Wolf RPG

Still dreaming, he had moved- taking quiet, measured steps with eyes open and unseeing. Through familiar territory where the plains were open and safe, he drifted like a fluttering leaf. His paws did not know the glassy surface of ice, and it was only when it cracked with a thundering snap that he woke up. He managed to gasp a breath of air before falling below the surface, and sucked below a ledge of ice. He fought against a net of bubbles to return to the gap of light, but the current had him in its grasp, and swept him down the Mudminnow River.

He would not remember waking as freezing water was pushed from his lungs, but the stranger did their part in not only dragging him from the water, but resuscitating him. When he truly regained consciousness, he could see the patch of ice he had emerged from- and also the patch where he had fallen in. 

The stranger had spotted him just as he'd fallen below, and his heroic deed and quick action had saved the wolf's life for the first time; he would save it again, in tending to Skáld when he promptly succumbed to pneumonia. 

A week and a half later, and he was fit for travel, and his begrudging savoir ready to be rid of the extra work. 

"I can not thank you enough," Skáld spoke in his own tongue.

 The stranger didn't seem to understand the common tongue, and spoke in a language that Skáld had never heard before. For days, they communicated with one another like this- each in their own language in sparse fits that served to communicate little more than needs and instructions. The day had come when he knew the stranger would not come back for him again; Skáld had stood and wavered forward on his feet the night before, and had been given a firm nod. With some trepidation, Skáld returned the gesture, and went to sleep. 

The stranger was gone before daybreak; likely trying to sneak away while the curly-coated man slept, but Skáld called out one more thank you to him as he stalked off. He was ignored. He watched the dark figure leave, and fell asleep again. 

When he awoke, the stranger's pawprints had been covered by a layer of snow. The only sign he had even existed was the fact that Skáld lived. 

He carefully roved back toward the plains, crossing the river more carefully this time, where he knew it would be the most shallow, and therefore the most frozen. He felt his heart sing happily when he saw the stones in the distance, and he called out for his packmates with a soft, exhausted, joyous howl before he lay in the snow to catch his breath.

Kristjan had returned from his latest exploratory diversion only to find that Kvarsheim's precious Anda had gone missing.

Troubled, the boy chose to remain in their territory to help support his siblings and packmates during this time of new upheaval. It was a disturbing turn of events, especially when he still felt surges of uncoiled suffering in his heart — hence the constant traveling to ease his mental burden. These swells came less and less, but this particular stage of grief seemed unending.

And Skáld's absence brought fresh waves of pain to his hopeful spirit.


Hope won out, this time.

Skáld's voice lifted over the stone circle, and Kristjan raced to meet him, his heart pounding — willing the sound to be real.

Finally sighting the curly-haired Anda was like seeing the return of a loved one thought dead. Skáld! he cried, using all the restraint he could manage not to smother the collapsed wolfdog in his relief. He licked his muzzle, his ears, between his eyes, unable to speak again until he had ascertained that Skáld was really there and all in one piece. What happened? he blurted, a whine in his voice as he looked over the weakened wolfdog.

His breath hitched as he thought, unbidden, of how close he had come to losing another pillar in his short life. Though he almost felt normal at times, this troubling stage persisted still, even after all this time.

Stage four: depression.