He'd kept to the fringes following his acceptance, watchful of the comings and the goings of the pack. He was an outsider looking in. More than once, he caught
@Masquerade's tracks as they braided across the taiga. The only thing that stayed his impulse in trailing them was the pain in his paw.
Over the next few days the splinter subsided; at last, this morning, he felt he could run confidently -- though occasionally, the hard ground forced a wince from him.
A cool wind prevailed in the settling trees. Riley watched the sienna leaves as they shivered overhead. Some left the aegis of their bough, fluttering down one by one into the ushering of fall.
They were still searching for the Ulfhedinn when Masquerade came upon a murder of crows picking at the nearly bare bones of a pig eaten by the pack some days prior. The bold birds chattered noisily among themselves, paying little attention to the yearling. Then a breeze stirred their feathers and one by one, they took to the air, flapping after the promise of a heartier meal, perhaps.
That same breath of wind carried a familiar scent into the Ulfr’s nose. Riley was only a few hundred yards away, on the other side of a copse of trees. Masque walked steadily in his direction, head canting ever so slightly to the left when they spotted him watching leaves spinning down from the boughs overhead.
They exhaled and came closer, their mood still a little unpredictable. They opened their mouth to exalt the fragrance of fallen leaves once they started to decompose into the dirt—such a sweet, earthy smell—and ask him if he enjoyed it too.
What came out instead was, Fight me.
Their lips pulled into a little grin, their golden eyes sparkling with playful intent. Riley’s paw looked mended and Masquerade was brimming with sibylline energy in need of an outlet. Their long tail lashed as they nipped at the air beside the Blod’s shoulder.
Somewhere overhead the skies rattled with the hoarse cries of crows on the wing. Riley's ear snapped back at the crunch of leaves underfoot. His head whipped around shortly after, anzac gaze settling on the crimson facade of a familiar face.
Fight me, she commanded. Her fur stirred with the hidden wind of energy. Riley assessed her for several seconds -- first, confused by the edit, then intrigued by it, and then, finally, wary.
He set back on his heels. What if it turned into something more? What if he hurt her? It did not even occur to him, in his bullish way, that she might best him -- his concern was on the optics. What conditions?
He finally relented, buoyed by the friendly wave of her long tail and the playful nip at his shoulder.
His question stumped them into stillness. Seeing as they hadn’t thought this through at all, Masque drew a blank on what conditions they wanted for this playful spar. They paused to consider before suddenly shaking their head.
They feinted at him, swiping out a paw to bat the point of an elbow as they declared, For fun.
They leaped to the side to dodge any reflexive smacks Riley might aim their way, then dipped forward. Masque didn’t fully bow, though their forepaws smacked audibly on the ground before they suddenly swiveled and began to run.
The spirited glance over their shoulder was a clear invitation to give chase.
No, like when t--
His words cut short as she aimed a playful swipe at his elbow. To stop, Riley thought belatedly, now realizing Masque had already committed by leaping away.
His brows furrowed and for several seconds he tried to work his mouth into compliance. By this point Masque had galloped off, and her glance towards him was all the invitation Riley needed for a long-suppressed emotion to spring to life in him.
He coursed after her, more bull than grace: his breath came in dogged grunts, his head low and weight central to his body as he gave chase to his far more nimble partner.
The first time they glanced backward, they weren’t sure he was going to play his part. Masquerade refused to slow. If he didn’t pursue, they would just run out some of this wild energy and then resume their searches for Augur and Mulherin.
The second time, they saw him barreling after them and Masque grinned breathlessly and faced forward, digging their silvered heels into the leaf-littered soil and springing toward one of the rise’s many downward slopes. They plunged down it at frankly breakneck speed.
The ground evened out underfoot surprisingly fast, at which point the Ulfr looked behind them a third time. Perhaps his weight had given him an advantage on the descent. He was right behind them. Their eyes danced as they suddenly tapped the brakes.
When Riley was nearly upon them, they tried to leap out of his path and whirl to snap their teeth. Like before, they did not aim to hit, just instigate some proper horseplay now that their blood was running hot.
The pair headed for a hill; Riley felt the pull of gravity underneath him, his limbs churning now out of his control.
As the ground leveled out, his footing became steadier; he was about to gather his limbs under him and pounce when suddenly Masque brake-checked him;
He sailed past her, unable to control the freight of his momentum — she nimbly cut aside him, cheeky nips aimed at the air between them.
Riley coordinated his next move, rotating towards her with his head low as he charged in the manner of a muskox and all the grace of a battering ram.
Now there was no hesitation as Riley engaged. He dove in headfirst—literally—and Masque was so pleasantly surprised that they didn’t manage to fully dodge the attack. They tried to bound clear, though his skull clipped their hindquarters with such force that it knocked them off balance. Their posterior dropped and dragged, though the Ulfr somehow managed to keep their anterior upright.
With a barking laugh, they righted themself and gave their pelt a quick shake. They gave Riley enough time to anticipate their attack before they launched it. Masque leaped at him and then reared, flailing their forelegs to sort of box him about the ears. Maybe they could manage to wrap their pewter legs around his neck and bite him too, though it all depended on the Blod.
Riley’s tactless charge had some success: he’d managed collision, and in his eyes that was all that mattered.
The blow to his head didn’t feel great. He shook his skull while Masque rallied — when he looked up he had only enough time to arc his shoulder towards her before she was upon him with raised limbs, boxing towards his face.
Instinct told him to drop. With shoulders ducked, Riley aimed for a hind foot with his jaws — a move that was two fold. Prevent her from attaching to his neck like a tick, and also, diversion!
Riley ducked, promptly upsetting Masquerade’s balance and causing them to teeter precariously. When they began to topple, they mindlessly grabbed onto the Blod and tightened their grip around his neck to avoid falling over. He managed to get at their hind foot but the joke was on him: they were now partly mounting his head, midsection humped over his face.
Something about a man’s snout so close to their tenderest bits flipped a switch in Masquerade. They scrambled off him, leaping backward to put plenty of space between them. Their eyes were a little wild, their fur standing on end along the ridge of their spine. Heat flashed through them as they breathed more harshly than the situation warranted.
One minute he was diving for Masque’s toes while she cambered atop him — the next, she was wild-eyed and bristling, having dashed several yards away with her fur on end.
Riley’s slack-jawed grin fell away. He’d noticed, of course, their proximity — even her body heat against him had sent electric currents through his fur. But he was no hormone driven adolescent, and had done his best to ignore the instinct that thrummed under his skin.
Now she was staring at him distrustfully. The Redpath adverted his gaze, ears pulled back as his tongue passed over his lips and his eyes fell to the ground.
Riley looked repentant. The way he dropped his eyes immediately placated Masquerade. They took a few more steadying breaths and then coaxed their muscles to unstiffen. They glided closer to him, tail lifting of its own volition. It wagged.
After narrowing the gap to just a yard or so, Masquerade’s muzzle wrinkled as they bared their teeth. In apparent disagreement with their facial expression, their tail continued to fan the air almost invitingly, as if daring Riley to make a move.
Riley knew enough of social norms to understand his hierarchy here: Masque, while younger, was an established member of the pack. It may have been unintentional, but she had become unsettled -- and if Riley valued his place here, he must ease the tension and show he'd not meant to put her on edge.
A few seconds passed; Riley licked his lips in appeasement. It seemed that was enough for Masque, whose tail wagged -- but the rest of her body was in discordance. Her head was higher, her face tense and teeth showing -- Riley eyed this assortment warily.
He stood his ground, muscles growing tenser -- if he made a move, would it be seen as challenging?
He seemed hesitant to reengage. Masquerade’s eyes followed the movement as he nervously licked his lips. Their tail gave a more violent flick, as if they were impatient now. They huffed a breath through their nose, eyes sparkling with renewed mischief.
There was a lot of merit to body language but sometimes the clearest way to communicate was with their words, so Masque urged again, Fight me.
They chomped at the air between them, lips and teeth clacking noisily. Then, without any further warning, they lunged at Riley’s face, aiming to tug at the longer fur bristling along his cheeks to make their playful intention crystal clear.
Fight me, she urged again.
Riley’s trepidation transformed to spirited competitiveness as Masque lunged anew, this time her teeth grazing handily across his cheek.
He pushed upwards in a half rear, his own jaws sprung towards her in a jawspar — while simultaneously attempting to direct her body from his with his raised front paws.
Their lips brushed his cheek in the instant before he rose up, thrusting out a foreleg to plant against their chest. Riley was stronger, so even as he tried to snap at them, he shoved them out of reach. Masquerade snarled playfully at this, then stretched their neck over his braced forelimb and managed to just barely nip the tip of his nose.
They fell back after that, springing out of reach. They looked at one another from a distance of only a few feet. There would be no element of surprise in a subsequent attack and Masque had already played the chase card.
Suddenly, the dropped to the ground. They gazed up at him, marigold eyes assessing him carefully for a few beats before Masque flung themself onto their flank. They didn’t quite roll onto their back, not yet, but they began to wriggle and writhe around in the grass, eyes still watching Riley carefully for a reaction.
For a moment their bodies collide; the heat of her breath, her scent — but it is over in a second, eclipsed by impertinent reality.
They stood apart from one another, sizing each other up. Riley’s tail began to climb — not so high to be challenging, but enough to show his engagement.
It was then she flung herself on the ground, absorbing the interesting scent of fall while leaf litter clung to her pelt. At this signal Riley relaxed, but he kept his distance.
A younger Riley might have nipped at an exposed toe in play; but Riley was still new and did not wish to provoke boundaries. He slid in the grass several feet away, watchful — but no longer intense.
A few early leaves crunched as they wriggled about in the grass, releasing that quintessential autumn fragrance of sweet dry rot. Something about that smell really enticed them, prompting Masquerade to snort happily as they continued rubbing themself on the ground.
They no longer paid much attention to Riley—sparing only a cursory, pausing glance when he sprawled nearby—but gave themself over fully to this dust bath of sorts. They were even prepared to roll onto their back to spread the scents and textures all over their body properly when something tickled in their nose.
Masquerade sneezed once, twice, thrice, their entire head kicking with the force of it as they rolled partially onto their belly, weight supported on their elbows. One, two, three more sneezes burst from their ruddy muzzle. They totaled near twenty by the time they ceased.
Eyes watering, Masque blinked at Riley, then chuckled and slithered toward him in the grass. Well, their front end crept toward him but their hindquarters remained stationary so that the Ulfr stretched out to their full length. It was rather impressive and entirely silly, their long tail kicking upward and then drooping at an angle that made it look broken as they huffed a few halfhearted snaps near his chin.
While Riley’s ears were trained on Masque, his eyes were not — so when a fit of sneezes overcame her he side-eyed her slightly, but carried on licking his paw.
Until that one sneeze became three. And the three turned to five. And then six — and by that point Riley lost count, having never taken a math class having no concept of arithmetic beyond “that’s one” or “that’s many”.
But Masquerade’s bevy of sneezes landed firmly in “that’s many” territory — he was about to ask if she was alright when the fit stopped, and she turned towards him.
Propped on his elbows already, Riley shifted somewhat backwards — fully expecting the impish snaps at his chin. While they were halfhearted, his response was not. Something about the sneezes got his blood pumping to the point as Masque spread out across her belly, he rose to his feet — clumsily leaping over her and taking off towards a pile of leaves.
Riley vanished in a puff of fragrant air. Masquerade rolled their weight onto their right elbow and hip, kicking out their left hind leg as they watched him beeline toward a pile of leaves. Their eyes sparkled when they received the answer to their earlier, unspoken question.
Masque didn’t move other than to stretch out languidly again, their attention still riveted on Riley.
He half expected chase. There were sounds of stirring, the crunch of leaves — but when he turned back Masque was upon her side, regarding him.
With a flop Riley collapsed atop the leaf pile, sending a flare of earthy scents into the air. From the debris he extracted a broken branch and chewed it, watching Masque as she watched him.
His energy dwindled; the rousing play woke his appetite, but for now the weather was balmy and the sun warm — and this patch of leaves awfully comfortable.
He appeared to relax too, content in his bed of leaf litter. The tip of Masquerade’s tail twitched like a cat’s as they observed him a moment longer, a smile tugging at the corners of their mouth. They then flopped over with a snort, satisfied with their brief horseplay and officially comfortable in Riley’s taciturn presence.
Masque drew a long breath in through their nose, their rib cage visibly inflating. They let it out the same way, settling a cheek against the cool October grass. The Ulfr let their eyes slip shut, their nostrils flaring as they continued drawing in the season’s many fragrances until their breaths deepened into sleep.
Riley didn’t know it, but today their pack bond had been cemented.
Masque slipped to her side with a snort. He watched as her ribs rose and fell in gradually deepening breaths.
Soon, his own energy waned. The stick lost his interest, and his eyes grew heavy. There in his own bed of leaf litter, Riley fell to sleep alongside Masque — two wolves, snoring under the balmy warmth of a weakening autumn sun.