Wolf RPG

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@Solomon Bishop for the angry boi <3

The mambo skulked through the Weald on heavy steps, grateful for the spike in temperatures. The air was still chilled but it was not so miserable; even so, she was still required to keep Aphelion close for it was not yet warm enough for the serpent to roam freely. He coiled about her like a diamond pendant now, his speckled scales languishing as they lengthened and twisted contently around her dark neck as if he were grateful for the warmth she provided. 

Mati would return to the sleeping place that she and Eldritch had thrown together, a loose scrape in the dirt that they'd piled with drifts of leaves where they shared their body warmth with Aphelion on bitter nights. Soon, they would move on and eventually, if more were drawn to the path of night then they would settle permanently in a covenstead. If not, perhaps the Melonii and Nightwish would settle together, just the two of them toiling over their plants and listening to their gods. 

A deer leg, haunch and all, the darkling carried in her jaws -- dragging the meal she had scavenged between her forelegs like a proud lioness returning to her pride.

His fur isn’t built for this type of weather. It’s much too cold and he doesn’t have enough fat on him to compensate. Sure, his daunting form is swollen with muscle and he has a fair amount of loose skin but it does nothing against the biting cold the season brings.

He traveled west for miles and miles after he’d visited his old home of Ursus. He doesn’t feel safe enough to be around them. He doesn’t want to do something he might regret. The possibilities with such an outcome horribly strong with how atrocious his mental has been. He sees red a lot of the time and many creatures have been subject to his strong jaws and pressing strength. He wants to kill everything in site. Luckily, he hasn’t come across any wolves since his meet up with Merrick. 

Today is different though. The smell of food draws him close to another. Though his sense of smell has been unreliable recently, it doesn’t hurt to try. It seems whatever has gotten a hold of his mind is trying to get him killed, despite its apparent mercy by saving him from his near death only months ago.

So he stumbles through the Weald, the heavy fog makes his vision go in and out often causing him to squint pale eyes to see much of anything. What he does see is a dark form that moves low to the ground. Another animal. Food perhaps? He moves himself into a trot, muscles shifting beneath his mottled pelt, access skin flopping about, collar jingling. He’s not secretive or sneaky, he’s bold as he moves through the fog with purpose in his eyes and stride.

Or he was. Until he notices that it’s another wolf. A dark pleated woman with a pelt darker than the depths of space. She holds a leg on her maw. That smell was her food, not his. A nagging voice in the back of his head tells him that anything can be food — even her if he’s brave enough. He doesn’t know if he is. Allowing himself to stop a couple meters from the midnight shewolf. He just stares as if he’s been caught red handed even though he hasn’t done anything wrong he feels like he has. 

His cropped ears flit back and he licks his lips nervously. He’s so lonely, but he can’t be around anyone lest the curse he holds within him triggers and he’s speaking with teeth and not words. So he doesn’t move, he’d wait for her to acknowledge him first.
Bicolored optics rise, landing on the merle wraith mottled in the hues of truth and witchcraft: greys and blacks with his eyes of blue-white December sky. She drops the deer leg, her hackles beginning to prickle defensively at the sight of the behemoth charging towards her unexpectedly, watching him bear down on her like Sithis given corporeal form. Yet, he slows -- drawing to a halt on his huge paws only a few feet away as his ears pin and a purplish, spotty tongue rasps along his chops in agitation. It's so uncharacteristically different from what she expects, thinking the collared brute to be racing towards the Priestess with malicious intentions. 

"Peace be, brother," the Bayou witch drawls soothingly, making the natural assumption that something is amiss with the man. "Are you hurt? Hungry?" Perhaps the gods intended for their paths to cross, so that Aerenys might help him -- perhaps he had some purpose to fulfill for the Daedra. "I can help, yeah."