Wolf RPG

Inkalorë had not intended to end up so near to the place of their birth; this was the place of their abandonment, too, the place where they'd first begun to feel quite different from the rest of the world. First shunned by their own father, then forgotten by their mother, hardly pursued by their siblings — why would they ever come back?

But here they were. And something was very off about them today. Some kind of feeling that manifested itself as a strange scent wreathed all around them. A restless, nameless urge. Inkalorë could not know they were in heat, but neither could they know that this was not a normal kind of heat. They felt very sick, and that was all Ink really knew.

So when they stumbled across the familiar scent of their sister laced into the border markings of a small pack, they found themself eager for the comfort of something known. Inkalorë howled a little hesitantly for @Vairë, then took a few steps back, overcome by nervousness. It had been a long time since they'd spoken. Perhaps Vairë did not want to talk or be bothered by Inkalorë and their strange problems. But even their worry could not snuff this small hope, and so they waited.

Vairë crossed the sand, her mind distant. The thought hadn’t left her since the smell of her mother had entered her nose.

Lótë had come back to the Wilds, but why? She had come back to Moonglow, had put her paws upon the ground where she left her daughter, had met anaa, and yet..?

She had not come. Kukutux wouldn’t have hidden her location. Vairë wouldn’t have run. So where was the soft coated woman she could barely even put a face to?

Chasing after her other daughter or the son she left you for. Came the vicious spit of her own internal hatred, burning low in her gut. She hated that part of her, that ugly girl who seethed with hatred for the woman who’d left her alone. The woman who’d went chasing after her butterfly child and left the weaver alone, with her siblings dwindling away until she was it. The only one of her litter.

A howl brought her mind front and center, making her head slope upwards to face the noise. The voice was..very familiar. She knew that voice, knew it squeaky with childhood.

Her paws churned across the sand, faster and faster as she practically ran for the voice.

There. Golden and wheat. A face she had known as a child, not as an adult. She had never imagined them as an adult, to her shame.

She stood a distance away, captivated by dread, staring into the face of one of her littermates.

….Inkalorë?