Wolf RPG

When he woke in the still darkness of morning he felt a chill deep in his bones. He gazed at the encroaching haze, unsure if his dreams held firm to him or not; he could not see much as the world tapered away to smudges of fog. A blanket of cotton pulled thin along the edges. As the boy lay there - coiled tightly, yet exposed where he had bedded in the dirt the night before - he thought it looked so soft and uninviting. 

He listened. It was rare for the boy to be awake at this hour, moreso to be alone in that waking. Someone was always nearby sulking in the shadows, or in the case of the other children: seeking ways to torment him. For now he basked in the sombre atmosphere and relished his solitude; it seemed so unnaturally peaceful. It was a shame that peace never lasted long for Glaucos.

it might have been rare for young glaucos to be up at that hour, but it was not rare for the sleepless wraith that prowled across the ursus pack lands, seeking to familiarize himself with the home he had taken. when it was silent, illidan found that his mind was put to ease. try as he might, he could not pull his thoughts away from morgana – the dark winged woman with violet magic in her eyes. he wondered what her voice might have sounded like once upon a time.
 
stepping through the brush, a sudden scent washed through his nares and the ghost turned quickly toward the young boy who had found peace in the silence. illidan latched eyes with him for a moment, unsure what he should do or say. he feared he might have stumbled too close to a mother’s den, but the boy didn’t appear too young. with a rigid frame, illidan sunk his head toward the earth and waited to see if the child would speak.

He felt an itch creep up his spine, nesting in the crook of his neck. He raised one foot and began to kick at himself to alleviate it; contorting his body as quietly as he could. It wasn't hard. There wasn't much meat on his bones despite the recent growth spurt (or perhaps because of it). With his new caretaker more hands-off than his last, and seemingly more invested in visits to altars than any child-rearing, Glaucos had effectively withered.

The boy was quite involved in his scratching and his eyes began to droop. He only paused when a sound trembled through the air, betraying a presence. He sat with his foot raised for a moment before settling it down and peering through the morning haze - spying a pair of bright eyes set in an older face, one he did not know. They moved slightly - lowering their head a little bit further - which was the opposite of what Glaucos had grown used to.

The stranger did not approach him or accost him. He did not mind the reprieve but he was flummoxed by it too. The boy gave a look over his shoulder to make sure his caretaker was asleep (or at least that he was still left to his own devices for some time) and lifted to his paws, walking on eggshells towards the stranger to get a better look.

the child appeared perplexed in many ways by illidan's presence. the dark-hooded wolf had likely intruded near a densite where the boy's mother was occupied. he knew how fiercely parents watched over their children and did not wish to alert the parent of his presence. the ghost figured he could move in and then out of the area before they knew he had ever been there. later, he could catch something to bring as recompense for his actions. 

before he stirred to move, the young boy approached him on cautious feet. 

illidan blinked before his stiff and weary frame released some of the tension that was held there. 

"will your mother be upset with me for coming close to your home?" his tired voice was nothing more than a choked whisper, barely loud enough so that the child would hear him and be able to answer with a simple nod of his head. he would have assumed he already knew the answer to such a question, but with the younger wolf approaching him willingly... he thought there was a chance that he was allowed to speak with other members of ursus.

Glaucos' only reference point for other people was limited. There had been Astara, swarthy and skulking, then there had been the introduction of two older children emblazoned with fire or steeped in soot, both machiavellian in nature and the furthest thing from welcoming. The last, Averna, was a ghost who spoke only when it was to explain components of a faith he was too young to understand.

He was suitably skeptical of this newcomer, wondering which of them they took after. Illidan had his own separate distinctiveness; wild but not feral, rangy but not unhealthily so. A sharp profile - bright eyes.

"Will your mother be upset with me for coming close to your home?" He whispered, as if he did not wish to disturb the quiet. Glaucos appreciated that more than he let on.

He shook his head in quick little jerks. "She's not my mother." As if that would clarify anything. At the very least it might ease Illidan of his caution. Glaucos tipped his way closer. He kept a slight distance in case this man turned on him, which was something of an inevitability as far as he was concerned, but he was curious all the same.

‘she’s not my mother.’
 
illidan stayed, his gaze remained locked on the child in front of him.
 
once, he had been that very same pup; cared for by the hands of a stranger when he was much too young to fend for himself. though it did little to quell his fear of being chased from the den site, illidan did not believe that he would be killed and so he did not immediately flee.
 
“i see,” the ghost responded, voice still quiet in its volume and ragged in nature. he wondered if the child wanted company, or if he was one who preferred the quiet of his own. for illidan? it had been different depending on the day. regardless, his own experience as a child helped him to speak to this one. he did not judge or belittle the boy for the remark he had made.

The boy thought this stranger was fascinating. He studied the man in no particular order; stolen glances watching the angles of the face obliquely, noting the dark cowl, the small brown ears that pointed like horns, the grizzled body.

Are you my father? He croaked, having planted his bum upon the dirt again. His head tilts, and Glaucos wonders if there is any familial resemblance to Astyanax. He does not recall his parents that well - mostly his mother, but those morbid images were fading now - and often he wondered about his origins.

It does occur to him a bit late, if this was his father then he would know where mother went. At the very least he would not be so cautious upon approaching; although Glaucos also wondered if he was particularly ugly or bad, cursed in a way to make him un-lovable, unwanted. His father may have known this upon the boy's birth and merely fled from it.

‘are you my father?’
 
illidan blinked, creasing his brow curiously at the child’s query.
 
“no. i am not.”
 
it would have done no good to beat around answering that. as difficult as it was, he did not want to make himself seem more important than he was to the boy. he was just passing through; he hadn’t meant to disrupt the peace near their home. the more that he had spoken to the young pup, his mind raced with wonder. how likely was it that children were lost or left by their parents? why bring a child to the world if you cannot care for it and teach it to grow?
 
“what is your name, boy?”

The question hung a moment before an answer came. He did not know how to feel about it and so he felt nothing; deep down it maybe stung, seeing this road-weary stranger who seemed so kind (comparatively, thus far, versus those he knew) and having no real connection to him.

What is your name, boy? The man asked.

The boy blinked at him, not having an answer for this. He was perplexed. There was Astara his once-mother, there was Averna the ghost, and Merrick—who he thought of as father—and even the terrible twins; who was he? Did he have a name too?

Quiet fell upon him. He tried to think back through every moment of his life and recall if anyone ever called for him or used a name—but no, nobody ever had done so. He thought of his brother next and wondered after him, and seemed to stagnate while the man waited.

Don't have one. Admitted the child, finally.

‘don’t have one.’
 
illidan squinted at this, unsure of its validity. perhaps there was once when the mother of the child had birthed him that she had looked down and whispered a name he would never have heard. it mattered not what the once-mother had done for this boy. she had abandoned him to be tended for by another, without a name and without any connections to his blood. the dark-hooded beast peered at the child and realized that he had been turned into a blank slate. the boy could be built into anything that he desired to chase.
 
“do you want one?”
 
the question was gruff and issued in an off-hand way. it didn’t matter if the boy was fine not to have a calling of his own, but it was best if that choice was made by the child and not someone older than him. if it suited the young pup, illidan thought that discovering his own name – a name that he wanted for himself – would have no harm. even if the unknown kid simply wanted something for others to call him, that wasn’t much to ask.

Nobody had ever asked the boy what he'd want before, not of anything. It seemed to him that nothing mattered except what he was told to do and how quickly he could do it; the other children came to mind then, their harassment and their corrective teeth. Averna did not speak much to the two boys at all and rarely asked them questions. Astara - she was the sharper of the two by far, at least when it came to reactivity, and more of a mute than her ghostly sister. The boy ran through each of them as he tried to remember the last time someone had asked him anything and there was only a blank stare on his face.

Was it necessary he have a name? Did those with names have more power in this world? Perhaps it was a requirement for determining one's destiny; of course these thoughts were not so concise within the child, whose thoughts were thick like molasses and moving just as slowly. He ruminated on it, and would continue for a while. No answer would come readily to his lips.

Instead, appearing dismayed by the shift of the conversation and the length of time they'd spent together (and at such distance from what the boy knew), he turned towards home and began to meander soundlessly back to the valley. He was less interested in the sounds and smells along the path this time and appeared distracted, clearly thinking long and hard about the question.

the nameless child continued being nameless, as the question had not been met with a response.
 
illidan saw no reason to push the boy into picking a calling for himself. one day he might decide differently, but until that point arrived then he would simply be ‘the boy.’ should he dislike being called as such, all he would need to do is speak up.
 
the dark-hooded ghost did not press the matter any further. he simply relaxed and followed the movements of the younger figure as he poked around thoughtfully – young features were tightened in what seemed to have been a state of serious contemplation. unwilling to interrupt such deep thought, illidan continued to watch over the boy until he was required elsewhere and bid the child farewell.