Wolf RPG

it had taken a couple hours’ worth of retracing paths, but the maze of the lion’s den – what a poetic name for the cavern housing the saints, of all wolves – did not hinder them as they slid from the caverns into the early morning sunlight. the sun was already heating the flat top of the canyon walls; they’d been forced to abandon their adventure in that direction for the sake of their paws.

a gentle breeze ran down into the open mouth of the den, echoing through its halls. there might have been mists in the forest that they’d first claimed, but the canyon was completely exposed; this early in the morning, the sun still saw fit to provide them with wide swaths of shadow cast off the sandstone cliffs.

renard would never admit it, but the wide treeless spaces were unsettling at best. their skin crawled not having a tree to crouch under, fallen branches to climb; with no overhanging shadow, no places to hide, they lacked much of their advantage. sunlight or no, it was time they worked out a replacement.

they stepped out, keeping to the shade of the walls, and went still when their gaze found the familiar brindle figure sprawled in the sun – and then a somewhat less familiar mottled brown approaching, trailing with her the scents of sex and blood as she curled herself into donovan and this place was really something, wasn’t it?

renard briefly weighed the pros and cons of making themselves known. seemed likely someone would notice them either way. and the tail wasn’t exactly forgettable when it came to first impressions.

so they were doing this now, then.

still, there was an air of mystique to maintain. renard slid by them without speaking, though they weren’t expecting to get far before someone spoke up.

no, it seemed, they were not going to avoid this friendly chat.

donovan was the one to call their name, though, and when renard turned because this was the grandmaster, they –

oh, were they really…okay. you know what, that made just as much sense as anything else here. renard lingered for a moment with eyebrow raised, projecting a clear is this a serious request into the increasingly weird space between the three of them, and then figured, why not.

“i don’t have to get any closer. i can smell her from here.” if they were honest, the answer was blood, but they were already neck deep here and where was the fun in that? “so are you both working through the saints, or was this someone outside the border?”

nemisis promptly answered the question for them. it was accompanied by an unfriendly smile and if renard had any hope this wasn’t going to become a problem, her next words stole that away in a heartbeat. fine; they could handle it. the polite smile on their face did not falter, but they offered no reply.

renard couldn’t really care less about who was fucking who, as long as they knew the names because they wanted their nose in everything, but objectively there were better things to do with one’s time and as much as they respected donovan, he really needed to stop being led around by his dick.

as she was obviously doing to him. and he was doing with auriel. and who knew who else was doing what. or who. a mental note. this was going to become their business sooner or later, wasn’t it?

renard angled their head a little, but, well…it was true. donovan had his nose everywhere as much as they did – probably more, by virtue of his position. and good to hear; that would, uh, certainly lead places fast.

“oh, i'm always happy to help.” it came out exactly as dry as you'd expect.

the verbal tennis match continued up to nemisis’ admission and, well, no better time to start getting a feel for how this would go outside of the single conversation they’d held below the glacier.

“the saints not enough for you?” it wasn’t that renard wouldn’t have been happier with her gone, because unstable was...still a kind word – it was just that there was an entire group out there that were her kind. there were a wealth of things this could have meant, and they all seemed equally…well, not concerning, just fucking bizarre.

and the funny thing was that they still didn’t know the half of it.

renard did, in fact, not want a fight. not enough to purposefully egg one on; it was not (currently) worth the mess it would cause. a certain level of politeness was their go-to, but they’d already tried that once, and anyways their opinion of her was, generously, less than positive. not worth the effort. what they did want was an answer.

what was surprising was that she wasn’t foaming at the mouth to come after them already. renard’s head tipped thoughtfully. maybe they couldn’t call it uncharacteristic yet. it was unfortunate for them that knowing her as well as they cared to wasn’t enough.

donovan’s eyes drifted between both of them like he was watching a spectator sport, if without the cheering.

there were so many things they could say. most revolving around whether leading a pack was done by getting into squabbles over who got to fuck their leader. but, yes, they weren’t looking for a fight, and sometimes the best way to be a pain in the ass – and if it was the case for anyone it would be for her – was to just…not.

“we all need hobbies.” renard shrugged. still smiling that carefully polite smile. clearly they needed to be more direct. “what i meant was – your own kind?”

“she is.” it was not a lie, but their own definition of something else was certainly leagues away from donovan’s. they weren’t the one she was chasing after, and they weren’t the one letting it happen. they followed her with the flat-eyed look of a shark circling its bleeding prey until she had vanished around the edge of the canyon and, at length, returned their gaze to the grandmaster.

surely he realized the echoing similarity in the the old saints’ story to the new. there was something funny in the thought that he didn’t, but not enough to quell the prickling frustration in the back of their head.

“well, as long as we’re here, let’s chat.” renard’s gaze had flickered into something less amused, something sharper-edged, but the smile lingered in place. “the patrols, the rumors...they aren’t all for show. who are we expecting?”

donovan delivered his information with a smile on his face, a shark scenting blood. it was a long way from the coast to the canyon, a lot of territory to abandon for such a length of time, but if yuèlóng truly had a problem nobody could count on that stopping them. their brief conversation on their arrival to the canyon had provided a little information, an overview, hushed willows included; not nearly enough.

“but they weren’t the only ones that went to the forest.” none of the pack scents at the edge had been were familiar, but there were more than two. what, exactly, made him think these could be the only threat? “if they came to chase you out once, what’s to say they won’t do it again? you think we can show our faces to this pack and live with them? in peace?” the scorn dripping from their tone made it clear what they thought of the idea.

they were not asking questions; they were delivering observations. an interrogation or a measurement? it didn’t matter. donovan commanded a force now. it was not that they considered themselves particularly attached to their packmates, but you could only afford to throw people away when you had people to spare. “how many do we have? how many do they?” a pause. then, a quiet, almost eager thing, “if they spit it back in your face, do we march?”

if he was dead set on this, renard wouldn’t stop him. it might even work. they were as eager as any of the saints to set their teeth into something, to finally do what they had come to do, but was he certain, after everything?

it was about as bad as they expected. they didn’t need to know the details on numbers to know the saints were outnumbered either way – four packs was more than too many for one to take on. and there might yet be others. picking them off – also not an option. they weren’t naive enough to think their allies wouldn’t found out. which put them directly between a rock and a hard place.

at least he could acknowledge that bringing all their numbers to bear at this stage would be driven by nothing but arrogant pride. “the canyon is better for us than the forest. tell me this. just how mad did you make them?” or nemisis. but they wouldn’t prod that into the light of day just yet. “and how many wolves did they bring to drive you out?”

“and what did you do to them?” they could have poked and prodded gently at the question until it came into the light – now was not the time. just because they held more than a little fondness for circular conversations and half-truths didn’t mean they couldn’t get to the point of things when it mattered. there was petty, and then there was the reality of dealing with nemisis.

“i don’t disagree.” renard did not move as donovan got to his paws. “but we have no allies, and limited options. if they come in the same numbers, we have a fair chance of putting an end to their leadership right there, but that that will drive the rest into more of a frenzy.” cut the head off a snake, and there was still venom in the teeth. it would die eventually – but what would it do in the meantime? “so we talk, or we move. but the first didn't go so well for you last time, did it?"

and it wouldn't again, if nemisis was involved. but that was none of their business.

“i suppose that’s what you’re the grandmaster for, isn’t it? the hard decisions?“ renard smiled faintly. they were just the enforcer, in the end. no matter what they thought of donovan’s choice, it was where their teeth would be applied.

renard lifted a brow. their expression had fallen back to neutrality, if only for a moment. donovan was, apparently, just as reluctant to come out with things as they were. they weren’t sure he knew if he was doing it. but the specifics here didn’t matter much. trespassing and assault: hardly anything to get worked up about, but then, nobody here seemed to know how to handle a pack that was disinterested in wasting its time playing nice.

they hadn’t expected an alliance out of it.

“if they do force us to leave,” renard mused, “we could settle closer to ursus. might be a deterrent.” whatever many of the same views meant – but donovan was the one who’d met this merrick, after all. “are they willing to help? or is this just…in name only.” they didn’t rely on allies, in principle. or care all that much for them. but the threat of two packs was greater than one.

“good.” just keep nemisis on a leash, then. another thing they knew better than to say. with only a moment’s consideration, renard padded after him, trailing a short distance behind. “but let’s try and make this winnable. people should be out scouting, spying. preparing. maybe secure this border before they show up to piss on it.”

enjoying a bit of bloodshed was a plus, even if renard couldn’t help but find the explanation…lacking in detail. seeming willing to help and being willing to help were a far cry from each other. another point to add to the list of things they would have to take donovan’s word on.

it was his pack, though, wasn’t it? his vision. they had no real stake in it, in the end; if it fell, that was all down to donovan. they were here to watch – and apparently only that, since they had yet to be instructed to a single task – until it stopped being an entertaining wreck to witness.

at least there was a plan now.

renard tipped their muzzle. “a good start. do you have any orders for me?”