Wolf RPG

for Atlas!

She had managed to escape the thrum of the hive; there were too many unknown wolves and to her the unknown meant the unpredictable -- and what existed outside of her knowledge existed without her consent. Fitful and nervous, she had skirted around nearly every waking Nereides and true to her coyote heritage, slunk off undetected under the guise of a frightfully slow dawn.

She picked her away along the shore with her head held down; to an outsider it may have looked like she was scavenging. However, she passed spindly crab and jellyfish alike -- her eyes trained to the monotonous sand for shrouds of kelp or ancient seashells.

She moved briskly and worked with a tidy efficiency. Before long the skeletal creature had amassed a small trove of miscellaneous artifacts regurgitated by the pounding sea.

It was strange to think of the gaunt creature as one of his own, and so he did not. She was too foreign. But it was his duty to patrol the sands and tend to the women - even the reedy stranger which Junior had brought to them. In the distance the consort could see her dark body silhouetted by the sea, with her nose pointed down in search. If it meant he did not have to appease her with trinkets found with his own time, then Atlas would sit back and watch; he was devoted to the true Nereides and found it difficult to trust this oddity. Regardless of how he saw the stranger, Atlas had a duty to perform. He sluggishly trailed after her as she moved up the beach, but tried his best to give her ample space; remembering vividly how defensive and nervous she had been in their first encounter.

She paced and huffed and sighed and groaned; stopping and starting, spinning and bolting -- her tapered and thin muzzle pressed earnestly into the wet sand and her eyes wide with prying wonder. Every new trinket was another amazement acknowledged into her illustrious fold; and within minutes the small stockade grew until it was a heap of indiscernible and worthless rubbish.

She froze suddenly, the furs on the back of her neck uplifted in silent alarm. Slowly she turned her head and glanced over her backside, her vehement gaze settling on the silent spectre that trailed behind her. She pivoted to face him -- unsure of his intentions. He was distinctly much larger than her, and far more hale in body -- and unsure of what to do she withered over the collection of bones and shale -- wondering innately if he was going to destroy her small collection of valued things.

Over the course of her visit the girl had collected an ample supply of objects, but nothing that really stood out to him as a real prize. There were broken shells aplenty, a legless carapace from a large crab, and some clusters of debris that Atlas barely glanced at as he rounded upon the pile. What caught his attention more was the girl's evident hostility. She was still nervous of him, even after Junior had explained his role among the group. The look she cast him made Atlas want to scowl and flash his teeth - but he had more tact than that. His training was too well ingrained for such a dangerous act of defiance. So instead, the boy ambled past the pile and the youth. Aside from a slight nod of his head cast in her direction, he paid her no mind - and began to scour the beach for things she no doubt missed.

She stiffened visibly as he approached her -- so unsure of him was she that she started to entertain formulating some sort of escape strategy. But he walked right past her as if she and her cache weren't there -- this ushered a swallowed look of resentment and for a moment the girl stood there as if she had been freshly lambasted by an icy wave.

She scowled and watched him for a few moments -- it had started to look like he was joining her in her search for sea-purloined rejects. She straightened herself and stalked off, walking stiffly towards the lower strand where kelp swung with abandon in the swirling eddies. She kept a discrete eye on the male, but was thoroughly content to ignore him right back. The nerve!!! She huffed to herself, but said nothing.

His silent battle with the girl kept his spirits high, which was in some vague way, pathetic. It was like a game between two petulant children. He would nose around in the sand, nudge rocks out of the way or pull at some netted seaweed, and sometimes lift his face out of his own errands in order to observe her pile, as if to compare their objects. Atlas did not find anything in the first half hour of scouring. He saw plenty of little crabs scurrying for cover when the rocks were overturned, but they were commonplace and worthless. Slowly he gathered shell fragments, swathes of kelp, and even a few gull feathers that were in particularly good condition - the size of his pile not really growing to the same immensity as the girl's, but the contents being of higher quality. When the consort decided to take a break, he paused and slumped his rear end against the sand and looked to her — smug and pleased with his work.

Caiaphas panicked for a moment, fretting fitfully as she saw the male glance between the piles. Was his better than hers? Did he have a horseshoe carapace, or a coelecanth relic? The frightful and wretched coywolf withered under the pressure.

She glanced back to her swarthy pile; an agglomeration of various shell and bones -- all splintered, all nearly worthless. A frown haunted her features, and she practically boiled with indignity as he looked at her -- so smug. So pompous!

A shriek bubbled in her throat and with a wry wrench she dove into his treasures like a wrecking ball, setting into the cache with the indiscriminate frenzy of a small tornado.

He was sitting happily between the piles, his tail curled neatly around his paws and a magnanimous expression upon his face. He did not anticipate her reaction, and so when Caiaphas suddenly launched herself at and then through his pile, Atlas just stared in slack-jawed surprise. How rude.

With a snort the boy got to his paws and advanced upon her pile of goodies. One by one he inspected them, and one by one they were flicked out of the pile with one casual twist of his paw. The objects soon littered the area. If she was going to ruin his pile by destroying perfectly good gifts, then he would do the same! So there.

The impetuous wretch, however calculating, had not yet thought of a contingency plan -- and as she flung with wild abandon into the hoard she was oblivious to Atlas' advancement.

She dug and tossed and the darkdamp sand was soon littered with chaotic upheaval, as if some horde of battalion strength had stormed through the strand. So pleased was she by her tumult that she stopped and stepped back to witness the greatness of her generated disorder -- and it was then she caught him flinging her small stash awry.

A dull roar bubbled in her throat, but she stifled it -- her menacing gaze darkening with stormcloud fierceness. She strode towards him purposely and threw herself in his direct path, besieging the pile in the very same manner he strode to do. Once her rage had been appeased she turned towards him panting with her darting tongue swept aside over glittering and pale teeth. Her dark brow remained furrowed and she spoke, her tone ambiguous. "Couldn't a consort get in trouble for that?" A simpering smile followed, her trademark false grin.

A patch of moist seaweed hung from his jaws, slicking against his chin, when she dove to inject herself between him and the pile. The boy issued a snort, and seemed to muse about his next move - continue flinging, or give in at the first moment of resistance? He chose to toss the gob of green down in to the sand, and spent a few moments licking the brine from his lips. Couldn't a consort get in trouble for doing that? she quipped, and as a small smile spread across her lips, he gave a shrug as a retort.

Maybe, maybe not. It depended on who was around. Atlas glanced around as if to show off the absence of others upon the beach, and then gave her another smug little look. I am teaching a Neophyte about the gifts from the sea, the boy went on to explain, his gaze dropping from the curve of Caiaphas' cheek and landing instead upon the messy pile they loomed over. Idly, Atlas caught some more seaweed in his claws and dragged it close, as if to inspect it. As a heathen you have much to learn.

It was a good excuse. The true Nereides may still have chastised him for his behavior simply because it was their god-given duty, but they would not have been too harsh. Or so Atlas had convinced himself.

She... Had a point. And as he realized this, the boy's ears briefly flitted back against his head. If she were to tell the others of his behavior then there would surely be punishment; perhaps the stripping of the rank he coveted so. Whatever mirth he had exacted at her expense was not worth being set back to being a mere drudge, and the entire point of Atlas being on this journey was to prove himself. His plan, therefore, had backfired - and he was indebted to the scheming wraith through her ability to blackmail. His posture sagged and drooped, and the confidence he had been showcasing was swiftly sucked away from him.

Why do they call you Atlas? she asked next, seemingly changing the subject now that a silent arrangement had been made. No more mischief from the consort. Ἄτλας is an old name, believed to have been carried by an ancient man of great strength. It was most likely given to me because of my size. He had always been one of the larger boys, which is precisely why he had been kept by the Nereides. He felt a great swell of pride as he thought of this, and briefly his posture alighted with confidence; but it was momentary, for once again he sank in the subserviant posture of his station.

Why are you called... Whatever you're called? He asked next, although it was clear that he was ignorant of her true name, for he hesitated before awkwardly phrasing the rest of his speech. He couldn't keep referring to her as wraith or wretch, as much as he'd like to.

Caiaphas. It sounded Greek, and that was interesting to him. It was long believed that wolves were born from the sea and were taught the language of the ocean by Mother Moon; at least, the women. To think that even in this foreign place there were remnants of their culture... How curious. It meant the group was on the right track, although Atlas never doubted Psamathe or the High Priestess. If her name was any indication, then Atlas' initial belief that this crude creature was not to be trusted was most likely true. There was time to study her though, and perhaps time to fix whatever had caused such hostility to brew within her.

If she would allow it, and judging by her snide chatter, she was resistant. Atlas huffed softly and turned, eager to depart from her company, but was forced to stop and heed her words when she continued to speak. The consort was under her rule and she knew that now, so there was no getting out of it. What do the consorts do besides terrorize young and innocent girls like me?

We serve them. Hunt for them, protect them during travel, and aid them in any way they deem necessary. Pride swelled in him again as he recited this small mantra, reminded of his time as a drudge - and before that, his earliest lessons of the sea and Her power. The sanctity of Themiscrya and the blessed women harbored within. Atlas did not know much about the breeding ceremony yet, so he kept that tidbit out of the explanation - he was a consort, but a new consort. Eventually he would be 'broken in' and perhaps seen fit enough for the sacred rite, but for now... He was still just barely above a drudge.

Whether the information caught her fancy or not, Atlas had no way of knowing. Caiaphas appeared to be a constantly irritated individual, and nothing would satiate that. After giving his explanation he half expected to hear a swift response, something acerbic or snide, but instead there was silence. She did not implore him to do any sort of nasty deed, chastise him for his behavior, or anything. There was only silence, an awkward silence which he desired to flee from. If there were no orders then he could go back to his business of rounding up trinkets - and he'd make sure to do it far from her side in the future. A curious glance was given to her ruined pile, and this carried over to a brief examination of her sooty paws; he was waiting, for what remained to be seen, but he waited patiently, like a child that was being set to pause by an adult, pulling away slowly in case of reprimand.

When there was nothing left to be said, and a great silence swelled between them, Atlas took the opportunity to depart in earnest. He would remain within a safe distance in case something befell the girl - as he was trained to do - but no longer lingered for conversation. She seemed distracted by the pile of objects anyway, and set about gathering whatever trinkets caught her fancy; many of which were things he had tossed aside in his childish battle against her. If something did befall their newest recruit, Atlas wondered if he really would come to her rescue... But that thought was stricken from his mind as he set to work, and began to nose his way through the rocks again.