Wolf RPG

Through the night and into the morning, Crowfeather had not journeyed far.

By the time he had reached the darkened woodland, his leg was blistered and rubbed raw. He had been forced to drag it behind him. Halfway there, the shadow had lifted his head and cried into the skies. If only the stars would take him, take his leg, take his heart-

Crowfeather did all he could to conceal his tracks. After some time, he had realized that he was wasting his opportunity for escape. The wolves of Akashingo would be swifter than he. They could cross the earth in a fraction of the time. He only hoped that he had cleared enough away.

Slumping into a thick bush, the seer pushed himself beneath it until only his eyes glittered from the tangle of leaves and branches.

long after he'd left sequoia to her fate, cormorant thought about the pale woman. he'd helped her, as he'd said he would, but somehow he still felt as if he'd been dishonest. perhaps not with her, but with himself. he didn't quite understand it yet, and a large part of him simply didn't care to.

funny, then, that he should stumble across another wounded bird. he didn't know it at first, though. all he saw was a pair of gleaming yellow eyes, luminescent among the shadowy recesses of a bush. the scent told him all he needed to know.

there are more comfortable places to sleep than a bush, cormorant called, wondering what he was getting himself into this time. he still hadn't caught on to the mysterious bush-wolf's wounded state.

A voice called out in the wood. Crowfeather stiffened, fearful that he had already been found by the wolves of Akashingo. The thought of Ramesses’ gaze upon him sent fear coursing through his limbs. In that moment, the shadow thought he might have the strength to run a bit further.

Shifting against the jabbing of branches in his haunch, the dark figure’s snout emerged from his hiding place. The honey yellow of his eyes followed, latching onto the man who had called out.

A scoff hung on the tip of his tongue but did not leave his mouth.

It doesn’t matter. His voice was cracked, soft and weak. What did this man care?

a gaunt face emerged from the bush. cormorant took in a sharp breath, at once startled and agitated by the sight. another fucking invalid. and like before, he felt inexplicably compelled to help. this time, though, the feeling was closer to guilt than he remembered. perhaps it was a sign.

you look like you could use some help, cormorant ventured gently, remembering sequoia's guarded response. he knew then that he was trying to save ghosts. he was searching for redemption in the flesh and blood of the living, knowing well that all hope of it had rotted away with the corpses of those he'd betrayed. and that sucked. unfortunately, knowing that didn't stop him. no strings attached.

The man was not deterred, drawing closer with words that struck Crowfeather with kindness. He thought of Belen, of Gucci, and then again of Germanicus.

Why did any of them wish to help? Anger and resentment flushed him. He should have been left in the canyon. He should have been left fallen by Nyra’s fangs.

I- I’m not… I’m not sure I can be helped.

For Tavina had tried to heal his wounds and mend his broken body. Gucci had offered him company when he had felt most saddened. Belen had swept away his loneliness with games and sweet words. All of that effort had returned zero results.

he spoke the words of a man who had lost all hope. cormorant was ill-equipped for such a crisis, but the vain endore was not without sympathy. he knew what it was to suffer.

everyone can be helped. everyone can heal, that much, he believed to be true. even if the only thing to be done was grant a swift death, no one was entirely beyond help. you just have to want it enough to do whatever it takes.

i know a thing or two about that, myself, cormorant admitted, unease settling into his bones as the image of desperate blue eyes came to the forefront of his thoughts. dishonest, to imply that he had healed from it, but cormorant had always been a liar. why don't you tell me what your problem is, and i'll see if i can help you out.

I have to get to the mountains there, Crowfeather pointed his snout toward the canyon where the Saints had once formed and Germanicus now resided. It seemed so far away when he could scarcely walk. The world was large and awfully wicked. But my leg’s mangled and hasn’t healed yet. He thought he’d made decent progress, but his escape from Akashingo had proven to be something of a risk. The shadow had caused damage to his ankle again and it would set him back. To keep traveling would only prove to be more trouble.

How do you expect that to work?

The dark figure’s honey gaze shifted toward the stranger with an expression of disbelief. In truth, if he didn’t find a way to feed himself, he would not make it to the mountain. No sustenance meant that traveling would be slower and his body more fragile. Crowfeather began to worry.

he had a need, and an obstacle - and he seemed rather bitter about it all. cormorant nodded as he took in the information, pausing for a long moment when the man's eyes found him again. finally, he spoke.

i could help you, he said, a little reluctant despite that his mind had already been made up. it would be difficult, still, but easier with help. and perhaps cormorant could rid himself of this horrible lingering guilt he felt whenever he thought of the woman he'd left behind.

The man wanted to help him, but Crowfeather did not understand what he might have done to spur such an interest. They had only just met each other. He could not help but feel that this figure would want something from him, would ask for the favor to be returned at some point in the future. The shadow feared that he did not have anything that was worth giving.

Why? he sighed softly. You don’t even know me…

Perhaps he could find out if there were alternate intentions behind the offer before he thought about accepting it. From the woodland, the mountain and canyon looked far away. Crowfeather would only be a fool to try the distance on his own.