Wolf RPG

She sat staring at Moss for a very long time; talking to her, questioning her, all in the quiet of her own mind. Moss told her many things: about her father, about Arric, about the man in the swamp and the girl at Riverclan. Mae wasn't sure she understood all of it, but she listened.

Most of all, she would remember Moss's warning. I died in the dark, she croaked mournfully, but you'll die in silver. In silver. What did that mean?

Unless...

Unless what?! Mae burst out into the silence, her heart racing in her throat.

Unless silver dies first.

Stupid! That doesn't make fucking sense! You're full of shit! Mae was stumbling back from the corpse now, but Moss's voice was still in her head. No! No, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! She shrieked, not listening, and fled from the corpse.

Moss only laughed in her head.

He looked up when a cluster of black birds lifted into the sky, their calls sudden and raucous. It wasn't often that Skáld left the pack, and given the whisperings of what had happened to one of their allies, he wasn't terribly tempted. But when he caught the scent of one of the visiting wolves straying from the pack's borders, he left, following it North past the lake. 

He knew that there was at least one new child- a newborn that Inkeri nursed. There was another as well, not quite so young but not yet a yearling, like him. He became concerned when her scent drifted across the borders, alone. Had she only gone as far as the lake he might have assumed she was simply heading back to the Creek to visit, but when her path veered toward the marsh, he hastened his step. 

He didn't know everything that had happened- but something bad had happened in the marsh. He followed her trail until it led toward a place where the earth was foul. He knew the scent of bog, but this was different- and with every step, the scent grew worse and worse. Mae's pawprints were deep pockets in the soft earth- and led to a large mound. 

One step closer and the flies lifted in a flock, revealing the hulking, sinking mass of wolf flesh. The festering eye sockets gazed forever into nowhere. 

Panic-stricken, he too scrambled and then bolted- coincidentally following the same path Mae had beat earlier.

The woman wandered from the creek, seeking some route that would bring her to another homestead. She chose to cut through the marsh; grime never bothered her, and besides that, there was the chance to find a bullfrog or something else to eat.
Instead, there was a voice.
She lingered a moment, studying her surroundings, and when she resumed her prowling across the softened earth, came upon a dark bundle hunched and unmoving; then, creeping from another direction, there was a burnished red-brown wolf sulking along with the same investigatory focus.
'ello there -- kiddo. The woman began to say, ambling closer. The girl had the scent of the creek - so she knew to be careful. The other wasn't quite close enough at first, but as he caught sight of the gruesome swamp-monster-effigy, turned to flee.
Glancing after him, Ygrim caught sight of putrefaction and a grinning face picked clean, but writhing with worms.
A blink, and she focused on the girl, wondering at just what she had walked in upon.

Her heart drummed a frantic rhythm in her ears. Mae felt as if she might be sick. She realized all at once that she'd stopped, that she was crouching in the muck sobbing, that Moss's voice was still droning painfully in her ears.

Another voice cut through the haze; not the woman approaching her, for Mae neither saw nor heard her. It was a man. She scarcely understood him, but Moss's voice began to fade, and her sobs turned to relief. She rose from her crouch, gaze fixing somewhere just beyond the woman who had addressed her.

Her eyes went wide, and her lips parted slightly, ears ringing with a name she'd heard once before, though she had no conscious memory of it.

L-Lasher? Mae trembled.

And then she fainted.

The boy ran, the girl turned, spoke -- and then dropped. Her body made the mud beneath her squelch.
Ygrim's jaw hinged an inch, her brows raised, furrowed, raised again, and she looked to be muddling through some internal struggle. When she came to a decision, it was obvious:
Stepping carefully towards the kid, she pinched their scruff with yellowed teeth and wrenched them from the mud; one way, another, hardly delicate about it. They were young enough to be light (although the mire had soaked them, which added some difficulty).
Back, back, back - to some mound or other, solid enough for Ygrim to let go of the girl and give her a proper once-over. She appeared healthier than most; thus, it wasn't some physical ailment. Likely a mental corruption.
Snorting softly to herself, Ygrim looked idly to the maggot-laden face and curled her lip, as if to silently implore the carcass: Don't give me that look.

He blinked his eyes which had begun to stream tears, also in an attempt to blur out the image of the corpse. He'd never seen a dead wolf, and now fought with the realization that some day, he too would look like that. There was very little dignity in dying, and whoever it was that had died there had had absolutely none. 

He continued to run, and caught sight of Mae in the distance- buckled over and still, being approached by an adult. Skáld did not recognize the other wolf, and in his cowardice, he averted his path, not wanting any conflict. He knew he should go for the child, but ran several hundred metres away before he slid to a stop and turned to look over his shoulder. 

The child was no longer there- and in the distance, he could barely see the retreating figure of the brown wolf fading like woodsmoke with something large in her grasp. 

His heart pounded. 

He turned, and bolted after her just as her figure disappeared in the fog. Fortunately, the damp earth made it easy to track her pawprints, and eventually, he saw her, hovering over the puppy. The lidless eyes of the corpse seemed to be fixed upon them. Skáld felt the urge to flee again, but forced himself to approach, his head lowered and hackles bristling. His limbs shook, and it was with an uneasy yip that he sought the woman's attention.

Mae was not conscious of being carried, inspected; when she woke it was at the sound of a slightly-distant yip, finding a strange wolf standing over her. The girl shot up and away, snarling and bristling wildly. She nearly ran into the other wolf — another stranger, but she recognized the scent of Kvarsheim on him.

And so, ultimately, Mae would follow him back to his home; shaken by her experience, changed in some way she could not yet grasp.