Wolf RPG

Quickly, Prowler, Fiona said, waiting for the bandit to catch up. She'd gotten distracted by something shiny again and Fiona had thought she might have lost her. We'll find a more populated area soon, I promise. Then you'll have a home base and you won't have to follow me around everywhere. Fiona was never sure if Prowler could really understand her or not, but talking to somebody other than herself seemed better. They'd been gone from the coven for several turns of the moon now, and the witch had seen a few clients here and there, but she sought something more steady for herself and her familiar.

She had heard this place to the north had plenty of wolves who would be interested in her services. It was rumored that this area was ripe with trauma and angst. Two things that—while unfortunate for those going through it—were rather the problems Fiona was good at solving. The witch always had been.

For the first time in a great while, Talis heard a voice.

He licked his lips and crouched, creeping toward the source of the sound. His pale eyes shifted back and forth, here and there, as he picked his way through the underbrush. This woodland was particularly lush and fragrant. Talis could just barely hear a babbling creek somewhere in the distance. It was an ideal place to pass the time.

The voice—it belonged to a woman—spoke again and the pale coyote froze to listen. He pinpointed the sound and turned his sharp, rust-dusted snout toward it as he continued slinking along the mossy forest floor. A mosquito whined in his ear, making it twitch, but Talis didn’t lose his focus.

The wind shifted and suddenly he could smell her—no, them. The coyote’s lissome body turned to stone. Was that a raccoon he smelled? It was certainly still alive too. Talis blinked, head tilting as he clambered as quietly as he could over some tree roots before peeking around the trunk of a cedar and finally catching sight of the unlikely pair.

Prowler scurried closer, and Fiona gave her a Look for falling behind again. She loved her dearly, but that particular personality trait—or was it a species trait?—of getting distracted by every little shiny rock was rather obnoxious on occasion. Fiona continued along the creek, oblivious to the lurking figure downwind of her and her familiar. The latter of whom was currently paused at the creek's bank because there was a sparkly rock that just had to be gathered.

Prowler! What did I just tell you! she barked, and the creature once again shuffled back in line.

At first, Talis couldn’t possibly make sense of what he was seeing with his own two eyes. Since when did wolves and raccoons fraternize like this? The scene had a dreamlike quality, though the coyote resisted the silly impulse to pinch himself. He was definitely wide awake, so perhaps he just didn’t understand what was going on here. Surely the raccoon wasn’t actually following the wolf…

The wolf scolded the raccoon, calling it by name: Prowler. Talisman’s jaw dropped as the wayward bandit scuttled to heel. His pale eyes blinked rapidly for several seconds before he withdrew behind the tree, the trunk blocking his view of the strange pair for a moment.

What the, he mumbled under his breath, raising a paw to rub a single claw ponderously against his cream-colored chin.

He dropped it and peered around the tree again. They were moving further away along the streambed now. Talis was entirely too intrigued to let them slip away without further study. He paused, debating between trying to stealthily tail them or popping out and announcing himself. Wolves were completely unpredictable in their behavior toward a coyote, though if she was friends with a raccoon…

Stepping out into plain sight, Talisman cleared his throat and called out in a friendly voice, Prowler: is that a boy’s name or a girl’s name?

The sudden appearance of a coyote immediately sent Fiona on edge, and she quickly placed herself in front of her precious bandit, shielding Prowler from any harm the coyote might want to do to her. Instead of attacking on sight, the fire-tipped coyote seemed more interested in her familiar's name than anything. Fiona was probably better equipped to handle outright aggression rather than curiosity toward her companion, but she supposed she would have to figure out how to deal with this, too. It would likely not be the last canine to question her... odd relationship.

It's a familiar's name, Fiona replied, wary of the stranger's question and intentions. Coyotes were—in her culture, anyway—particularly tricky beasts, and the Greenroot native knew she would need to be careful if she was to make it out of this particular interaction without losing anything. Now that Prowler had been spotted, there was a very real possibility that this coyote would continue to follow them, waiting until an opportune time before striking to kill. Fiona simply couldn't have that. Prowler was an extension of her own self in many ways.

The she-wolf stepped in front of the raccoon, shielding the latter from Talis’s view. He sucked in a breath but didn’t make a move. Hers was an entirely reasonable reaction to a stranger’s sudden appearance but he wanted to do what he could to put her—both of them, really—at ease so that he could hopefully learn more about their symbiotic relationship.

A familiar’s? he echoed in the manner of someone unfamiliar (pun intended?) with a term and hoping for an explanation. I’m Talisman, though you’re welcome to call me Talis. I definitely don’t mean you any harm, for whatever that’s worth… he added, aware that it wouldn’t mean much coming from a total stranger.

Fiona wasn't convinced by his words, though she supposed she didn't have much else to go on. He hadn't outright tried to kill her (or Prowler) immediately, which worked in his favor. Fiona, she said, her tail lashing behind her. This Talisman fellow had caught her off-guard, and that wasn't helping things. Still, she tried to remain calm. Prowler, she's my... companion. She helps me with things. It was more nuanced than that, but Fi was not ready to dive deep into the more complicated aspects of her relationship with the raccoon. That was reserved for those who earned it.

I'll guard her with my life if I have to, so don't even try anything. Fi meant it, too. Prowler might as well have been a child. And while she wasn't quite sure she'd want to die for the always-distracted bandit, that little masked creature had helped her on numerous occasions get out of some very tricky situations. So Fi kinda owed it to her at this point.

If she offered her name stiffly, Talisman didn’t hold it against her, nor the cagey lash of her tail. He remained as still and assuming as he could, cinnamon-dusted ears pricked toward her as she elaborated on her kinship with the Procyon lotor. Prowler, for her part, remained beady-eyed and tight-lipped.

The coyote offered a good-natured snort and reassured, I won’t! I solemnly swear. Talis tipped his head toward Fiona and said, I don’t feel like dying today, a nod to the fact that she could easily overpower him, or killing, for that matter. At least, not anyone whose name I know, he continued, wondering if the levity would lighten up Fiona a bit or just make her want to pack up her companion and go.

Before Fiona had a chance to react to any of it, there came a loud splash from the nearby creek. Talis’s ears immediately swept backward, his head jerking in that direction and his muscles tensing. He glanced back at Fiona and Prowler, then arched his head to one side, trying to peer through the trees to discern the source of the disturbance.

Maybe a fish jum— he started to say when a second, noisier splash cut off his words.

She didn't laugh at his joke, though she did relax the smallest bit. Prowler remained behind her, though as soon as Talisman turned away, the masked familiar was quick to leap up into the nearest tree, assuring her safety no matter what the coyote's promises were. This allowed Fiona to relax even more, though now she was quite curious about the splashing. She didn't need the other's permission to head over to the creek to take a closer look. What popped their head above the water was instantly recognizable.

Fiona's own mother had a river otter familiar, though this one was distinctly not her mother's. They lacked the greying fur around their muzzle, and they had much more youthful features. Not only that, but Fiona's mother was nowhere nearby to protect the otter. They didn't appear to be anybody's familiar at all.

I suppose you don't have a use for a familiar, do you? she asked. Whether or not the question was meant to be serious remained ambiguous.

A sense of trepidation came over Talisman, for reasons he would be embarrassed to articulate aloud should Fiona or Prowler notice the way he shrunk in on himself slightly, muscles coiling for fight-or-flight. When the she-wolf strode over to investigate, his pale eyes stayed glued to her, though he didn’t move right away.

When he did, he crept a little closer with an intensely wary air about him, his heart thumping in his chest hard enough to shake his frame slightly. Talis licked his lips, telling himself it was just a fish. Or maybe it was a frog. In any case, surely it was something small and harmless, not…

He saw the otter’s head at the same instant Fiona turned to ask him if he wanted a familiar. Apropos of nothing, he scuttled backward, nearly tripping over his own hind legs. His cinnamon-dusted tail tucked between his legs and slicked to his underside, his nails audibly scrambling on the ground as he attempted to pivot. Driven by stark terror, he fled.

In hindsight, he should’ve known it was a possibility he’d come across an otter whilst venturing near a creek. But it had been so long since the young coyote had even thought of an otter, much less revisited his childhood trauma—an otter had nearly mauled him at two months old, its vicious and infectious bites ultimately killing the mother who’d rescued him—that it hadn’t even crossed his mind until he’d seen those savage little eyes peeking at him from the water.

With that image chasing him, Talis wouldn’t stop running for days.

Before Fiona could fully comprehend what was going on, Talisman was far, far away. She never would understand why he fled the way that he did, nor why he hadn't said a word to her before doing so. All she could do was shrug and be on her way, calling Prowler down from the tree and continuing on her own way, albeit much slower than her coyote companion.