Wolf RPG

@Maharet I went ahead and marked this as mature for any gore/blood. backdated for around October 11ish. :)

she had found neither hide nor hair of inkalorë’s trail and only a rain-faded whiff of wilwarin remained beyond their borders.

originally, she had planned to stay with the village and voyage beyond the spine in search of her missing child — as harsh as it might seem, she had three others at her hearth and two stepdaughters to help look after as well. but with half of her litter missing, lótë had left lómion and vairë in her sister’s capable paws to wander the wilds is search of her gilded star-child and their wintry sister.

wilwarin had cut a straight path east through the steppes and into the mountains, likely due to her lack of navigation. the doe could only be grateful that this meant she was easy to track, that there was no hint of the ice hunter traveling with her.

she did not hesitate to follow the winding paths of the mountain passes, not until they led her up into the heights of a lonely peak where the trails grew thin and treacherous. and only then, because of the scent that permeated the air — stronger than the soft, sweet milk scent of her daughter.

something thick and oily, though not with grease, ancient like the dark, damp loam of primitive forests.

bear.

she knew a moment of fear as her paws skittered apprehensively before pushing on, features tightening with determination despite how her emerald gaze flickered searchingly amongst the shadows for sign of the predator.

wilwarin’s trail thickened, leading into the dark fissure of a niche in the mountainside. warily, lótë whispered a call and waited — heart pounding with hope.

Wilwarin had not known the smell. Only that it was strong and it made her heart race instinctively. It was a sound that had sent her scurrying into the hidey hole, something lumbering, something big. A monster maybe.

Whatever the thing she had heard in the distance was, it did not seem to have noticed her yet. The butterfly hoped it would not detect her at all, attempting to pray as she had seen her mothers do. But there was no brother sun in the shadows of her nook and no sister moon either, nothing she could give to the disembodied spirits she did not yet understand.

Silently, wordlessly, she prayed.

As if in answer, from the sliver of sunlight came soft steps and the voice of her mother.

’Amil!’ her lips shaped the soundless cry of joy as her pallid moonlit face appeared in the opening — tears pricking her shifting eyes to see mother dove there, smiling down at her.

She had feared she would never again see that smile, lost to the mountains and its unnamed monsters.

The two-story gash through igneous rock was set back from one narrow ledge, shrouded from view by woodland. It was a thing of nightmares: a place that mothers warned their children about.

Do not go in to the dark places.

The wolf and cub stood under the trees for a blink. Something deep within that darkness watched them. Trying to be still. Trying to let sleep come, to sink them thoroughly in to the blackness. In the black was the face of her mother and in her mother's voice, the dark demanded penance.

The mother wolf called in to the dark. The child answered. Rising as a shadow behind the puny thing as it ran for the light brimming at the opening, was Maharet — and with a roar, she lunged.

Lótë

Wilwarin

Maharet