Wolf RPG

Beaten, tattered, torn… the list of words the young wolf could conjure to describe himself was seemingly endless. It had not been a good trek. 

Coming down from the mountains, his paw caught the surface of a slippery rock. Or a rock not well-seated. He couldn’t say for sure. And so he tumbled down. He was not in the least bit sure how far—his mind went black at some point. 

He woke up in rough shape. Granted, he was able to move..just not..well. And his mouth was dry. And his stomach felt like it might chew through his gut. 

He didn’t notice any immediate critical injury, aside from a few scrapes and a back hip that felt like it’d been torn out of his skin..but it didn’t look broken, and he could walk, so he assumed it was simply bruised. 

He imagined at whatever point that injury occurred was the same point which he lost consciousness. 

Thankfully, summer brought rain, and he was able to spot a puddle with ease. He drank from it, but curled his lips at the sensation of hot, sun baked water. This wasn’t in the least bit ideal, but after he started, he was physically unable to tear himself away from that disgusting hot mud puddle. Not until he’d filled himself with it. 

He finished with an audible huff, and worked up the courage to move again. 

“Fucking day..” he said under his breath, and began limping forward. How was he supposed to find food like this?

A new plan budded in the firebrand’s mind.

He had left Moonglow and charted North again, to the land where glaciers broke and snows held late into the spring. Far enough from his family and every prying eye. Near enough that they might hear, see, if — when — he achieved the path he set down for himself like stones in an uncharted river.

A limping shadow materialized first, a man who had surely seen better days — and now, a man in need!

Could the stars so bless him? Stratos didn’t watch for long — hardly at all — before he drew towards the stranger through the sunlight dapple of the forest green with a great wave of his fox-red tail.

This one greets you! he said — perhaps a little too enthusiastically, but trouble has greeted you first! What had felled him? A cougar? A bear? Another wolf! He glanced for signs of bloodshed, but he wasn’t close enough to say.

The wolf totally thought he was seeing things. He stared for a moment, muddy water dripping from his chin. Was that a massive fox? Was that normal for this area? Surely not.. 

He didn’t smell foxes around, either. And their piss was potent enough that he should’ve. Or maybe he’d completely screwed up his ability to smell. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t really smell much at all. 

The size, stature, and general appearance said wolf. Everything but the color screamed wolf. Then, he spoke. 

Fenn grew defensive. If this wolf meant him harm, there was little he could do to fight back or escape. 

“Howdy,” he said, not all that enthusiastically. “Seems trouble’s beaten you by a few minutes, yeah.” He confirmed. Did he really look that bad?

Check that, no blood. So it couldn't have been an animal of sorts -- unless it'd been an elk who'd struck him, some internal blow, or perhaps even a snake. He certainly didn't look old enough to be arthritic. He had a well enough look about him, despite being rather on the scrawny side.

What is it, then? he asked, as his thoughts rolled on. Despite the lacklustre of the other man's greeting (and letting slide the fact that Stratos himself had been greeting others in such a like manner these recent weeks), he came closer with ever glowing interest. After all, the stranger hadn't bit his face off yet, that gave you that limp? A boar that needs wrestling? A moose that needs wrangling?

Whatever the case, the man certainly didn't look comfortable, and that meant there was always room to assist.

The mountain, hill, rise in the earth, whatever one might call it, that’s what did it. Or the slippery rock. Maybe it was Fenn that was at fault—he was the one who slipped, after all. 

He turned, looking up the rocky hill. 

“I um. Fell. From there,” he replied, just a twinge of embarrassment. Why this wolf felt the need to know remained a mystery. 

“I’m fine though, if you must know.” He wasn’t fine. But he certainly didn’t need the world knowing just how much pain he was in. 

((Weird is best! :3))

Tsk. A mountain! Stratos tracked with the stranger’s eyes upwards towards the rocky hill. Slopes could best the best of them — and he should be glad nothing worse was following him — but a mountain! Hardly something he could fight, slay, protect anyone from.

When the man mentioned he was fine, Stratos turned back to him, disbelieving — and new plans hatching.

Your words say one, your limp, another! You need healer, to check for things you cannot see. Come! he beckoned with a little wave of his tail and a hop in the direction he’d wandered from, I know a place, he didn’t, really — but surely one of the packs he’d passed had to know something about herbs and limps and probably head knockings too, come!

The wolf stared at the large fox for a moment. Why was he being so helpful? What was in this exchange for him? 

It very much did not check out and put Fenn on edge. He was in no position to further his vulnerability.. 

But he was also in no position to decline help. Even if he really wanted to. 

Though, what would a healer be able to devise that he couldn't? He knew where the pain was--and he knew it well. What he needed was something to shove in his stomach to make it calm the hell down. Which, maybe the foxy wolf could offer. So, he decided to follow. Maybe it was dumb, but he didn't really have an option. 

"Sure. Lead the way, then." the wolf said, subconsciously prolonging the need to move his leg.