Wolf RPG

Ever since seeing @Mulherin and @Saturdays Sunset spar here the other day, Masque couldn’t stop pairing up pups in their head. Perhaps @Saturdays Sunrise would be a better match for their favorite little brother? The spare Saturday could always go with @Redsky. Eventually, their mind wandered beyond the Toweards, wondering who might suit @Relic. Not counting the pups, there was only @Lilia, who had—quite contentiously—chosen @Ancelin. It was really too bad @Reki was male, although he might’ve made a good suitor for @Redd, were she still around.

The Caru basked on the sleeping dragon’s back today, thoughts of matchmaking momentarily suspended as they decided it was time to turn over. They pushed onto their elbows and surveyed the grotto down below, marigold eyes cutting across to the rise. Their mouth opened in a halfhearted yawn before they maneuvered to sprawl on their left side now, that flank suitably toasted by the September afternoon sun.

The buck Riley trailed proved fitter than he; its scent vanishing up towards the summit. Riley sighed — he was well acquainted with the unspoken adage nothing wounded went uphill. With his paw now scarcely weight bearing, he was in little condition to hunt.

He meandered through a grotto, hoping for carrion or some other easy meal. Somewhere overhead, perhaps on a ledge just out of sight, Riley heard the clatter of stones.

Something had shifted up there. For several beats Riley paused under the overhang, ears straining to pick up any further movement.

They settled again and thought of dozing, their eyes drifting shut against the glare of the impossibly blue sky. As they began to drift off, a scent threaded into their nose and Masque sat up in a single fluid movement. In another second, they found their feet and craned over the ledge, peering straight downward at the foot of Dragon’s Back Ridge Nova Peak.

The same instant their eyes focused on a dark shape below—the stranger reminded them of the absent Haelend—they realized they recognized the scent. It was one of the two from the maple forest a few days prior. Masque’s long tail gave a catlike twitch as they squinted at the figure, wondering what he was still doing, lurking around this area. He shouldn’t be trifling with the rise’s hunting grounds.

But it wasn’t exactly in Masquerade’s nature to confront a stranger, particularly a male who looked to be in his prime. And it was too late to avoid him now. Despite having the literal upper hand, the yearling felt trapped. Their body tensed, skin hot and prickling in the late summer heat.

Riley’s ears cupped as he peered upward, squinting against the sky. It was at that exact moment he became cognizant a pair of eyes peered back at him, framed by a brilliant red face.

He froze, his sore paw still lifted. That he had assumably been watched without his awareness chilled him. The scent permeating their little copse was familiar - he wondered if this was the invisible female from days before.

Riley placed his paw slowly back on the damp earth, unable to pull his gaze from the face above him.

Their eyes met, locked. Masquerade held the stranger’s gaze for a moment, emboldened a little by the distance and the heights, but then looked away. They crept backward from the lip of rock, disappearing from his view as they cast their head side to side, assessing their surroundings.

Their marigold gaze lingered on the footpath winding down the mountainside, in a direction that would carry them away from the unfamiliar wolf. But they would not escape unseen; he would be able to see them descending. Unless they decided to take a much riskier leap from elsewhere, they didn’t have much of a choice. Masque blew out a breath.

They darted along the footpath, immediately glancing downward to clock the stranger’s position. Would he pursue them? They faced forward, gait steady and swift. They were losing altitude but gaining ground, as far as the other wolf was concerned.

Masque paused to check his position again but the angle worked against them. Hastily now, they dropped down the slope until the ground evened out underfoot. The path delivered them at the far southeastern corner of Nova Peak, the grotto and its canine inhabitant currently hidden from view by the flank of the mountain.

The Caru loped due south across the grassy partition between the sleeping dragon and the neighboring bulk of the glacier. Here, Masquerade swiveled and squinted again, gaze seeking any sign of the swarthy stranger.

The pair’s gaze seemed tethered for a moment. Then, the red-faced wolf withdrew, a thin arm of bearberry leaves bobbing where she’d stood moments before.

Several seconds passed. Riley considered his options, which were few. He’d no chance of catching her - not that he wished to — and it was not as if he could run from her, either.

He wondered if her pack was nearby; that was twice now he’d seen a wolf in short order. It was dangerous for him now to be compromised and so close to settlement.

Bushes above rattled. Riley listened attentively as fleet steps gradually faded. When he was certain she was gone he moved warily towards the footpath.

Imagine his surprise to see a figure in the grasslands ahead, watching him with the same feral wariness he felt pattering in his heart.

They barely had to look to find him, striding toward them along the foot of the mount. He noticed Masque at the same instant they spotted him, the two of them locking eyes again. This time, the Caru immediately averted their gaze. They backpedaled.

But they paused, one foreleg suspended and nostrils flaring as his scent strengthened in their nose. Was he injured? Their head canted ever so slightly as they glanced at him again, avoiding meeting his eyes. He looked like a powerful specimen, though there was nothing threatening in his demeanor. He looked as wary as Masquerade felt.

They planted their dangling foot and stood up a little straighter, shoulders squared. They could see the rise over his shoulder. Did he intentionally block their path? Their ears pinned backward, then swept forward against a moment later. Masquerade clenched their jaw, thinking, then finally decided to muster some boldness and break the cagey, mutual silence.

Are you following me?

As their eyes locked a second time Riley’s jaw tightened. He too averted his gaze, albeit reluctantly — what if she planned something?

But the distance between them was appreciable enough his nerves settled.

Did she mean to go past him? Their species did not always savor confrontation; in this moment Riley desired none of it. His shoulders softened as he stepped from the trail, struggling to mask the limp in his step. She seemed to be measuring him now — she stood a little taller, her eyes sharp even from this distance.

Realizing she’d spoken, it took Riley a moment to process her accusation, and then compose his reply. Looking down at a frond of goldenrod, Riley shook his head. No.

That, Masquerade replied dryly in their deep timbre, sounds like something someone who was following me would say.

They arched their brow slightly, though they began to relax. He was hurt, if his limping gait was anything to go by. And there was something almost bashful about him, though Masque refused to be entirely disarmed.

Still stiff-legged, they took a couple of tentative steps toward him. They kept their posture as neutral as possible: head up, tail down. Their ears remained upright, their expression stoic but their eyes inquisitive.

Who are you? was their next question, followed by, And what are you doing here, then?

Riley was too literal a wolf to read between the lines of the Caru’s dry remark. To him, it seemed he was being painted a stalker — an accusation that caused a ripple of injustice to stir his fur.

He stood his ground as she approached. Her ears were alert, each step stiff-legged — Riley allowed himself to be approached the same way he’d allowed Avicus. His posture bordered on tense, the neutrality betrayed by stirs of tension under his skin.

And who was he? He studied the graceful stamp of red on his interrogator’s face; the way it crispy bled into a field of grey.

Riley Redpath. He’d nearly said Redleaf out of habit - but that name had died the moment he’d left his unhinged family. I was looking for food. Who are you?

His straightforward answers greatly reduced any impression of timidity, though they both remained cautious. Masque halted about three yards away, though when he gave his name, they shifted forward another yard. Redpath was intriguingly similar to their own surname.

I’m Masque Redtail, they replied, watching his expression out of the corner of their eye, from Redtail Rise. They thrust their snout toward the great hillock behind Riley. It’s probably best if you hunt further east of here, they added, no hostility in their tone, though it was accompanied by a pointed look before their gaze slid back to the side.

Much like Masquerade, Riley mulled over the similarities of their surnames. If he was a more socially forward-leaning wolf, he might have cracked a joke about the coincidence. As it was, he struggled enough to form sentences, and preferred to meet any conversation with physical gestures over vocal.

He was gently directed to hunt elsewhere. Even someone of Riley’s functional capabilities could read between the lines in Masque’s words. Riley’s gaze could not help but flit to the east, which looked difficult and far away. How come?

They didn’t expect him to protest, not that his query was particularly combative. He just didn’t seem to understand. Perhaps he didn’t realize the inference: Redtail Rise was not just a pack but a fairly powerful and territorial one. Masquerade wouldn’t mind spelling it out a bit more clearly for his sake.

My pack is very territorial. It would be safer for you to avoid our hunting grounds.

Their golden gaze combed the grass at his feet, suddenly remembering his mild limp. Masquerade caught themself staring at his paws for a moment before moving their eyes away. He looked well-fed despite this. Perhaps it was a recent injury or he was having fair luck scavenging.

But that made them think of something and they cleared their throat to say, Unless… are you part of a pack, Riley? The rise could always use additional Fengtoth. Hunters and warriors, Masque explained.

Territorial. What pack wasn’t? Riley experienced an unsettling flashback: Bearclaw Valley, Ursus. The madman Merrick and his unnerving bride.

He pushed aside the memory in time to note he was being studied. Following Masquerade’s eyes, he realized she was examining his off paw. Instinctively he shielded the limb, eyes hardening in response.

It took him a beat to realize she’d spoken again. This time, she spoke of a word he didn’t know. Fengtoth. It evoked an image of a tooth for him.

I’m not part of a pack. Are you inviting me into your home? He found the invitation confusing to navigate. He’d lived alone for so long, he forgot the wolf’s strength was in its pack.

Masquerade shook their head and said patiently, That would be skipping some steps. Once we’ve established whether you’re interested in joining, they continued, pausing to give him a questioning look, I can take you to the borders and summon one of the leaders. They will decide if you’re a good fit for the rise.

They spelled it out as concisely and completely as they knew how, since he seemed to require such things. Masque didn’t mind. At least he spoke. They snorted under their breath, their entire hindquarters giving a twitch along with their tail, like an irate cat’s.

If you prove yourself to me first, I can vouch for you when the time comes, they thought aloud, pulse quickening a little as the words left their mouth. It could save everyone some time.

This wasn’t their wheelhouse at all. They had no experience whatsoever in recruiting wolves into the ranks and it required stepping out of their comfort zone. Truth be told, they were already well outside its boundaries, ever since first locking eyes with this interesting stranger.

Masque’s tail lashed in a pantherine manner against her sides. She spoke in earnest, Riley barely keeping pace with each thing she laid metaphorically before them.

He did not like the idea of being judged before a panel of wolves. In his present state none the less — it hurt his ego to have his worth measured at all in such conditions.

Then the Caru spoke of proving himself to her. A wrinkle appeared upon his brow. In what world could she easily decipher his trustworthiness and capability, here on the plains? And how could that translate to his utility in a pack? How?

We’ll hunt together, they answered simply, pausing and glancing at the source of discomfiture. I know of a rabbit warren not far from here. You’ll track and flush. I’ll attack. If we can coordinate, I’ll recommend you for Ulfr, which is the rise’s rank for a hunter. Or Bjern, if you would rather be a fighter.

Their gaze slowly lifted to his face for a few beats, Masque’s eyes roaming back and forth as if scanning for information. Was he up to this task? Would it be enough to properly assess him for either role? What would Avicus, Lilia and Augur make of him? What would they think of the Caru dragging a lame wolf back to the rise, regardless of the outcome of their hunt?

There was only one way to find out, so Masquerade snorted and turned away, leading Riley in the direction of Sunset Valley.

Once again the Caru's eyes roamed to his sore foot. Riley's discomfiture rose once more, his gaze trailing in the direction of Sunset Valley.

Of course, he would do as she asked -- just as much for his own sake of a meal as it was a sign of altruism.

The warren was exactly where Masque indicated. The ground was saturated with their scent.

Riley began digging, first with one paw then with two -- ginger with his right as he went. Before long an exodus appeared at Masque's end -- and after several attempts, they'd scored a pair of rabbits for their effort.

It was all he could do to not set in on them then and there -- but recognizing the task at hand, Riley dutifully followed Masque back to the Rise.