Wolf RPG

Feet of burnished gold walked amongst the new life that had once upon been blackened with soot. Gunnar's snout was pulled downward into a frown as he watched the large trees, fall upon themselves, their black skins wilting and fleeing from what must have been quite a scar. It reminded him of Ragnar's eye, the pulled back skin, but it wasn't as disgusting, bloody or raw. No these trees would be food for new trees, even some growths that had withstood the flames that had danced among them. Oh what a dance it must have been. The red and orange seeking towards the sky, the area choked with smoke and ash. Though it would have been frightening at the time, Tveir had learned long ago, that most of what frightened you was easily mended and bravery took it's place.

He couldn't smell any packs here, though he did smell the movement of many, one smell teased his nostrils unlike any other. It was familiar yet different, aged and edged in something, but of what he wasn't sure. He tried not to think too much on it, content with the knowledge that most he had cared for were long gone, or perhaps they weren't. Were he to see them again, it would gladden his old heart, but he had spent so long on the outskirts looking in. He wasn't sure if he could even function in a pack, a family. Perhaps that was his biological father's reasoning for leaving, perhaps it was the reason Thistle had left, the reason Ragnar had taken more than his mother. A sort of restless of spirit, that never died. 

Tveir slowed to a stop and sat down, her tail curled around his legs and he watched the sun as it began it's descent into the heavens. Oh the stories he could tell.

It was only a matter of time before his feet carried him away again, despite Caracal telling himself to stay close and pitch in with the leader’s brand new litter. Although he did aspire to earn his place as a sitter, he just didn’t feel close enough to either parent to even approach them about helping.

Truthfully, he didn’t feel close to anyone in Atautsikut, even those he saw on a fairly regular basis, like Lane or Heda. His mind strayed to Veteran as he ventured northward, toward the seaboard. He’d felt an instant connection with the other young man and hoped maybe he would finally develop a proper kinship with somebody in the pack.

The smell of salt filled his nose as he roamed closer to the coastline. His course swayed east, carrying him toward some woods. Caracal paused when he saw the blackened trees, all thoughts about his pack fading into the background as he explored this peculiar forest.

He didn’t expect to cross paths with anyone in such a macabre place, though the sight of a golden wolf haloed by the setting sun immediately captured the yearling’s attention. Blinking, he woofed to announce his presence, then made a cautiously optimistic approach.

Hey there, I’m Caracal, he offered, tail waving in an amiable fashion.

Tveir's eyes turned upward, so engrossed he hadn't noticed another quiet yet. His mind raced with all the stories of the gods his father had told him of the gods and goddesses that roamed the lands and the heavens. 

Tveir sighed as his mind moved along the path she knew, and a gentle yearning in his heart. He realized with a start he was lonely. He had no children, no friends, his family were long gone. He didn't even have a pack anymore. He had smelled some near where his family's old stopping grounds had been, but he hadn't seen any. And the smell wasn't largely present, which meant they had not claimed it yet. 

Tveir bent his head forward and sniffed at some of the new plants that lay beneath the blackened soot. The soot still gritty beneath his paws, but new life was coming forward.

A woof resounded around the area and Tveir lifted his head and stared towards the noise. Slate grey eyes assessed and read the young wolf that came forward. The red of his coat set aflame the nearby area, showed up stark against the sooty background. A fitting color to be in such a place.


His optimism was catching and Tveir returned the wag of his tail. Hello Caracal. I'm Gunnar, though some have called me Tveir. What brings you here to such a place."

The stranger looked a bit advanced in age, maybe even older than his mom. Caracal stared at the silvery fur wreathing his muzzle for a beat before averting his gaze to the side out of respect to his elder. His body language shifted slightly too, remaining friendly but slouching slightly in deference that came to him rather automatically.

Nothing in particular, just exploring. You? the yearling replied to Gunnar’s question, deciding to think of him by the first name given, as Tveir sounded a bit trickier on the tongue.

Tveir noticed the youth studying his face, specifically the gray about his muzzle. His lips turned up into a smile and he turned twinkling eyes to the youth. We all grow old someday, I think it makes you more handsome personally, but eh perhaps I'm wrong.

Tveir chuckled and shifted, making himself more comfortable. He didn't need the youth to show any type of deference to him, he was fine as he was. Just two wolves passing time.

I am ruminating young one. I was from here years ago, and I have just recently returned. And I was born near the sea. I always return to it, or near it. And when I start to get to into far reaching things. I like to remind myself that things always change, and hence I am here where death meets life and is starting over again. I have explored for my entire life. Never settled. There are beautiful things to be found in your explorations. I hope you find them all."

“Ruminating” wasn’t a word he knew, though as Gunnar elaborated, Caracal supposed he understood the gist of it. The old man rambled a bit, not that the yearling minded. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile as he offered words of wisdom about travleing.

I’m kinda the same way, he admitted. I travel a lot, though I’ve tried to settle a bit. And he’d done a great job for a short spell, though here he was again, far from home. It isn’t really taking but I’m trying, he said thoughtfully, tail twitching.

But he didn’t necessarily want to dwell on that right now. So, you said you were born here? Like here, in this forest? Do you know what happened to it? Caracal wondered, eyes casting around to take in the remnants of a fire many years past.

Gunnar was a talker, he always had been. Born the loudest, first to speak, first to leave the pack grounds and return with stories. He was a mouthy thing, loud and lively. Though now his loudness was tempered with age. Though sometimes he longed for the recklessness and talkativeness of youth, the rash feeling you felt when embolden with a sharp tongue.

Tveir chuckled and met the youth with kind eyes. You're already doing better than me. I traveled and didn't return. Left them all. He grew quiet as he thought of his siblings, his mother, he had made it back to bid his mother adieu, but he really had no idea where his siblings were or even how many there were anymore.

Gunnar made a soft ascent deep in his throat and shook his head. Not here in the forest no, but if memory serves and rumor mind. It was a draught and a storm and fire. But I could be very wrong how it started. But a scar like this, fire.

Still Caracal said nothing on the subject of his own wandering feet, though he wondered what prompted Gunnar to make that particular remark. He’d left his own family too, so who was to say he was faring any better? His lips pressed together.

They parted again when Gunnar mentioned three disasters in a row. What was a draught? He had never seen fire for himself, though he knew about it from some wiser wolf or another. Caracal had even seen other places like this, charred beyond recognition.

I don’t know that word: ‘draught.’ What’s it mean? the yearling queried.

When his companion explained, he scrunched his face and peered in the direction of the nearby ocean, wondering how that was possible. How was any of this possible? He didn’t doubt Gunnar’s story, he just thought it was unbelievably unfortunate that so many terrible things had happened to this place.

Despite himself, he found himself asking a different question a beat later. You say you’ve spent your whole life exploring, never settling. Has that been… I don’t know, like… fulfilling? Like, do you regret not settling down and all that?

Gunnar was anxious to make it known that wandering was fine. But remember if you were old like him you had regrets sometimes. He had many as he had aged. Now he didn't, because it wasn't worth the energy, but at a time.  He had a few.

Tveir licked his maw, his eyes unfocused as he remembered. Draught is when there's no water. Hot dry season, with no rainfall. Creatures die, prey moves on, babies starve. It's...well...it's not good. He had lived through a few, and if memory served or perhaps it was just rumors he had caught wind of there had been one here.

Gunnar chuckled dryly to himself. That was one of the reasons I left, This place, so many terrible things. I was convinced it was cursed. My father tore his own eye out you know, because he lost his mind. This place though so much good, it's had it's share of bad.

Gunnar tweaked an ear back and another forward and frowned in thought. His tail waved along the ground stirring up dirt, as he thought on the question. For me it was. There were times I regretted it. And now though I don't regret it. I am lonely. I have nothing and no one. Just memories and stories, but no one to share them with other than a few passing wolves if they take the time to listen. However, I would not trade what I did, but that's because I needed too. I was born in a very turbulent time, my own life none the less as well and I needed to run away from it, just to come back to it.

Caracal’s jaw actually dropped when Gunnar mentioned that his father had lost his mind and torn out his own eyes. He nearly missed what was said after that, still reeling from this shocking tidbit, but shook himself to a focus in time to mentally rewind Gunnar’s answer to his questions.

He should probably say something about the guy’s dad, though he was at a loss for words and ended up saying, I think I kind of get it. I traveled with my best friend for a while before we split up. It’s not the same, going out on my own. It’s more fun, having a companion. Have you ever thought of doing that? It was probably way easier said than done but, well, he was curious if Gunnar had ever entertained the notion.

Or maybe… he continued after a ponderous pause. Well, there are a lot of packs around here. At least one of them doesn’t mind if you still hit the road a lot… Caracal worried his lip with his teeth for a moment as he thought of Atautsikut.

Tveir chuckled slightly at the youth's reaction. He hadn't been going for shock value, but it was still added none the same. It was a past checkered with tragedy that Gunnar had. His father lost his eye, and soon after lost his life. His mother and his father, though loved each other fought like raging maniacs. His siblings had hated him very possibly, so many deaths. No leader had ever truly lived past a few months or a year in this area. Honestly, he could see why it would be considered a curse. 

Tveir didn't expect anything to be said for his father. It was just one of those things. He had come to terms with it as a child, though it had been frightening and disgusting. Though also slightly fascinating, and proof at least to many that his father indeed spoke with gods. Gunnar tilted his ears and shook his head. I entertained the thought, but I never grew close enough to anyone to  offer such a union. I suppose I was afraid that I would mess it up somehow. It was easier being alone.

I have met a few pack mates. I have yet to take that leap. I haven't been in a pack since before I was a yearling.

He bobbed his head in understanding. Caracal and Killdeer had been thick as thieves before traveling together, which probably lent itself to their camaraderie on the road. Although he did enjoy traveling with others—his Uncle Phox recently, for instance—it really wasn’t the same if the bond wasn’t already there.

Well, if you try it and it doesn’t work out, you’ll end up alone anyway, so what do you have to lose? Caracal pointed out after having a rare big brain moment. Isn’t there a saying? Like, it’s better to have lived and lost, then never to have lived at all? Something like that? And the moment passed.

Gunnar listened and tilted his head. Where is your friend now? He wondered if they had simply joined separate packs, or if they were still close. If they visited and talked. Gunnar hadn't traveled with anyone in some time. Saena he believed being the last and then he had abandoned her as well.

Tveir chuckled and nodded his head. That is the correct terminology I believe, yes. And you are very right. Though I was always certain that I would not be the one losing. It would be the other. I have made mistakes. Left others hanging. If you will.

Gunnar expressed curiosity about his former companion’s whereabouts, which made Caracal’s heart pang. A soft, warm look came over his face as he thought about Killdeer and how much he missed that guy. Maybe while he was out gallivanting, he should swing by Mereo again…

He lives with my mom in a pack called Mereo, it’s a ways inland from here, he replied. They train as soldiers, which is definitely not my cup of tea. But they seem to like it there. There was no world where Caracal could picture himself joining them there. He would get tossed out within days for wandering off rather than training, he was pretty sure. I visit when I can.

That also made him think of Towhee. There was another reason to drop by the canyon: had his mom given birth yet? If she had, maybe he could visit her babies. He swallowed as he inevitably thought of his ill-fated bid to meet little Sorana. And even before that, his sister had turned him away at Sapphique’s borders. Well, he just wouldn’t get his hopes up.

Glancing toward the sea, the yearling noted that the sun had sunk beyond the horizon, setting the edges of the world aglow. Soon the light would fade completely. He supposed he should find somewhere to spend the night, then set out again in the morning. He wasn’t entirely decided on visiting his loved ones, as he really ought to head back to Atautsikut…

Realizing he’d gotten lost in thought, Caracal blinked and shot Gunnar an apologetic smile and a, Sorry, was just thinking of what to do with myself.

Gunnar could see how much the youth adored his friend. It was nice to see. He had never had close friends like this. Perhaps except Saena, he had been close with her once, but he had left her quickly and Junior. He had been very close with Junior her passing had caused him great pain.

Gunnar tilted his head and listend. My father was that way. He believed in learning to fight, and battle early. Though we weren't drilled endlessly, we were certainly taught to fight. Though you'd never know it looking at this old timer now. He chuckled softly. He had fought for years. Probably still could if the occasion called for it, but frankly he was old and a little more weight was there than once before. That's all you can do.

Gunnar saw his eyes fade towards the dying light and he smiled gently. It's getting late. No reason to apologize. Well youngling I should get some sleep. You are more than welcome to stay. There's a den that way that i dug out, fairly large, we should both fit in just fine. Or I can bid you goodbye. Though I won't say no to a visit again sometime.

He smiled at the man’s invitation to share his bed for the night. Although sleeping beside someone—even somebody he didn’t know particularly well—was more appealing than spending the night alone, Caracal shook his head. He wasn’t actually tired yet.

I’m gonna keep moving. Thanks for the chat, Gunnar. It was nice meeting you. Take care, man, the yearling said, not entirely sure he could commit to visiting but waving his tail at the thought of maybe one day crossing paths again.