Wolf RPG

The air was still chilled despite spring's inevitable arrival and the occasional sunrays that broke through the broken cover of clouds that hung low in the sky, hinting at the rains to come. They were held at bay for now, which the huntress was grateful for. She'd smelt some more of those strange canid scents around the borders, not the same ones that @Wintersbane(reference)had chased out less than a fortnight prior but scavengers all the same. They hadn't crossed over again but the shaman had followed the trail towards the split ridge of heat and ice regardless, the one that the others had called Frostfire Ridge. 

She slowed as she wound through the burnt forest which was beginning to bud with new life, the scent of the fox growing stronger as she sniffed at the roots of the trees in search of its burrow. Its days thieving from their food stores were over with if the tundrian had anything to say about it.

Laurel had always had a particular dislike for other canids. Perhaps it was because she was raised to feel better than others — Reek's little princess — and she had been raised around wolves-only, or perhaps it was because of her encounter with Iliksis. Regardless, she didn't like coyotes — her meeting with Draper a testimony of that — and she didn't like foxes very much either.

Laurel had gone to explore the territories surrounding the Bypass and after passing by the side of a forest (unbeknowst to her, the one where she was born) the middle-aged woman happened upon a ridge. She didn't like heights very much, but the scent of a fox beckoned her and soon enough, she saw the ruddy flash in the distance. With teeth bared, Laurel followed, unaware that someone else was tracking its scent from the other side, where its burrow lay to which this particular fox was now racing for its life to get to.

absolutely, thanks for joining!

Imaq continued along her abstract path, following the faded scents of the fox -- assuming it must live somewhere in the immediate area based on all the overlapping scents that wound through the trees -- completely ignorant to the fact that another hunter had entered the woods opposite and was now running down the very same target she was stalking. 

She happened along the rust-pelted canid's burrow just moments before it burst onto the scene in a panic. Not knowing Laurel was only heartbeats behind it, Imaq startled slightly and then lunged towards the poor, confused bastard -- who yipped a scream of fear as the she-dog blocked its escape into the den and began to chase him back in the direction he'd come from. Apparently in his panic, it was confused and had forgotten about the other she-wolf that had been pursuing him originally. 

Laurel chased it and she felt frustrating rush through her when the fox seemed to be gaining ground on her. She didn't want to let it slip away, but it looked like she might not have a choice. A low guttural growl rumbled. She stopped when it seemed to slip away from her grasp, but very shortly after she saw it return suddenly.

Unable to figure out why precisely it had turned back to her and running on instincts alone Laurel leaped forward and grabbed the fox by its throat, catching it completely unawares in its panic. She growled as she ended its life while it let out a last panicked screech, at which point her unknown hunting partner probably rounded the corner.

A particularly  thick swath of brambles amongst the undergrowth seemed determined to obstruct her from pursuing after the tigiganniak but after a few prolonged moments of pushing and struggling, Imaq managed to force her way through with minimal scratches. Most of the thorns tangled in her wooly pelt and snagged a few hairs, leaving only a few shallow cuts around her ears that stung salt-sharp as she straightened and shook off as much debris as possible. 

Continuing onwards, Seelie lowered her speckled snout and trailed after the ginger-coated trespasser -- cracked gaze occasionally wandering upwards in search of an amber flash. Instead, the she-dog would stop and straighten when her seafoam orbs landed on another -- a woman pelted in soft agoutis of fawn and rabbitskin with the ruby fox dangling from her jaws in triumph. 

Imaq lowered her gaze nonconfrontationally, greeting the woman with a nod and a soft chuff. The golden cur waited then, lingering to converse if the other huntress was so inclined and slinking away if the stranger bearing another tribe's scent turned out to be food-aggressive or territorial. 

Victory flooded Laurel as she stood panting with the fox in her jaws. Luck was on her side today, it seemed, to drive back the fox into her grasp. The tan woman stiffened when she saw the other round the corner. Had it been a full wolf, she might've only felt defensive over her food, but seeing the strange look of the create, Laurel felt instantly wary. It smelled mostly like a wolf, but she had not met any wolves who looked the way that this one did.

A low growl rumbled in her throat to warn that she should not come much closer, and say what she wanted.

Had she been a wolf, then perhaps Laurel would have shared upon finding out that this wolf had hunted with her; but as things were, she was wary and fearful that this might be a scavenger, like the coyotes. Mixed breeds often were, in Laurel's experience.

Seeing the woman's tension as it crept up over her fawn shoulders like a shawl of wariness and hearing the unspoken threat that escaped around the fox's limp form, Imaq merely dipped her golden crown submissively and began to toe her way backwards from the other. Women of Nunaat were taught from a young age to make themselves smaller and insignificant, less threatening -- not worthy of a challenge or violence. She implemented this, lowering her gaze as she continued to creep away without turning her back on the she-wolf lest she attack from behind. Bit by bit, she became less visible until she seemed to have melded with the woodwork of the trees entirely. 

Only when she had slipped back into the foliage and could no longer make out the stranger -- when she knew that the other huntress could no longer see or hear her as well -- did the shaman whirl away on feathered paws. Grateful that the woman hadn't lunged outright, at least, though she found herself growing weary of the stigma her blood brought.

Laurel was relieved when the wolf-ish creature stepped back from her. She instantly felt less threatened, though she stayed wary in case they were a scavenger who wanted her food, or in case more were nearby. On a good day, Laurel was a wary woman, and her experiences with those who carried non-wolf blood in them — those who were different — were few and bad.

Like her opponent, Laurel did not turn her back. She kept staring at the other, tensely so, until she finally disappeared entirely into the foliage. At practically the same moment as the other wolf Laurel spun on her heels and turned away, her heart fearfully hammering in her chest until she had put some distance between the other and herself.