Wolf RPG

Reverie didn't stop running until she was near the border of Swiftcurrent Creek. Too near, she thought, but the alternative was going back where she'd come from. Lestan wouldn't hurt her, she knew, but she still remembered the first thing he had said to her. She didn't want the others to find her here.
So she took a moment to rest, panting and stifling panicked tears as she leaned against a tree. She was still outside of the claim, but the proximity soon had her moving again, looking for a way out of this horrible pack-territory-sandwich she'd gotten herself into. She tried not to think about Sadey. It felt wrong to connect the woman she'd spoken with to the one Lestan had spoken about. If not for the way Sadey had instantly recognized Reverie's discomfort, she would almost wonder if she was mistaken. But no, it couldn't have been a coincidence. She just didn't understand any of it.

Moss had not been in the pack long, but had familiarized herself already with the range of their border. When an unfamiliar scent lingered on the air for more than a few moments, she changed her course, looping back on the path she'd just taken to form a wider arc so she might catch the stranger on the outskirts. The snow made for easy tracking once her footprints were found, and Moss pursued the stranger until she caught sight of her. 

She called out with a bark, hoping to halt the woman's progress or deter her if she was being nosey. If she was casing the borders for weaknesses, she would find quickly that they were well protected by the Creek's newest watchdog.

Fortified.

He needed the creek fortified. Not for the land itself, though that and pride had been what seemed to have initially brought trouble upon them, but for the members and pack mates.

It was a comfort to have Moss, in a weird way—her sister would have been an even more welcome sight, though he wouldn’t speak such to anyone—but at the very least, he felt she was trustworthy.

And so when her uttered bark of warning stirred his attention across the snowy landscape, the ebony wolf was quick to switch his own route—breath curling in the air from the cold. Gaze sharp upon his Eta, his attention was then brought to a girl woven in pale gold—something what appeared to be almost tears in the gentle gaze of her eyes.

He frowned, coming alongside his pack mate, ears erect forward as he assessed the she-wolf. “Kvarsheim wolf,” he uttered, though it likely meant nothing yet to Moss, given how new she was. “Greetings.”

Someone barked at her. Fear gripped her as she turned to meet whoever had found her, but she took a breath and tried to steel herself. Would Lestan really live with wolves who would attack her without even a moment to explain? That would make them worse than Sadey, and she didn't want to entertain that thought. Still, the echo of his first words to her lingered. What had he meant by that?
There were two wolves, one trailing slightly behind the other. She figured it must have been the nearest one, a woman in grey; the man was stocky and dark, and silent at first. His voice was measured when he finally spoke; he didn't know her, but he knew Kvarsheim. Relief swept over her in another rush of tears, and she tried to blink them away as she said, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to get so close, I just - there's another pack next to yours, and I didn't know... I was looking for a way out, She looked between the two, but primarily spoke to the man because he had actually greeted her. Honestly, she was a little offended she'd been barked at.

With confident but calm steps she approached the gilded woman, eyes passing over her frame and then beyond- to see if she could spot whatever it was that harrowed her. One ear flicked back as she heard the crunch of feet on snow near her, approaching at her flank and she could tell by the scent that it was Akavir. She wasn't surprised by his deftness, as she had been greeted with the same punctuality he exhibited now. 

She remained silent, a tombstone at his side when he addressed the woman. The display of emotion triggered dismay, though none of it showed on her features. It was news to her that they were next to another pack. As far as she could tell, they shared boundaries with no others. She didn't look to Akavir, feeling that a questioning glance might reveal her ignorance, though she kept him in the corner of her eye, wondering who it was she might be referring to. 

Had she crossed the path of the ones who had claimed the area before? If they lingered close again...She would be keen to know.

Moss was a watchful shadow—Akavir, for all he studied of the girl before them, had not expected her fear to be driven by what she spoke of. A pack next door? His brows arched upward, his eyes glancing to Moss quickly before he returned his attention back to the girl. “Does Taktuq still lead you? You have safe passage through here if escorted.”

He was hoping his tone was soothing—words conveying a certain reassurance. While it was not his intent to have other packs simply meander through their lands unwelcome, he was keen on allying the creek wolves with those currently residing in the same valley. If only to a certain extent.

More importantly, though: “What pack next to ours? Riverclan is that way, closer to your home,” he began, muzzle tipping to point in the direction of the stone circles and the hollow—coming from the opposite side, this didn’t bode well for the creek.

It was a little uncomfortable, being watched wordlessly by the grey-cloaked woman, but Reverie was grateful for her silence. There were already too many things to focus on; she wasn't sure if she could handle both of them talking. The man was doing a fine job of confusing her all by himself anyway. Neither of his questions made much sense to her. She'd never met anyone named Taktuq, no more than she'd met Sanja. How many leaders had Kvarsheim had and lost? How did it end up falling to Gunnar and Bjarna? And why would he think she meant Riverclan?
Yet he'd succeeded in reassuring her. She managed to stifle her tears again and smooth her tone into something a bit calmer when she spoke next. No, I don't know Taktuq. Gunnar and Bjarna lead Kvarsheim, As far as she knew, anyway. Thank you. She added, a little embarrassed by the state they'd found her in now that she felt she was no longer actively in danger.
It's not Riverclan. It's that way, She gestured to the Emberwood. I think they're the ones who... well, there was a woman with a terrible wound, and she asked about Swiftcurrent Creek. Lestan told me about some kind of trouble you'd had with someone, so it made me nervous, and she noticed. She told me to run. Consider it a favor, she'd said. For some reason, Reverie couldn't stop thinking about that.

She blinked when her leader turned his gaze to her- an acknowledgement that she was paying attention, and could be called upon later for an opinion. 

Still, the presence of another pack that had harried the woman was concerning. She seemed harmless enough herself, obviously rattled. The overturn in her leadership had perhaps also contributed to her uneasiness; whether Akavir knew the new leaders might effect her standing. 

Her nostrils flared lightly at the mention of an injured woman, the one she gathered had put fear into the gilded woman before them. Moss had been informed of them- now, it seemed their threat loomed real.

Taktuq was gone, apparently. The thought left him perturbed a bit—he had enjoyed her company, as brief as it had been. Clearly he needed to revisit the pack and get a feel for the new leadership.

The creamy girl explained—and offered a further explanation. Given her rattled self, he hadn’t been entirely confident she had been confused—but what she spoke of was enough to set his teeth on edge. “You’re safe here,” he reiterated, his now heated gaze leaving her lissome form and trailing to the direction she had come. “Thank you for telling us. It would appear we hadn’t chased them far enough.”

She seemed unharmed otherwise, and with another stolen glance to Moss, he looked back to the she-wolf. “What’s your name? Do you want an escort back to Kvarsheim?”

The woman was silent still. The man was kind, but stern in a way that made her think he must be a leader. Reverie nodded gratefully when he said that she was safe here. It was easy to trust him; after all, Lestan knew him, and if he really was a leader, followed him.
Reverie, She said when he asked after her name, but she hesitated at his offer of an escort. Would it be okay if I visit Lestan, before I go? He um, usually walks me home. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to see him. He was so close; why not? And she felt calmer, now. Calm enough to handle the absolute storm of emotions he stirred in her. Oh! And - what about you? I mean, your name. Both of you. She'd almost forgotten to ask!

She was given enough information now to assume that Kvarsheim was a pack that they were on good terms with. That was well enough- she preferred peace to the threat of roving wolves who shook terror into travelling wolves. And perhaps this meant that Swiftcurrent Creek and Kvarsheim shared a common nuisance. If those wolves had harried Reverie, they might not hesitate to do so again, and in being so indiscriminate, they would make an easy target of themselves. 

But Moss did not dream of warfare. Like Akavir, she wanted the blonde woman to get wherever she was going safely- and assumed that Akavir would likely prefer to do so on his own. Instead, however, she seemed inclined to stay and visit one names Lestan. This meant very little to the stone-faced woman either. It was only when her name was asked that she blinked. 

She would let Akavir speak first, however- he was the alpha.

She spoke of Lestan—idly, Akavir wondered if this was where the man had been keeping his time. His first assumption was that it could grow complicated if a romantic interest budded between the two—his next thought washing that away as irrelevant and a bridge to be crossed if it even came to that. Just because she was a woman didn’t mean Lestan was chasing after her—and so his muzzle dipped in silent agreement.

“Akavir,” he offered quietly, his eyes sliding over to the silver woman. “And that’s Moss.” He paused, considering the girl’s words. “Moss, if you could escort her to Lestan? I’m going to go check out that way,” he motioned his muzzle in the direction of the emberwood, where the girl had indicated.

Her breath caught in her throat for a moment, as she was given the order to take Reverie to Lestan. She didn't want to, but she would do as she was told, with no more coldness than usual, but with very little congeniality to spare. This was the second time she would have to hunt him down for the sake of another woman. She saw nothing about the man that was extraordinary, but he certainly did seem to have a following of pretty women. 

So she nodded, and took Reverie along with her to find Lestan. She fielded a few questions, and tolerated yet another compliment about her eyes, before she left the woman to spend some time with her friend.