Wolf RPG

Ouroboros Spine was one of the most interesting landmarks Sialuk had ever seen... and that was saying something coming from Alaska. It was like an air bubble had welled up beneath the land and broken, throwing up a jagged wrinkle around its center. It was guarded on all sides by short, miniature mountains, but at its base was an undoubtedly deep lake. It was singular; perhaps that was why the Arctic woman had chosen to stay there, had met with the Alpha of the pack and found them both satisfactory.

She'd been intent on exploring the unusual area, but today Sialuk broke away from the pack territory and extended her reach to the other side of the low mountains. She was padding steadily down into another pine forest, but this one was different; it was majestic in its own way, but much younger. The one contained within and on the mountains of the Spine was thousands of years old, whereas Neverwinter Forest's trees were shorter and fresher. The gaps between branches weren't webbed with moss in the same way, and more light filtered in, though the two smelled very similar.

The supple female stopped a moment to rest her paws and take in her surroundings. Her side pressed against the trunk of a pine tree as she scanned the forest, looking for any sign of disturbance to put her on guard.

It took a while for Sialuk to realize she'd been followed. Her ears were twisted back, customary while traveling alone, but somehow Harlyn's approaching foot steps were masked either by a lack of attention or by the forest's sounds. She caught on only seconds before Harlyn announced herself and she turned, fighting hard to keep her hackles from creeping up and narrowing her eyes deferentially.

"How long have you been following me?" the Arctic wolf asked smoothly, figuring it was too coincidental for Harlyn to have just found her here. Her tone wasn't accusatory, simply curious, as if Sialuk thought it strange that anyone should successfully sneak up on her. The angakkuq admittedly had a bad habit of overestimating her skill set, and was always taken aback (if not a little offended) when something proved her wrong.

Harlyn reacted in kind, but Sialuk didn't allow any tension to develop. Her ears fell back and her shoulders slouched down, aided by Harlyn's admission that she followed only to know her. Sialuk was social herself and understood the desire to know those she ran with, but hadn't expected it to be a quick process. Mordecai and Sitri were those she was familiar with, and she couldn't recall the name of the dark-haired man whose scent intermittently criss-crossed the borders. All others were unfamiliar.

Sialuk stepped closer to Harlyn, letting her head bow down with every step, until she was close enough to kiss her. Naturally, the Arctic wolf didn't pucker up her lips; rather, she unabashedly reached out to bump her muzzle along the female's own. In doing so, she collected Harlyn's scent upon her fur and distributed her own on a dark cheekbone, so both could later remember. Her throat rumbled lightly, more of a croon than a growl, as she pulled back.

"I am Sialuk," she said to finish the greeting ceremony, assuming Harlyn hadn't ran for the hills yet. She didn't ask for Harlyn's own—she wouldn't have been bothered by the lack of name, for Sialuk often devised titles for others anyway—but preened her ears forth, waiting for instruction or anything else the agouti would might say.

Harlyn returned the woman's gestures easily--after all, they were wolves, and this was the natural way of greeting one of their own species. Her nostrils twitches rapidly as she sniffed at the soft white cheek, trailing towards her ear and then pulling back just as the white wolf did the same. Her tail relaxed after the ritual was done and swayed in an easy wag.

Sialuk was her name, a name that sounded somehow fitting spoken upon the somehwat foreign tones of the wolf to whom it belonged. Harlyn's canted her head ever so slightly after giving a brief dip of her muzzle. "I'm Harlyn," she responded in kind, "Where are you from, Sialuk? Your name and your voice are wonderfully unusual to my ears." She gave an amiable smile, trying to reassure the woman that it hadn't been said as criticism. She liked the fact that these things characteristics were unfamiliar to her. It meant that she was about to learn something that likely would fascinate her.

Harlyn. She mentally tasted the name. It was unfamiliar to her tongue, its origin unknown, but it was a lovely name. She wondered to herself whether it meant something, historical or otherwise. She almost asked, but refrained; if asked the origin of her name, Sialuk could give its meaning but not why it existed or why she'd been given it. The warshaman assumed Harlyn might have the same trouble and chose to spare her the effort.

"Thank you," she said graciously, "it is from the tundra. My family is from Alaska." There were so many types of wolf in Alaska: harsh Nords, gentle shamans, intense tribes following after strange gods unheard of in other territories. Those who followed the musk oxen—Sialuk's pack had been one such group—and those who dined on seals. The groups clashed more than they got along, and more than that they avoided each other.

"Where are you from? Your own sings to me a foreign tune, but a beautiful one." For some reason, Harlyn's name—and the slight accent she had, probably detectable only by those as foreign as Sialuk to the south lands—made her imagine a hill.

The woman admitted that she was from Alaska, igniting that fire of curiosity within her more than ever. She yearned to ask more, but held her tongue as the question was turned so swiftly onto her. Harlyn gave a patient smile and dipped her muzzle gratefully. "That's kind of you," she replied, "My family lives in a land far to the West of here, but our ancestors came here from a land across the sea. I am Welsh by descent, though it has been many ages since the last full-blooded Celt in our lineage passed on."

Harlyn gestured with her muzzle, inviting the woman to walk with her as she picked up her own paws and began to sidle slowly through the trees. "Tell me, why are you no longer in Alaska?" she asked as her paws brushed across the cold, damp ground.

Her eyes remained on Harlyn even as the pair of females began navigating Neverwinter. Sialuk appreciated exotic wolves, probably more than she appreciated anything else in the world—while she didn't have a mind for history herself, she loved to hear the rich tales of others. Harlyn's story positively asked to be told, if not because of her Celtic origins, then because she had crossed the sea.

"Surely your ancestors didn't swim?" Sialuk asked in a tone laced with hunger for knowledge. To cross the sea must be a great feat. The warshaman didn't even thing that a shaman's spirit guide couls gove them the ability to do so, even if they were a strong sea creature. It was known that a shaman could take aspects of their spirit guide to strengthen themselves—Sialuk believed herself to be a fiercer fighter when channeling hers—but to swim across the ocean? It would take a great spirit indeed.

Harlyn's question went unanswered, but the woman didn't mind as the question posed brought a smile to her lips. "No, they did not," she replied with a soft shake of her head, "The tale goes that our small homeland became too crowded many years ago, so we asked our gods to find us new land to make our homes. A great seal rose up from the ocean one day, and my ancestors climbed onto its back. It brought them across the ocean to their new home, and we Cinderlochs have roamed here ever since."

Little did she realize that the seal in truth had been a ship, and her ancestors had not boarded it willingly. Humans and their devices were not things known to her, however. And while she did not fully believe the story, it was the only one that she and many generations of her family had ever known, so she suspected there had to be some sort of truth in it, somewhere.

Harlyn's story did not disappoint Sialuk, whose own culture made seal riding a very real possibility. Such large creatures didn't exist anymore, not that she or her tribe had seen, but there was no reason the Arctic wolf didn't believe in them. The seal was likely the avatar of some god sent to save the wolves of Harlyn's ancestral homeland. It was believable to the shaman.

"Your ancestors are fortunate to have attracted the attention of their gods," Sialuk said, wishing that she and hers could have been as lucky. She was a shaman but certainly not talented enough to call upon the gods for their favour, or perhaps she was simply too nervous to try. "My family has always lived in the north, under the dancing sky and hunting with Amarok. They have never left." She was the first.

"I wanted to see the world, though. Alaska holds my heart, but of course there must be more to our land." And there was, so much more than she'd ever imagined.

Harlyn was very pleased to find that Sialuk did not cast judgement upon her story. Not a trace of doubt of a patient but disbelieving smile was to be seem upon the white wolf, and soon Harlyn was realizing that this was truly a wolf with whom she could share her spirituality and not only would she have an understanding of it, but also an interest, and maybe true devotion.

She kept those thoughts quiet, however, and instead listened to the woman as she continued to share her thoughts. When the opportunity arose, the dark-marbled female began to inquire further into the shaman's thoughts and beliefs, turning to pace along at her side as they chatted and continued to explore the forest.