sunrise."

Every other night, he'd obeyed. But he'd plotted and planned and worked up his courage. Tonight was the night. He was ready. His mother would be gone all night, feeding. He could go for a short flight and return long before she came back. She would never know.

Once she winged out of sight, he rotated himself on the shale ledge, licked his lips, spread his wings and let go for the very first time.

The tiny bat sailed through the gathering dark, a warm summer breeze catching beneath his widespread wings. He only wobbled slightly. Below him, he saw flashes of rocky soil and water. He coasted east, the rocky terrain giving way to a sprawling grassland.

Suddenly, the sensation of pleasant buoyancy disappeared as he cruised beyond the thermal updraft. He banked sharply and began to pump his wings for the first time. "W-whoa..." he squeaked, trying to find his balance as he dipped through the darkness.

He could see a large, dark pool of water below: Arrow Lake. Licking his lips, the spotted bat attempted to steady his course and follow the lake where it narrowed and emptied into a creek. His heart fluttered in his chest as he finally nailed his center of gravity and resumed an even keel, albeit still slowly descending.

This time, he slammed into an invisible wall and went careening sideways, soon entering a corkscrewing spin. He flapped his wings desperately, hoping to regain both balance and altitude, yet even as he managed to stop the dizzying downward spiral, he crashed into a tree.

"Ooof," he said. He stuck to the tree limb for a second or two, then dropped to the ground, hitting another branch on his way down. He sprawled there, breathing hard.

Once he caught his breath, he began to wriggle in the grass. Nothing felt broken. "I meant to do that," he declared to no one when the reality of the situation suddenly hit him: he was lost and alone in a strange place, with mediocre flying abilities. He was on the ground and exposed.

Panicking, he began to flop and flap his wings. "Mama! Mama! Halp!" the youngster cried, unaware of the frolicking wolf pup six yards away and closing.

The vibrant light waned in the sky as the forest was lulled into a drowsy twilight. Summer's crickets chirped a melodic and pleasant tune while squirrels nested in their homes. Other than the adult wolves' tempestuous politics, Swiftcurrent proved to be a perfect retreat for Teekon's other natives. The stark plains of the valley offered few hiding places for larger predators, such as bears or cougars, and incited game to sojourn to the sweet meadows of Sunrise Valley.

Not that Valtýr was aware of the impact topography had on life. He knew little of the outside world, completely oblivious to danger. The firstborn had learned of sorrow and suffering when he had been introduced to the half-dead grouse, letting big alligators flow as he empathized with the unfortunate birdy, but the implication of self-preservation was left only to his frail instincts. Val's flight or fight response may have been a bit more than broken. Any stranger he had met became an immediate friend. And why shouldn't they? There was little reason to warrant a fearful response.

And so, when he heard a rustle and cry in the nearby grass, his short mane only spiked out of surprise. Curiosity was quick to overcome the young toddler. He swaggered over to the patch of grass, ears tilted forward and thin tail pitched at twelve o'clock, to peer between the long blades. An unusual created flapped around. Not a beetle or a bird. "Mouse?" Valtýr chirped with a cock of his head as the tiny bat cried for its mother. Slowly his stubby nose drew nearer, wanting to figure out exactly who and what the tiny beastie was.

He hoped she would come swooping out of the air, clutch him and deliver him safely home. No such thing transpired, however. The small bat continued ambling around in the grass, shouting for his mother. Eventually, he switched to pleading with his god: "Please send help, Weezy! I'm lost! And... broken! Maybe."

The appearance of a wolf pup startled him into silence. The young bat hiccuped quietly and stared up at the creature, which looked huge to him. At the question, he shook his head and automatically answered, "Nope. I'm a... hey, how'd I understand you? Can you understand me? Neat!" To express his delight, he reached out a winged claw and punched the pup in the nose (though it would feel like nothing more than a tap).