Wolf RPG

For @Baudelaire

He traveled and roamed aimlessly. That was his new norm these days. Technically, he still had a home in Atautsikut, but he had not gone back and visited in weeks. He did not miss the summit. Did not miss the wolves who were wrapped up in their own adult lives.

As he trudged through the dark and dingy swamp, with dusk pressing close, he considered the past year. Had he been foolish to cave in so easily and trust the Northerner's? Possibly. They had families of their own now, largely outnumbering the original founding Duskfire wolves. They had relocated. Even changed the pack's name. All justifiable. 

But now, feeling forgotten and overlooked, Ensio grew bitter at the memory. Cold, muddy water sloshed against his legs. He paid it no mind, eyes set firmly ahead. He should leave. Though he couldn't. Not yet.

An agemate.

Baudelaire watched this male just as he had the last. Eyes hungry as he devoured each detail of them. Large and muscular, ice toned like a northern and a identifying notch upon his ear. Baudelaire was horribly, deeply charmed.

He stayed silent in voice, but he moved to cut his walking path in front of the other, vying for his attention in this horrible wasteland.

Wearing a stony expression written with sour lines, he was every bit the angsty teenager he made himself out to be. He snorted sharply at the smell of rotten eggs in the air. It burned his nose, here in this swamp. He was made for highlands, mountains, rocks and snow. Not this bog.

Ahead, a massive wolven figure. Mirroring his own closely in size. But earthen hued. Ice chipped eyes narrowed behind the dark veil pulled over his face. By instinct, his tail raised confidently over his hips. The tip twitched slightly, indicating he was not entirely hostile.

He called out in a deep, gravelly voice. A summons for the stranger to do with what he may.

The man riled.

Baudelaire found static in his veins at the sight. It was not aggression, but it was a boldness. A move meant to engage with one another. Perhaps the agemate had expected the giant to respond with a clash of bodies.

Instead, Baudelaire dropped into a brief bow. His tail also arched, a half moon banner over his spine. A warm rumble deep in his throat.