Wolf RPG

Grimlock had no idea what he was doing, which seemed to be the mantra of his life these days. Bumbling through it without really having a real direction, unable to go back to Flightless Falcons because he didn't want to have to face his father and admit that he couldn't make it out on his own just as Sveinx had more or less told him that he couldn't. Grimlock did not want to have to face the admission of his failures, nor live with the disappointment that he'd actually failed, that he'd proven Sveinx right. He'd fucked up big time. He'd likely screwed all his chances to be allowed back in Blacktail Deer Plateau, or no, that wasn't right. He'd heard rumors that his uncle Peregrine had relocated somewhere else. Something with Redhot Carapace or something like that. Grimlock wasn't very good at remembering names, or half the time he only paid enough attention to get him by and the name node of his brain ended up taking pieces of pack names and mushing them with something that sounded relatively close to the DiSarinno but horrendously wrong as an end result.

Even if, understandably, Peregrine didn't feel like giving him a second chance Grimlock understood that he had to at least apologize. It was the right thing to do, even if facing his uncle made him want to crawl into a hole and hibernate to the precipice of his own annihilation. Still, if anyone deserved an apology it was Peregrine. He was a little older now than he'd been when he had first begged Peregrine to let him into the Plateau, and Grimlock liked to think that he knew more than he had previously. Personal growth and lone wolf experience and all that good shit.

Grimlock ambled with some reluctance towards the borders, wondering if it was possible to chew a hole through his tongue which had been clamped between sharp teeth for a good part of the morning. He kept a more than acceptable distance between him and their borders, scenting Peregrine strongly upon them, along with another wolf — female, that he didn't recognize. Gathering up his courage, Grimlock tilted his head towards the sky and sent up a call for his uncle, wondering if he'd even appear; because Grimlock knew that he deserved no less than being outright ignored.

A voice Fox did not recognize rose toward Redhawk Caldera, and she peered in its direction suspiciously. She assumed it was a willing pledge, and yet she got the feeling that the call had been for her mate and co-leader, specifically. She figured that even if he did eventually answer the call, having her as backup couldn't hurt. So, off she went, careful to pace herself so her rib didn't bother her. Her front paw had healed, giving her quite a bit more freedom that she'd had two weeks ago right after the accident. And while her rib still hurt, it didn't impede her movement the same way her ankle had.

What she found was a scrawny juvenile who looked as if he'd been to hell and back. He was clearly malnourished, Fox thought, and his age reminded her once again of Bones and Magpie on various occasions. How was it that wolves that age managed to survive at all? And why did they show up on her doorstep? With a heavy sigh, Fox made her way toward him, tail over her back and ears up. She said nothing on her arrival, waiting for him to answer the unasked questions of who he was and why he was here. Fox was wary of taking on another youngling, but she would hear him out.

... or not, for it seemed she had scared him off. Either that, or he was avoiding her in favor of Peregrine. As soon as she arrived, he scampered off into the distance, leaving her standing alone as she watched him retreat from the border.