Wolf RPG

He stirred shortly after nightfall. Stars appeared, dotting the sky above the treeline, their constellations vibrant and vigilant on a night so dark and quiet. The temperature had dropped, bringing with it a quiet haze in the silence. Skáld rose to his feet and without shaking the snow out of his curly pelt, he moved. His breath curled around him like a halo as he walked through the night. The white boar turned and watched for him, beckoning him with its large, round eyes. He didn't hesitate when the stone circle disappeared from sight, though he had never left the pack's territory before. 

He collapsed gently into a snowbank not long before dawn when commanded to rest. He curled up, his tailtip covering his muzzle and face, his breaths soft but steady. On beyond the rising of the sun he slept, his body tired from a full night of sleepwalking from within the borders of his home pack, and into the lands of another.

Sandulf moved through the pack lands and followed along the borders. HE was marking and patrolling when he felt something strange. There was a sixth sense that moved him towards a small shape in the snowy banks of their claim. 

The scent of Kvarsheim hit him like a brick and he was surprised, but moved closer. He shuffled closer and noticed a young painted in reds. He chuffed quietly, for fear that he may scare him. Then he stood a bit away, with a concerned look on his face. Kvarsheim usually didn't come here without prior messages. So he was a bit fearful that something had happened.

The dark Star had been abuzz with energy. His mind had traveled to Mereo with Germanicus. As time passed waiting for the silver eagle to return to Riverclan, to be near, Crowfeather found that he needed some sense of purpose to keep him busy. Too much time with his thoughts had caused him more than enough trouble.

The tripod walked quickly until he captured a semi-familiar scent. Kvarsheim – the dark wolf lifted his head and squinted into the thick foliage of the hollow.

On swift paws, he followed until he had found a stranger. They smelled like Bjarna’s clan. They looked like they were… sleeping. Crowfeather stood a few feet away. His honeywarm eyes were trained on the unknown individual.

Excuse me, are you- are you alright? he asked, tentatively stepping forward to nudge the other wolf. 

Sandulf appeared then.

The boy slumbered, still and peaceful, regardless of the fact that he was being watched carefully by another wolf. His feet occasionally kneaded, and his whiskers twitched; endearing remnants of childhood. It wasn't until a voice chimed gently into his ears. Even then, Skáld was slow to stir. He moved and stretched, pushing the snow out before him with his small forepaws, and arching his neck. His eyes remained shut, while he relaxed, and yawned. 

A gentle nudge. 

Blearily, he opened his eyes, and blinked a few times. The light was almost too bright, and made him squint. He could make out one dark figure...And then another. Neither were his mother, and aside from her, there were no wolves with such dark fur in Kvarsheim. He was still too sleepy to make out their expressions, aside from the glowing of curiosity and concern in their eyes. 

They spoke in the tongue he knew very little. He recognized the sound of it, and the word you, and realized he was being asked a question, but other than that, he gleaned very little. He sat up a bit. 

"Are you..." He began speaking, though he realized he might not be understood. "You....New?" He asked, hoping they might realize he did not know their tongue very well, and settle for simpler conversation.

Sandy moved backward as Crowfeather spoke to the youth. Who awoke and seemed confused. He frowned. SHould he run to Kvarsheim? or wait it out. He wasn't certain so he looked to his leader to see. What could be done.

What was wrong with the youth. Did he have something happen that his mind had become jumbled. It worried him greatly. Especially given that he was so young. His gentle heart wracked at it and he wanted to soothe, though he didn't quite know how. The boys accent was thick, and it was clear he couldn't speak much english, this was getting worse, but he had hope that they could get through it.

The boy didn’t seem to speak a familiar language.

Crowfeather’s features scrunched in worry. He glanced at Sandy, wondering if he should send the defending man to Kvarsheim to find someone who could translate. Gunnar had done well to balance both languages, during the large meeting they had shared. The dark Star would have preferred to call for Bjarna, but her language skills weren’t much better than this boy’s.

Sandy, do you think you could find Gunnar? Have him come?

Crowfeather didn’t want to throw the stranger out. He belonged to Kvarsheim, after all. They were friendly to Riverclan. They were welcome in the hollow.

Come, the tripod said to the intruder. He had never been one for throwing people from his land.

He yawned once more when he was met with silence. Maybe these newcomers were shy, though he couldn't understand why they would wake him up and then look at him so oddly. When Gunnar's name was mentioned, her perked up, as though given a jolt of caffeine. He looked from one man to the other- noting how intense and concerned Sandy's eyes were, and noticing just then that Crowfeather had only three legs. Skáld's head tilted to the side in curiosity. How had that happened? 

The two strangers took up so much of his interest that he didn't notice immediately how unfamiliar his surroundings were. He did not know every tree and rock in his own pack's territory, though the trees here called his attention by their sheer height. His head tilted back, and his mouth fell open slightly as he looked up in amazement. He'd never seen trees so tall...

He dropped his muzzle, confusion pursing his lips. His ears flicked back, and he sniffed. None of this- not the wolves, not the trees, not the scent of the place- was familiar. He gave his head a soft shake. The man with three legs bid him to come, but with the dawning of realization came fear. He rose to his feet shakily, but tucked his tail between his hind legs. He looked to the other man. 

"Gunnar?" 

They knew his name. So they must know where he was.

Sandy nodded and then he saw the fear in teh boys eyes and he spoke softly. I get gunnar. 

He hoped that would be enough for the boy to understand. That he would get the patriarch of Kvarsheim. Then with a soft chuff he turned and ran towards Kvarsheim. With some good running he should be able to get to the guy quickly, but could Gunnar come just as swiftly. If it was for oneof his own he probably could. He seemed the type.

Gunnar, Crowfeather confirmed with a small nod. He offered a smile, hoping to be encouraging.

Kvarsheim is friend, the dark tripod offered after a short pause. He hoped that he might simplify his sentences. Sometimes Bjarna could pick up on his meaning, when he made his words simpler. It was a better habit to form, anyway. Crowfeather realized that he had a poor tendency to run away with his words. It would do him well to keep things meaningful and concise.

Come, come, again, but this time with a gesture of a swinging snout. The dark Star wished to bring the boy into Riverclan and find him something to eat, a warm place to wait for a familiar face. Though his curiosity wished to ask how the Kvarsheim wolf had ended up there, he would wait for Gunnar.

The wolf whose features were stern spoke, in a way that Skáld could understand. Gunnar would be on his way- the boy could only hope that he had not wandered too far. It seemed that he was in another pack, and he tried to remember the names of the others when the three-legged man beckoned for him to come. Whether he was being led further into the claimed packlands or out toward the borders, he was not sure. 

If this was one of their allies...Then it had to be one of two packs. "Riv'clan, or Swifcunt creek?" He asked tentatively. He could say their names well enough in his own tongue, but trying to make himself sound as though he could speak the common tongue...It sometimes made the words even worse. "I am Skáld." He said meekly, still hoping he would be forgiven for ending up...Wherever he was. "I...Thank."

Ah, this wolf may have been similar to Bjarna in his ability to speak the shared tongue.

Crowfeather waved his tail. He was grateful that the visiting stranger could offer some words to bridge the gap. He didn’t want the boy to feel threatened or out of place. It was difficult to find oneself in unfamiliar ground. As long as Riverclan could aid him in getting home safely, the dark Star would feel that he had done what was best.

Riverclan, yes, he confirmed, nodding his head.

Next was an introduction. Crowfeather’s cheeks warmed at the spoken gratitude that followed. It wasn’t necessary, of course. He would have helped anyone from Kvarsheim or Swiftcurrent. They were important allies to the peaceful hollow wolves.

Skáld, he repeated. I Crowfeather.

Would the boy prefer to shorten that the way Bjarna had?