Wolf RPG - a story of its own,

AW, deerstalker (scavenging!) #10 (prey: elk, success)

Imaq hadn't intended to hunt or search for prey that morning. In fact, it was quite the opposite: she meant to take a break from hunting for the day and work on some furs for the expecting she-wolves of her tribe. Perhaps search for some other trinkets to wrap in the hides for the women -- a gift of welcome for their unborn pups, such as had been given in Nunaat.

But when she made her way down to the riverside of the Qeya to use the cool waters and relax by the rumbling roil of whitewater, a familiar sound -- one she had heard throughout her youth -- the shepherd found the half-eaten remains of a kill. It looked as if a bear had originally gotten to it but it appeared to have been washed away downstream.

Imaq searched carefully but saw no sign of any other predators nearby. She stashed the hides she'd brought with her to the River and then returned to the bloated elk ewe -- trying to decide how to best divvy it up to transport back to the Glacier with a tilt of her gilded crown.

Rescuing lonely threads!

The smell of meat permeated the air; it had been some time since Mesa had a warm meal and he was eager to suss out where this scent would draw him.

He had followed the river for a while and hoped to find some fish. Instead — as he failed to sit patiently enough to catch anything — he took the time to soak himself in the cold water and to drink until his belly was fit to burst.

The smell twisted its way between the trees and Mesa followed after it, stealing through the shadows as he went. He paused when he came across the sight of freshly tilled earth and began to sniff along the soil there, shoving his nose at the surface as a truffle pig might. He found the musty scent of hide there, gripped, and tugged free a skin.

There was no meat attached to it, which was frustrating. He then dropped the skin and began to scour the area again, and this led him away from the cache and towards the bloated silhouette of a belly — as well as a small wolf-shape. The wolf did not look healthy to him; she had a mottled coat and short, curled ears. Her size made him think she was young.

As Mesa approached he held the proud posture of dominance; except as he neared her position, he felt his bladder quake, sending a shiver through his hips and tail that briefly weakened his posture. He drew towards the carcass with the full intention of muscling his way past the stranger.

He had assumed she was young, sickly, that she would give way easily.

Perhaps she would surprise him, turning to take in the familiar aggression and dismissiveness in his stance -- his gaze zeroed on the meal that had dropped on her tribe's threshold. The Gamma's ears rose defensively as she turned and planted her feet -- lifting her head and shoulders as a low rumble of warning escaped the milky swath of her throat.

Maybe this wasn't technically @Wintersbane's claim but it was close enough that the land was drenched in their scent, as was the she-dog. She stared down the stranger, bristling with silent territorialism, without fear. If he attacked, her packmates were only moments away from helping her.

If he wanted to take her prize, then he was gonna have to fight for it first.

The woman's reaction barely earns anything from Mesa. He's half distracted by the prospect of a meal and half trying not to piss himself, so, a little attitude from the smaller wolf doesn't phase him much.

He strides stiffly along, the coarse off-white of his ragged shoulder fur puffing up a bit. Before he can do much else beyond pushing the physical boundary, there comes the shiver across his withers again. Unable to stop himself now — as he'd filled his belly with water to stave off the worst of his hunger in recent hours — Mesa took one more step and felt a flood of warmth to his extremeties.

The urine streaked down his legs and puddled beneath his belly, where the arc of yellow sprayed heartily. He was too close to the carcass; it soon would be soaking in that same puddle, and he didn't appear to notice or care. The feeling of relief caused the rest of his posture to slacken immediately -- until he had an empty bladder, feeling much more comfortable.

The carcass now reeked, of course.

so sorry for the wait! just transitioned from postpartum to starting a new job and working again so Imaq's threads are a bit rusty by this point. gonna pp an ending on this since she rolled for a success and Mesa is inactive.

Imaq stepped back in disgust as the male emptied his bladder in a volatile manner, nearly spraying her as he did the carcass. Her lip curled as she recoiled, snarling in fury at the audacity of the stranger. He did not speak, nor did he offer more than this feral marking of his territory -- some savage thing that had been reared in the old ways, animalistic and having never learned anything of speech or culture, or so Imaq imagined. She had met such wolves, far to the north.

Tupilak met him half way, charging forward to clash with the pale he-wolf -- a vibrating ball of fluffy rage as she snapped and tore at his face, not even caring that she stepped directly into the puddle of urine as she raced to challenge his silent claim.

In the end, both would be bloodied -- ragged with fatigue and new wounds alike. But it was Imaq who chased the other away, fangs snapping as she lunged after his hocks.

When she was sure he had gone, the medicine woman would return to the elk carcass, limping slightly. Despite the way her nose crinkled, she howled for her packmates -- calling them to help her butcher and wash Imaq's hard won trophy.