Wolf RPG

Full Version: Mother laid her elbows on the bed, whispering her wishes to the threads
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The oppressive gloom of the woodland bore little resemblance to any of the sun-kissed fairytales that had defined the wanderer's childhood. The young Foxglove, starry-eyed and bursting with imagination, had always pictured stark goldlit fields — verdure hazed by the sun's bronzed glow, perhaps dappled with bursts of floral vibrance. She'd always tended toward poetics; beauty and simplicity in nature, finding peace in being one with the world, that sort of indulgent pseudo-philosophical drivel. It had become second nature by the time Fox reached adulthood, woven into their core. Yet there was little poetry to be found in the malformed shadows cast by dusty snarling knots of old abandoned oaks — or so the yearling believed. There was a striking aspect to the ugliness, yes, but nothing poetic. Nothing neat and pretty and topped with a bow like Fox was accustomed to. Nothing out of a storybook.
In fact, the reality was quite offensive. Smothered by shadows and moistened by spring showers, the air here seemed rancid, the damp earth fetid and clinging. In other words, Fox had stumbled into their own personal hell. Paws thoroughly muddied, pride equally soiled, the yearling trudged on with head held low and a sullen look about him, ears quirking this way and that in a perfunctory attempt at vigilance. His suddenly gloaming mood matched the murkwood, brought low by disappointment. For miles Fox had been plagued by monotony around her, a maddening uniformity in the landscape that had seemed inescapable. The grove had promised a respite, from a distance, and now —
Fuck this place, Forceful, more so than the yearling had intended. An awkward emphasis on the bad word, the f word, still so new to their vocabulary and carrying all the pungent sweetness of the forbidden. Her chin lifted a touch, subconsciously a little smug in her foul-mouthed freedom. The simple act lifted their mood. The real world might have been musty and underwhelming, but at least it was real. This was no intricate mask, no forced utopia. That, at least, brought comfort.


@Towhee or Meerkat if you want it!
Meerkat sorely missed her younger siblings while she spent several days away from the caldera, searching for any sign of her dad and Neema to the south. She missed her mom, the others and even the Hobbit Hole too, almost to the point of distraction. But this was an important task, so she focused on it until it was time to head back home to check in with Towhee and get some rest.

Her sandy feet carried her through a dark forest as she made her way back north. She couldn’t stop picturing her reunion with her baby brothers and sisters. Meerkat hardly paid any attention to her surroundings, so when a harsh voice suddenly cut through the trees, she blinked and skidded to an abrupt halt to look around a little owlishly.
Unbeknownst to the tempestuous youth, Fox was not the sole witness to their own vulgar outburst. Ignorance proved a tragically ephemeral blessing, for the next moment brought the sound of skidding paws — or, wait, is that what skidding sounds like?

Maybe he imagined it.
Maybe it was a little woodland creature digging for its dinner.

Maybe it was a bug or a burrowing mouse, or —

No, no, that was definitely a wolf. Fox could smell it — them! And if she could smell the stranger, and hear the dull scrape of feet sliding against dirt… then as the logic followed, the newcomer had detected Fox's presence as well. And, oh — the shame of it! To be caught red-handed, pants 'round the ankles, all on display —

Maybe a little too dramatic.

Shame burned all the grace from Fox (already gawky at best), and they spun on four left feet in a fantastic display of utter ineptitude, gasping and stuttering out the half-mangled corpse of some ill-fitting excuse that had died on their lips as soon as they realized the ship was sinking. The joining of his face to the floor was unceremonious, a little loud — very jarring. H-hey! The word was slightly slurred with shock and pain, indignation giving it a razor edge. Fox straightened, rosy ears splayed over dark skull, posture drawn up and tense like a puppet on strings. One paw rose, tucked up to his chest as he squinted and tilted his head to and fro, attempting to see past the trees. A blurry sandy figure spurred them on, and they lashed out. You should be more careful — you almost killed me! The words turned heavy and sullen as Fox's pulse slowed, and the void left by the adrenaline turned acrid, viscid, lethargic. Torpid venom bled into the lines of her face and turned them hostile as she watched the obscured figure for any sign of movement.
She heard a thump, followed by a stuttered, "Hey!" Still blinking, Meerkat pressed on through greenery toward the source of the sounds. She found a stumbling figure just as they shot an accusation at her. The yearling went very still, studying the patchwork stranger. She'd never seen such markings before and their palette immediately made her think of autumn.

"What?" she asked a little stupidly before shaking her head a little as she took a second to actually parse the inference. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you," Meerkat added. "Are you okay?"