Wolf RPG

the hunt had been a brief unification of neighboring packs, and though rusalka still harbored reservations ( as was his brooding nature ), he felt a bit more amiable towards the wolves of epoch for it. which brought immediately to mind, @Granite , and how the boy appeared to isolate himself from the others.

while it doesn't exactly surprise rusalka, he seeks the boy out now with sure and steadied steps, determined to get the child to let his guard down and blossom into his true potential and feel at home among them.

Granite became no more integrated into Raventhorpe society than when he had first joined the pack. He was an independent loner and more of a taker than a giver. However, the pack would soon expect the next generation to hunt and protect… something that wasn’t on the growing boy’s radar at all.

For now, he simply ate caches when he was hungry (which was all the time) and slept when he was tired (which was all the time).

Rusalka would find Granite deep in the forest. Today, he dug a massive hole for no apparent reason, other than to cause some chaos in the forest.

the urge to boom boy in a chiding tone, as his father had done to him, when he found granite digging a hole in the heart of the forest was strong. a temptation only barely left slip from betwixt his grasp. as it was, he did draw in a breath; only to let it loose unspectacularly.

he needed to remind himself that: a) he wasn't his father and b) he still knew very little about granite. his name. that was it. not where he came from or where his parents were or why he came to be on his own.

his impatience as it swells within his chest, perhaps, stems from his desire to take the boy under his wing, to see him as his own flesh and blood son. but not yet; and maybe not ever if that was not what granite wanted.

granite, greets the commander instead. that's a nice hole you're digging, there.

rusalka draws nearer, though is sure to leave plenty of personal space.

are you looking for treasure? or planning to hide some?

Granite.

Rusalka’s baritone voice startled the juvenile, who hit his head on the wall and sent dirt cascading down. Quickly, he shuffled back out, covered in a fresh dusting of soil.

“Uhmm,” he drawled as his mind processed at the rate of molasses. Was the pack’s leader… complimenting him? Granite shook his furs and then sifted his weight uncomfortably.

“I just felt like digging,” he responded lamely, wishing he had a better reason to curry Rusalka’s favor. Though the boy could be offstandish and difficult, he was not a liar.

His green eyes shifted to regard the impressively massive hole he had dug. “I just got started and didn’t want to stop.”

i was just digging, the boy admits. the truth was not as grand as rusalka had imagined, and he ponders for a moment that the boy's circumstances in life so far had made him so ... serious. granted, this was something rusalka himself could sympathize with. his father had not been the sort of man to indulge in child's play or enrich the imagination. the opposite of the sort of father rusalka strove to be.


i see, the seaking drawls, a soft 'hmm' lingering in his throat.

i get the some desire, sometimes, rusalka admits morosely. except instead of digging, i patrol the borders. but to each their own. is something bothering you? rusalka asks then, tentatively; an invitation to share if granite desired but not one that he was required to indulge rusalka in.

sometimes, the urge to dig was just the urge to dig, but the father in rusalka was always looking for a deeper meaning; pulling from how he tended to approach his own thoughts and feelings.

Though Granite wasn’t aware of it, Rusalka was on to something. Something was changing – developing in the boy’s mind. Inexplicable compulsions. Idiosyncrasies. There was a lack of imagination. A lack of empathy. And it was nobody's fault but genetics’.

“No,” Granite replied plainly when his Konungr asked if anything was wrong. Was something wrong? Why would Rusalka say that? The boy’s tongue stuck out as he thought and worried about it.

However, he became sidetracked by another train of thought. “You patrol?” he asked as he scooted closer to the man. Did they share a common behavior?

no.

while rusalka harbored a lingering flicker of skepticism, he did not pry. he trusts granite, as if the boy was his own child, that if he wished to speak on something: he would. rusalka struggled to walk that fine line between wanting to be inviting, to communicate to the kids that they could come to him and he would listen, perhaps even advise if it was needed/wanted without being pushy. without sewing the resentment he'd felt with looking upon his own father.

and without coming right out and saying it.

the seaking draws in a soft breath of the cool, nipping air at the question and gives a soft nod. i do, confirms rusalka. a wiry half grin tugs at the edges of his lips. do you have an interest in learning to defend? to protect? to fight?

The grown man and the boy found common ground. Granite regarded Rusalka with an inspired look. Fight. Defend. Protect. Yes… Granite wanted to know these things.

A small, nearly forgotten memory was like a candleflame in his mind: his birth-siblings taking his possessions and fighting him over them.

I want to learn to fight to make others suffer and bleed when they take my things.

I want to learn to defend my things from others who try to take them.

I want to protect my things, so nobody will dare to take them from me.

“Yes, I do Rusalka,” he said tenuously. Granite stood up and brushed some soil off. “You can… teach me?”

if known the truth of why granite wished to learn these skills, rusalka might've balked. but he is blissfully unaware, believing that the desire is either altruistic or a way to burn off seething steam and perhaps unresolved trauma. which, in all fairness, was what rusalka used it for, at times.

i can. i will. rusalka promises in a gravelly murmur. we can start now if you'd like?

I will.

Granite stood a bit straighter before the mighty Rusalka.

“Yes, I’m ready now,” he agreed. Rusalka captured the lad's full attention. The hole: forgotten.