Wolf RPG

A wind had thrown the surface of the sea in to disarray, frothing the edges in to white clouds of seafoam which slammed against rocks and sent debris further and further up the limited beach space of the cliffside.

Among the narrowed sections of rock and sand, as the sea retreated one of many times, it left a deposit of wet and naked lumber netted with weeds, blackened by scorch marks. This rested where it was wedged.

Beneath this, against scatterings of pulverized shell and wet bands of dirt, sank a tired body. Fur along this body was singed down the spine; a section of the burned tree had one hind leg and part of the lower back of the wolf pinned hard against stone.

The wolf lay mindlessly there as the ocean retreated, stinking of illness, sea brine, and fire.

Njord was no stranger to Dragoncrest’s private beach. It was a safe place he frequently visited for rest, respite, and fun. Some days it was a playground for the children. Other days he basked on the beach with Erzulie and watched the waves break. On a rare occasion he might sit with Rosalyn in silence and meditation. Today he was alone.

A storm had passed and new debris had washed up along. Njord combed the beach for odds and ends. Maybe some yellow kelp to add to Erzulie’s medicine stores… or a rare conch to give the pups. This time, the surf had deposited strange treasures. Waterlogged charcoal and large timbers (Sadbh would like the charcoal, he thought). Njord climbed the pile, smiling to himself. How much fun Loko, Sobo, Mireille, and Coraline would have fun playing on this new jungle gym! Suddenly, there was an iota of movement. A small breath.

Njord startled. Their brown pelt had been camouflaged by the mess well. “A wolf!” he blurted aloud. He carefully smelled them. A shiver went up his spine. Something was wrong about them. “Hey… are ya alive?” he asked, wanting to pull them from the tangle, but not wanting to be bitten up in the process.

There was a charred bitterness to the scent that she carried. Worse, where the limb of wood pressed against her stinging flesh, there was the cooked meat of her haunch. The slightest disturbance to the log tugged at the skin which had adhered there. Thankfully it was only the sag of the ocean's withdrawal that caused a mindless tugging and not, say, the wolves that came traipsing along.

One, the man with a red tail, had stooped among the debris. Heidr was not aware of him so much; her mind was empty of herself, but from above she thought she could see herself down there, moored by the black shards and the stones.

A red thing crept alongside the man. Thin and sharp, young, going bug-eyed soon enough.

Kom deg bort! She wanted to shout, but her mouth wouldn't move, the sound only a figment of her imagination. She was not above herself at all; she was not conscious or self-aware in any regard, but haunted the space as some entity removed from the mortal coil.

There would be no true response to either wolf, only the autonomic reaction of those sides rising and sagging to breathe, or shuddering from the cold and the salt that now cured her soaked body.

The longer Njord looked at the poor creature, the worse they appeared. Blistered, oozing flesh ran along her back and haunch. Burnt hair and skin. Was there blood too? It was hard to tell against their sopping wet umber fur. The smell was terrible. Njord’s brows knit. This stranger was on death’s doorstep and there was no response in their unconscious state.

Mireille appeared besides him. Always brave and confident, he could see her green eyes light up with curiosity. “Careful lass,” he cautioned with a skeptical look, “they’re hurt bad.” No telling if or when this one would wake up and lash out.

He moved around the pile. They would need to be freed from the mess before moving their body. “Mireille, ‘elp yer dad clear away this kelp. I will lift tha timber… and stay clear of their teeth,” he instructed. Njord positioned himself under a great log which laid across the castaway, ready to lift it like an ox once Mireille had done her work.

From his periphery Njord watched Mireille pluck the webbing of kelp from the shipwreck. She was a true daughter of the sea and danced with quick feet to and fro. Njord station himself beneath a charred beam and felt the waterlogged wood against his broad shoulders. When his daughter was clear, Njord sucked in a breath – bracing himself – and pressed against the earth. The wood jerked sharply at first as the red tail strained beneath its great weight. Then, slowly, it rose higher and higher as the man lifted it up and away.

When it was clear of the marooned wolf, he let it roll off his body and it bounced onto the sand with a loud thud. Njord’s sides heaved as his loud pulse thrummed in his ears.

He turned back and inspected the stranger, who’s body was now unburied. Still, they did not move, their breathing shallow. Njord’s eyes flicked back to Mireille who watched expectantly. "Good work, mo nighean," he said.

“Imma pull ya out of ‘ere, ya dinna need ta be afraid…” Njord announced loudly to the unconscious wolf (but Njord was not certain they could hear anything at all). “Please dinna bite meh,” he said quieter to himself, almost like a little prayer. A small nod to Mireille, encouraging her to stand back.

Njord, careful as he could, grasped the scruff of the brown wolf firmly in his jaws and began to haul her from the rubble and onto the soft, warm sand.

The man tried to dissuade fate from turning the unfortunate girl's bad luck upon himself, which was a superstitious act all its own, but perhaps it was what kept the girl's body from waking during the brunt of his work.

It wasn't until he had grasped at the ginger of her scruff that something changed — not enough of a change for anything impactful, mind you, but a change nonetheless.

As he pulled at her scruff and the limp weight of her body dragged against the sand, her eyes cracked open. The first tug had been forceful enough to bring her back to herself; subsequent pulling and hoisting at her tender skin felt explosive to her, like a wet log thrown on a fire and forced to burst apart.

When he had finally stopped tugging she was certainly awake — but to say she was coherent was a far cry from the truth. She let out a banshee cry and thrashed away from his touch, eyes wide and wild, while the voice that came from her was an unnaturally dry wheeze.

the girl gaped as the deadened wolf came to life. she scrambled backward, tripping on a piece of driftwood. ears splayed. "i will get —" her mother of course, but not until she could steady herself on njord's gaze did she scuttle away, mouth drying even as she sought to find her voice and summon the obisidian.

her scarlet daughter had gasped out the details.
erzulie followed at a direct clip and soon found herself on the tangled shoreline beside njord.
the wolf at their feet was in a horrid, dire way — she crouched as close as she dared, searching the dirtied jaws fro any sign of fleck or foam.
"she's been here a while," erzulie declared, glancing toward the horizon. "swallowed a lot of de sea. will make you crazy." her voice was careful, soft, eyes on the stranger.

Njord managed to haul the wolf from out of the pile and onto the sand, but not before she let out the wailing sound of a dying animal. Njord was so shocked he accidentally tripped over himself and stumbled backwards. It surprised Mireille too, and he heard her voice (but quite didn’t catch what she said) as she dashed away to find help.

Njord lingered close by, but far enough to avoid the stranger’s fangs, and felt helpless. Soon, Erzulie arrived. Her prognosis didn’t sound encouraging. “Can ya ‘elp her, Erzulie?” Njord asked, turning his hopeful blue gaze upon his leader. “I canna let Sapphique see more death.”

The girl did not see anyone around her. She only felt the ocean pulsing all around, as if she were still within its grasp, but also there was fire and smoke and red everything.

As she thrashed and choked she swiftly burned through whatever panicked energy that waking had brought to her. As the adrenaline faded and she managed one decent gulp of air, she sank back and coughed until she couldn't any longer.

She lay prone upon the beach after that, her sides undulating rapidly while her pulse raced, moaning softly in her delirium.

Erzulie was confident in her prescription and swiftly returned with some dark-colored herbs in hand. With a doctor’s precision she held down the castaway (Njord jumped in to help keep them still, trying his best to avoid their burned skin) and administered her medicines.

Once she was sedated, Njord would help carry the stranger upon his back to the Roja den. He trusted in Erzulie’s practice and hoped this wolf would live.