Wolf RPG

Masquerade followed a scent trail eastward into the neighboring grotto. At its edge, she came upon a freshly dead squirrel. She squinted at the corpse, uncertain what might’ve killed it. There was no blood, no marks on its small body. She sniffed closer and detected a peculiarity in the scent, though it didn’t mean anything to her.

Wariness prevented her from scavenging the dead animal, though it didn’t stop her from continuing to inspect it, curious about the manner of its death. Masque nosed at its body—limp and still a little warm too—until it flopped onto its back. Her eyes were drawn to the poor rodent’s pale underside, particularly a comically over-sized pair of testicles.

May he rest in peace, I guess, the young she-wolf mused, stepping backward and leaving the body behind as she began walking back toward the rise. Unless he wasn’t a he at all, a voice in the back of her mind muttered, causing her brow to furrow.

Ever since her encounter with Panacea, she had felt a little confused, for lack of a better word. Biological sex had seemed very straightforward to her until she’d crossed paths with him. Now, she wasn’t so sure. And furthermore, she occasionally found herself wondering if she really felt like a she… honestly, Masque wanted nothing to do with sex in any of its forms or meanings.

Masquerade reached the foot of the rise and dropped their snout, combing for a fresh scent to track.

Ashlar was on his way to hunt when he spotted Masquerade and adjusted his path, automatically, to intercept hers. If she didn’t want company she could always tell him to leave, but the hunts had gone well recently, so food was not something he needed to focus on entirely. It was worth seeing if she wished to catch up.

He fell in step alongside quietly at first, but smiled at her. After a moment’s pause he broke the silence, though he kept his voice soft just in case. Are you tracking?

There were a few potential leads, though before Masque could decide which to pursue, they saw a flash of movement and raised their head to see Ashlar headed this way. They checked their posture: head and tail both down, the latter swaying gently hither and thither.

Always, Masque replied with a twitch of their lips. Their golden eyes flicked upward, briefly touching on the Hǣlend’s expression before lowering again. You can join me if you want. I think I’m going to follow this badger’s trail. It’s the freshest.

Of all of the pups, Masquerade was the one that Ashlar saw the most in common with. It touched him but also worried him; he wondered if she felt the same othering that he did, or if she somehow fit into the family that prized strength above consideration.

He never asked this, though. I’ll join. He answered, his tail lifting slightly with pleasure, but his smile cautious. A badger could be dangerous, so he wasn’t sure it was something any of them should trail alone.

Will you chase it? He asked softly, thinking of Merrick and Avicus and the coyote. He would rather drive it off and allow it to live than kill it, but this was not always what others felt.

They paused thoughtfully at Ashlar’s question. Avicus hadn’t made any declarations as of yet, though Masque couldn’t help but think of the altercation at the borders last week. Some instinct told them it was more important than ever to avoid unnecessary risks.

I think I’ll just observe today, if that works for you, they replied, beginning to move. Speaking of which, I just came across a dead squirrel a ways outside the territory, near the grotto. It didn’t have any marks on it but it smelled odd. Something told me to avoid eating it.

As they padded along the scent trail, Masque glanced inquisitively at Ashlar’s face, wondering if he might have any explanations or theories about the rodent’s fate. He speculated aloud, though of course the wolves would never know for certain.

Only a short while later, the badger’s scent thickened in Masque’s nose. They exchanged a glance with Ashlar and proceeded with stealth in mind. The trail led the pair to a set, its entrance burrowing into a small slope. There was a spoil heap just below the small hole, evidence of its recent excavation. The Toweard observed all this with eyes and nose.

They then looked around for someplace to hide close by, leading Ashlar to a screen of brush that still afforded them a view of the badger’s lair. Before settling down to wait, Masquerade squatted to empty their bladder, knowing they might have to hold position for a while. They then slung their belly to the earth, their patience awarded more than an hour later when a badger trundled into view.

True to their word, they did not attack, despite several prime opportunities. Masquerade just laid still in the brush, watching it, learning about it, filing away her observations for future hunts.