Wolf RPG

The winter season progressed rapidly. Starting first with heavy snow, now followed by plummeting temperatures. Descending from the mountains, cruel winds whipped through the willow marsh and the conifer thicket. Powder snow lifting with the wind and plastering itself to his face. Stinging his eyes, nose, and lungs. The tips of his ears all the way to his toes numbed.

Still, Kyrell pulled himself to his paws and shook off the snow from his back. Breaking away from the fallen log that he sheltered that night by, he stepped into the deep snow and strode towards the marsh.

In his patrols he began to notice some of the trees were stripped of bark. If it had been by passing ungulates, they were in luck. Frozen meat would be enough to sustain them short term but it would not keep them warm.

With the recent incidents and ailments, a fresh meal would benefit all.

Passing through the bare willow trees, Kyrell found broken snow. A fresh trail. Putting his nose down, his nostrils were flooded with deer scent.

He stood in place, eyes scanning the terrain as far as he could. Lifting his head, he put a call into the air for any others that were willing to join in the endeavor.

A rangy figure popped out from behind a bush as if he'd been lying in wait. Maybe he had been. Or maybe he'd just been napping in said bush, which would explain the man's rumpled appearance as he extracted himself from the brambles and came hopping along to answer the call. The coywolf goggled at the stranger's ear-things as he drew near, but of course, it was not polite to ask about such deformities.

"Hiya," he said with an all-over wiggle of greeting. "What's on the menu?"

His quick paws placed him at the stranger's shoulder, fanned out to the right but staring straight ahead. His black nose twitched in excitement; he could see the trail, and he thought he could almost smell it.

One of the new civilians came to assist. Fluffy coat bedraggled. He must have woken the man up with his call. Kyrell chuffed in his direction as the coywolf fell into line with his shoulder.

Hey there, fella. Kyrell pointed his nose down the trail. We have deer passing through the wood. Must be having a hard time with the snow cover, they've been nibbling on our trees.

Kyrell gave his pelt a shake, fluffing it up against the wind. A discerning eye passing over Dusty. The man was eager and brimming with energy.

Good.

Kyrell started down the trail, slowly. Easier to save energy before they would have to break the snow themselves.

What's your name, friend?

The coywolf's nose twitched at the word deer — he lifted his head a little higher to catch a better scent — but the wind was not quite in their favor today. Instead, he was obliged to follow his packmate down a trail that Dusty Rose did not feel much need to pay attention to — he had quick legs for running and a long nose for sniffing, but he was getting real tired of staring around at all this white.

He daydreamed instead.

"Hm?" he said when he was asked a question, his springy legs sending him a few inches in the air when he forced himself back to alertness. "Oh — It's Dusty Rose. Dusty Rose des Peres, if you really wanna know. What's yours?"

He cast another admiring glance at the wolf's ear-thingies, and then quickly skated his gaze elsewhere.

"What kinda deer do you have here?" he asked, his tail spinning in subconscious anxiety. How was he going to keep himself from staring??? Surely the man would be used to it, but that didn't mean Dusty Rose wanted to be caught out. "'Cause I think you'n'me could take down a whitetail, no problem, but if you've got mule deer out here we might need one more. I don't weigh so much as I look."

Not that he was tiny or anything — but he didn't have the build of a full-blooded wolf, even if he had more than enough fur to make it look like it.

In the wintertime, anyway.

The coywolf walked on springs it seemed. Kyrell couldn't contain an amused curl to his lips.

Well met, Dusty Rose. My name's Kyrell Woodstalker. The second, to be specific.

He hummed thoughtfully at the coywolf's following question. It was a good question.

Truthfully? That's something we're still learning. It's a bit an amalgamation of habitats here. The sunspire mountains, a willow marsh, a conifer forest, even the sunburst glade supported varied trees from the rest of the territory. It was a confused stretch of land, by all accounts.

Hearthwood's a shiny new community, and shortly after we properly founded our claim here, the majority of us left to participate in a bison hunt across the mountains with several other packs. He quickly glanced over his shoulder to Dusty, to find the man's gaze firmly fixated elsewhere. He stared at the side of Dusty's face for several seconds before looking back down the trail. Boone's probably done the most exploring and tracking in regards to the fauna here, but the boss man's out of commission, as you know.

Kyrell's redirected his gaze from the trail to the tracks they were following. The hoofprints were mildly distorted by the deep snow. Either blown over by the wind or simply having been kicked into the tracks as the animal walked. He watched his own paws for several strides, comparing them in length to animal they were following. By his own approximated measure, the print was comparable to his own paw. Perhaps a doe or even a young animal?

From what I can make out from the trail I think this will be a whitetail. We're closer to the marsh than the mountains and my understanding of mule deer is that they prefer open fields over trees and wetlands.

His smile remained upon his features yet a nagging worry whispered in the back of his skull. Did they have anyone else to help if he was wrong? His eyes landed upon Dusty as the coywolf remained in his periphery. He did not want to have dragged the man out in this weather for nothing.

"An amalgamation," the coywolf repeated with a swing of his tail. He knew the word, but he'd never heard it thrown out in casual conversation. Kyrell's deductions made sense, at any rate, and the coywolf wasn't too worried about running into something they couldn't handle since, y'know, they could always just choose not to handle it, if it came down to it. So he was happy to spring along.

Spring. Spring. Hop-spring.

"I guess that I would, too, if I was that big," he replied with another thoughtful swish of his tail. "Whitetail, I can do."

The trail was clearer, now, and therefore more interesting to Dusty Rose. It finally attracted his attention enough to pull that twitchy nose of his toward the snow, and he sped up with a double-kick of his hind legs in anticipation.

"Here's the thing, Mister Woodstalker," said Dusty Rose, lowering his voice to conspiratorial levels. "If it's just gonna be you'n'me on this, I'm gonna cut you a deal. We'll bring it down alright, but I want at least half the liver for myself. I don't mind to share the rest, of course — all for one and all that. But my coyote heritage means I need more organ meat that most."

It did not mean that at all, actually. But Dusty Rose wanted that liver, and he would work with whatever leverage he had available to him to get it.