Wolf RPG

After a long day of combing Sunset Valley, Masque managed to catch and kill an Olympic marmot. She dragged the corpse as far as the foothills of Nova Peak before needing a rest. Her eyes sought that same overhang again, the sun setting just like that day, although now Avicus and her fiery spirit were gone from this earth—pardoning, perhaps, the wisp of it that now lived in Masquerade.

She caught her breath, then decided to carry her kill to the den she’d dug about a month back. She’d scarcely had any reason to use it, though at some point she’d brought just a few strands of her mother’s fur and stashed them there. Now she gently set the dead marmot down beside them and sank to the floor, sniffing gently at the little red tuft.

She must’ve fallen asleep because the next thing the Caru knew, she was gasping awake from another nightmare. She sat up and looked around groggily. The air was very dark now. Masque blinked, then levered up onto all fours. She stepped over the marmot now stiff with frost and rigor mortis and found herself gazing upward at the barest sliver of moon hanging high in the western sky.

It was not in Riley’s nature to be obsessive, but as the darkness settled in and the spot she’d shown him remained empty, Riley began to wonder.

He traced down her scent and tracked her to a realm outside of the Rise. Wondering if she’d gotten hurt or worse given Avicus’ recent demise, Riley found his heart rate spiking as he climbed up a rough crag.

He did not recognize this area, but Masquerade’s scent grew stronger. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a silhouette peering at the skies ahead. She was resting on a ledge, where the sky seemed to round out around her — the silver of her fur etched ever so softly in moongleam.

He approached with head low and tail wagging, an inquisitive expression on his face that conveyed concern.

The sound of footsteps on the stony ground dragged Masquerade’s attention back to earth. She blinked down into her own mate’s worried face. Her first reaction was surprise, quickly followed by delight, all mixed in with a hearty helping of guilt. She could see she’d caused him concern.

I didn’t mean to fall asleep, she blurted softly, eagerly closing the distance.

Her nose touched his in a cold press. Her tongue darted out to lick the front of his snout before she slid her head into its familiar crook beneath his. Masquerade’s lithe body followed as she tucked the whole thing against Riley’s chest. She marveled at the fact that he must’ve missed her, enough to come all this way.

Are you hungry? she murmured into his chest hair.

He reached for her as she did for him, their silhouettes entangled under a thin white moon. It was not until Masque's nose and body aligned with his that he pulled away just slightly -- enough to inspect the scents on her fur to parse her health and status.

It's okay. He murmured in return. His anxiousness ebbed away, though he still worried for her. Forgetting the frozen corpse for a moment, Riley snuffed along her neck before shaking his head. No. But I bet you could eat.

Only question was, would she throw it at him for old times' sake?

I’m not hungry either, she admitted, pulling away just far enough to look up into his face before her eyes skirted to the stiff carcass stashed in the little den. I’ll just leave it there. I dug that den a little while back, for no particular reason. I might as well use it.

Her eyes moved back to her mate’s face. Her mate. It was so alien to think, yet it sent a quiet thrill through her. She supposed they could use the den, for myriad things. It could be their little hideaway, when they wanted to steal away from the rise to be alone.

Of course, that might imply certain intimacies. The Caru wasn’t sure she was ready for that just yet. Suddenly, she couldn’t help but wonder if Riley wanted that from her. Or would he only give her his attentions once she came into season, for the purpose of procreation? Masque wasn’t entirely sure how it worked. She could ask her mother but she was dead. She could ask New Snow but she was mute.

She frowned, sighed through her nose and lightly nuzzled Riley’s chin. For no particular reason at all, she then moved onto mouthing it. Masquerade made a happy little rumble low in her throat, long tail tapping the ice cold shale on which they sat.

For once, something dead wasn't thrown in Riley's face. He was about to offer giving it to Redd or one of the younger wolves when Masque moved towards him, the slim line of her muzzle angled along his cheek. He supposed digging a den was a natural behavior, but it surprised him she hollowed one out so far from the Rise.

Before he could ask more on that, Masque's teeth gently pressed along the bridge of his nose. He hadn't anticipated play -- particularly not at this hour -- but something about being in proximity to his mate brought a puppyish charm to the wolf. Like Masquerade, there were times Riley repeated the word in his head in disbelief: him, perpetually dysfunctional and solitary wolf -- had somehow found a mate.

A sad part of him wondered how long before she realized he was just like the rest of his family -- dysfunctional and one dimensional. Would she get bored of him, would he somehow let her down? He hoped never to.

Pushing the tide of surprise negativity away, Riley answered by dropping low like one of their first play-battles, a nip aimed at her wrist before he whipped his butt around in a defensive maneuver.

Evidently her aimless affection triggered something inside him. Suddenly he dropped away, anterior dipping forward in an unmistakably playful bow. Masquerade blinked down at him and huffed a laugh, which turned to a little cry when Riley snapped at her ankle. She snatched her foreleg away even as he spun, presenting his backside to her.

She’d always gone for the buttocks during hunts, so she didn’t hesitate to leap at Riley’s hindquarters like she would a prey animal. Of course, she wouldn’t try to tear out his rectum like she would an ungulate’s. Instead, she aimed to sink the tips of her teeth into the meat of his gluteal muscles, using no more pressure than she would apply to the scruff of a newborn pup.

Riley expected to hip-check Masque into oblivion. Instead, she delivered rebuke that frankly he should have expected considering her MO was 'always to go for the squishy-bits'.

Fuck. With his posterior being squeezed a la auntie-style pinching, Riley made a noise between a squeal and a grunt that robbed him of any man-clout. He sprung forward, gaining just enough distance between them before clumsily spinning around, this time with his chest low to the ground, booty raised, and eyes resting challengingly on Masquerade.

Riley tried to wriggle out of her grasp. Masquerade brought up a paw, as if to hold him in place. But she let go of him with a playful shove to the rump, more for the excuse to touch it than for any other reason.

Soon, he pivoted and bowed again to begin a second round. She took a moment to simply admire his brute strength, the ripple of muscles in his back. Every fur on his body was silvered in moonlight. It tugged at something deep with Masquerade, the ferocity of the feeling catching her by surprise.

But now was not the time for that. Now was the time to play, to flirt, to bond more as a pair. Masque swept suddenly to her feet in a mock display of dominance. Her neck arched severely, her tail thrusting upward so it curved over her back. She angled her red muzzle downward, ears pressed forward as her lip curled.

It was all in good fun, of course, but Masque was both surprised and unsurprised by the sense of rightness as she postured before Riley like a queen before her subject.

Riley expected physical rebuke. Masquerade's gentle push of his posterior sent his blood. He rounded upon her waiting, gaze shifting as she took a moment to --

what, admire him?

A flame ignited his heart; while he was simply Riley, she was someone a little better. An excellent huntress (as evidenced by the dozen cold bodies thrown to his face). A devout guardian. A long-standing, considerate packmate. As she admired him, he admired her -- and the many qualities of hers he coveted.

Suddenly her posture changed to one of dominance. In a bid to answer, Riley slunk forward with head low. She would always be his leader and he her willing subordinate -- but that did not mean he would ignore the small opportunities he had.

Such as, her momentarily exposed toes -- which he aimed a soft nip at before collapsing on the ground with his toes loafed under his body.

Riley’s head bowed, much lower than was strictly necessary. That was because he was angling to nip at her toes. And it tickled! Masque gasped, then giggled. That such a girlish sound could escape her momentarily astounded the Caru, who proceeded to collapse beside her mate and roll around on the ground, laughing.

When she ran out of breath and came to rest on her back, she looked up at him and reprimanded, You’re meant to kiss my feet, whilst thrusting her forelegs in his face, trying to playfully jam her toes under the flaps of his lips.

Masque collapsed to the ground shortly after Riley. For several seconds they tumbled, but then Masque was on her back with her legs propped against him, the heat of her breath stirring his fur.

You're meant to kiss my feet, she quipped. A dark expression of humor danced across Riley's eyes as he obliged -- only, with a little teeth meant to show her teasingly what sticking feet in sharp places ought to do.

This tickled even worse. Unlike before, the press of his teeth now was slower and more deliberate. Masquerade didn’t pull away as quickly this time. Her whole body shuddered as peculiar feelings raced through her. Eventually, she was so overstimulated, she had no choice but to remove her feet.

She rolled onto her side, then righted herself. There was a space of a foot or so between them now. Masque did not close it right away. She took a moment to collect herself, smooth her metaphorical petticoats. When the restiveness passed, she then wormed her way into the crook of Riley’s neck and settled there with a happy sigh.

She meant to say something—she wasn’t entirely certain what, just some sweet nothing—but the rise and fall of Riley’s chest lulled her to sleep before Masquerade was even aware she was falling.

Several seconds passed where her toes were held between his teeth -- but then Masque pulled away in a ninja-esque body roll. As she righted herself, Riley got the impression she was smoothing out any invisibly tussled fur left awry.

He was about to get up and pounce on her playfully when she turned in a serpentine motion, her body pressed to his in a gesture that felt all together right.

Riley preened the fly-away furs on her neck, eyes closing as sleep gradually came for him too.