Wolf RPG

A small, clawed hand brushed his tail off his nose, and groggily he tried to open his eyes. Then, the creature used said hand to wrench open an eyelid. Sable snorted, his head shooting up and dislodging the rodent, who squeaked in protest from the sudden flight.

Sable blinked his affected eye several times, raising his leg to rub across his stinging eyelid. The chipmunk chattered, scampering up his shoulder and resting there to get close to his ear, voice sending sparks of bubblegum pink across his vision. Sullen, snappy, the almost-yearling turned to snip his teeth at the chipmunk. It didn’t deter the precocious rodent, who merely bared yellowed teeth.

He groaned.

Outsmarted by a tree rat, he grumbled, truly, you are an apex predator

She and @Riley managed to fell an injured doe in Shadewood. They remained there, day after day, feeding on the kill in between exploratory treks through the trees. They even went on a jaunt to the nearby seaside, where Masque left her mate to beachcomb while she drifted eastward, requesting a few hours to herself.

She found herself at Ashlar’s gravesite, much as she hated its location. Masquerade lingered there a few minutes to pay her respects before continuing due east, through a thicket of trees crouched at the foot of a small mountain. She followed the sound of moving water, though she went suddenly still at a distant squeaking.

Licking her chops, the she-wolf hastened her step. Her face contorted in surprise when she came upon a young wolf. He must be around the same age as her younger siblings, Masquerade realized with a pang. She forgot the ache in her chest just as quickly when she caught sight of the critter perched on his shoulder, looking for all the world like it was whispering into his ear.

The boy’s ears twitched, the chipmunk continuing the incessant chatter. It shut up when he shifted, clinging to the fur of his shoulder as he hauled his body onto its stomach instead of its side.

The rodent climbed up his neck onto his head, a fact he was not at all happy about. He let out a hoarse noise of protest, wheezing and raspy, which the chipmunk soundly ignored. It tugged sharply at his shorter head fur.

Sable, accustomed now to its demands, hauled his body to his feet, though he swooped his head low with a mean-tinged smirk. The chipmunk squealed again, before launching into a squeaking tirade only it could understand, while Sable laughed silently.

She could only stare as the chipmunk scrambled up the stranger’s neck to his head, like he was some sort of furry tree. The yearling bucked his head, almost as if toying with the rodent. Meanwhile, it didn’t seem like either one of them had noticed her gawking.

You have, Masque said, raising a foreleg as though to point but instead raising to tap her own crown, a little something… just there…

Surely he was aware of it, though she hasn’t puzzled out the dynamic just yet. Was this young stranger simply playing with his food?

The voice immediately cut the chipmunk off, the rodent scampering back down his neck to hide against the fur of his nape. Sable blew a breath at the thing, before focusing on the stranger. Older than he, monochrome besides a splash of red across their face. They smelled of the area, and maybe of another if he cared to pick and pull at the specifics.

He raised a leg, flapping his paw up and down and letting out a bemused, dismissive breath, as if saying it’s nothing.

Won’t leave me alone anyway. Too much energy to kill it. To bite it, when it had no meat on its bones and was at least entertaining? Sable drummed his thoughts against the ground like rain, essentially doing the signing version of talking to himself. Who knew if this stranger and their grape-wine words even spoke the tongue!

The chipmunk disappeared so suddenly, Masquerade wasn’t certain where it went. Her marigold eyes dropped to the snow, looking for any sign of it scampering into some hidey hole on the ground. They drifted back upward as the young stranger jerked his legs in the air, the peculiar motions accompanied by a soft rasping sound.

Masque didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to make sense of this whole spectacle. She hadn’t seen many wolves since leaving the rise and despite her introverted disposition, she yearned for the fellowship of her own kind. Now that the chipmunk was out of sight and thus out of mind, she refocused the entirety of her attention upon the stranger who reminded her a bit of Mulherin.

I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you said, she admitted, marigold gaze dancing between his face and his forepaws, as if sensing those movements meant something… but what?

Right, Sable wasn’t with anyone who understood ptero. The boy stood still as a statue for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts into enough of a coherency to think this through.

Can’t talk. Loud. His throat clicked, the words little more than a hissed whisper, like a snake trying to push words out through a mouth not made for it. Sable shuffled uncomfortably at the feeling, the hum of words in his throat that did not come out normal, came rasped and wheezy.

Sable. He said after a moment, patting at his chest as best he could to indicate himself.

He looked pensive for a moment, then whispered something. Masquerade leaned in closer without being totally aware of it, a look of surprised comprehension dawning on her face. She quickly nodded her understanding, wondering what ailment he suffered to rob him of his voice.

He croaked a word that must be a name, to which she replied, Sable? I’m Masque. Nice to meet you. Do you live around here?

She and Riley hadn’t come across any packs, though they also hadn’t strayed from the coast very much. The slough certainly wasn’t habitable, though this area looked rather nice in comparison. Masquerade sniffed at the air, certain she hadn’t crossed any pack boundaries. Where had Sable come from then?

Sable lapsed back into the comfortable silence with a silent sigh. It was better for both himself and his new acquaintance if he didn’t try the speaking thing, maybe. It was difficult enough to think of words, much less speak them aloud.

The wine dark words caught his eye and his ear at the same time, his eyes focusing on Masque as she spoke to him. He clacked his teeth together quickly, pressing his tongue to the back of his teeth, before he shook his head.

No he took a wide, sweeping gesture with his head.

I live everywhere. Such was the traveler’s lot in life. Settling didn’t seem to be in his cards at the moment, despite the itch for company that a chipmunk could not fulfill.

He shook his head, then made a different motion. Masquerade’s long tail flicked as she tried to parse his meaning. Perhaps he was a roamer, like her siblings his age… and like herself, now, she supposed.

My mate and I are traveling too, she said, pausing in case he needed to correct her. We came from a pack back east, she continued, breathing through the stitch in her chest as she thought of the rise.

She thought about confessing to this stranger, particularly as this was one of the first and only conversations she’d had lately outside of Riley. I was the one who decided to leave. I regret it but I don’t know if going back is an option. I can’t walk this back.

Masquerade shook her head lightly, staying mum on the matter. Sable probably had enough problems of his own, she didn’t need to unload hers on him. That somehow seemed like an abuse of his inability to speak himself.

Instead, she went for lighter fare, asking, Where did the chipmunk go?

Sable watched for a while, debating, before he turned his nose to the great point of Moonspear. He pointed at it for a few seconds, before looking back to Masque. Once upon a time, he’d been from there, and from somewhere else before.

He wondered after Epoch sometimes. The last place he’d ever seen his father. Perhaps he’d go to the Vale soon, and send off the mission he had undertaken to find the man. Wherever Maxim was, if he was alive at all, he didn’t want to be found. Sable licked his nose as a distraction.

The chipmunk in question burrowed down further between his shoulder blades when he swung his head to look at it, the young man snorting a stream of air over it.

He stayed looking at it for a while, before looking back to the woman in front of him. The chipmunk was just lucky they were similar in colors.

Despite Sable’s effort to direct her gaze by lingering his own, Masquerade instead looked beyond him. She saw no sign of the rodent, not even tiny footprints in the snow. She felt a little foolish, heat crowding under her jaw. When Sable faced forward, she could only shrug awkwardly.

On the subject of small animals, would you care to hunt with me? she found herself saying, more to fill the silence than anything. I’d like to take a gift back to my mate. He’s put up with a lot from me lately. I—yeah, Masque finished lamely, remembering not to ramble about her woes to a young stranger.

She cleared her throat, head canting ever so slightly to the right as she gave him an expectant, inquisitive look. Masque tried not to think of the time she’d insisted she didn’t hunt with those outside her pack. That hadn’t been so long ago. Her dark paws shifted in the snow as she reminded herself she didn’t really belong to a pack any longer.

The woman wished for a hunt, and to that Sable quirked a little grin. It was easiest to hunt in pairs, especially when one party wished for a gift. He agreed with a nod, rolling his shoulders a few times to warm up.

The chipmunk, disturbed, fled from the warm spot between his shoulders and out into a nearby bush behind him, apparently content to wait there until he was done. Sable padded a few steps forward, then swung his head out in front of them both.

Lead the way, he’d always been much more of a follower anyway.

He grinned at her, which was promising. Masquerade returned it with a slightly sheepish one of her own, long tail waving hopefully. She stepped backward when he nodded, his body language telegraphing his intent to join her in a way she understood quite clearly.

She snorted when the chipmunk abruptly reappeared, fleeing the scene with such rapidity that Masque barely reacted otherwise. After it had vanished, she blinked after it, then tilted her head to the left now as her eyes found Sable’s face. Where had it been hiding? In his rectum?

With a huff and a shake of her head, Masquerade decided against asking about it. She swiveled on a paw, glancing around before choosing to head northwest, where the trees spanned toward the slough. Surely they could rustle up some small prey there.

It was easy to fall into step behind the silver woman, ambling with the gait of an ox to her rear. Without the chipmunk to disrupt his gait, it eventually smoothed into the stride of a plowhorse, plodding along across the snow. Keeping his eyes and ears open was an easy task without chatter keeping him from it, and Sable’s eyes swept the frigid landscape with a laser like focus.

The trails he could discern were interweaved, a high traffic spot between the bushes catching his attention first, but quickly deciding nothing had passed quite recently. Maybe if they had gotten here an hour beforehand, but Sable had been napping, and who knew where Masque had been.

He cast his gaze to the silver woman. Had she caught the scent of anything in particular? Or discerned some rustling he hadn’t heard? He wasn’t as good of a hunter as he could be, all things considered.

Masquerade wouldn’t call the silence comfortable or companionable, necessarily, as she didn’t really know Sable. She shot him sidelong glances every now and then, wondering if they would be carrying on a conversation if not for his near muteness. She wondered again about the movements of his paws earlier.

Her thoughts scattered when he paused to examine what looked like a small game trail. Her long tail waved as she waited, only he exchanged a look with her that said, No dice. Masque tipped her muzzle in acknowledgement, then turned and resumed her own tracking.

Some minutes later, she came across a scent she didn’t recognize. It was strong. She woofed under her breath to get Sable’s attention, then proceeded more stealthily. She slunk past a tree covered in teeth marks she didn’t notice, then froze and crouched when she spotted a small, dark brown creature through the foliage.

It wasn’t big—maybe a pound or two—and looked a lot like a tailless rat. Her eyelids fluttered as she ascertained this queer rodent. It sat on its squat haunches, nibbling at a fern it grasped in its small paws. It seemed utterly oblivious to the two predators, so Masque knew she needed to take advantage of this and act now.

Like a rattlesnake, she struck forth from the brush.

The bubble of sound across his vision turned his head, focusing as Masque led the way toward a potential kill. His eyes caught on the tree, scored with teeth, but he didn’t comment upon it. Merely grimaced, thinking only of those teeth entering his flesh.

Ow.

The creature itself was revealed moments later, and Sable stood gargoyle still until he lowered himself to the earth. At his side, Masque launched forward. Sable shot forward a beat behind, grasping for anything he could reach if the creature managed to evade the silvery woman.

It was a lucky strike. The sudden movements prompted the rodent to drop its meal and assume all fours, just in time for Masquerade’s teeth to close around its midriff. She lifted the creature off the ground and felt resistance. Sable’s face was right next to hers, one of the mountain beaver’s hind legs snagged in his teeth.

She wanted to laugh. Instead, she sank her fangs into the struggling creature’s body, putting a hasty end to its suffering. It went limp as blood poured down her chin. Masque’s jaws parted as she let it begin falling from her mouth, just to readjust her bite around its head.

With a wave of her tail, she tried to catch Sable’s eye despite the close proximity. Together, they could tug until they tore the body in half, leaving her with the anterior and Sable with the posterior.

He grabbed at least part of it, warmth flooding over his tongue in a shower of violent red. Sable swallowed reflexively, his stomach giving a fierce growl at the taste of blood. But the other half of the animal was held by Masque, her grip fiercer than his.

Then, she caught his eye, and around the leg in his mouth he grinned. Quickly, he moved to adjust his grip, getting a better one than just a leg. With the butt firmly in his mouth and his tail wagging, Sable sneezed playfully, before wrenching his head back in a sharp tug. Which he would continue, until sinew and tendons and flesh split and he wound up on his rear, half of the beaver in his mouth.

Tearing a freshly dead rodent in half was easier said than done. Masquerade growled around her half of the kill, though it was entirely playful as their tug-o’-war commenced. Several shakes and yanks later, the carcass tore in two halves of very roughly equal size.

Masque let hers drop from her mouth. She rested a paw on top of the skull and grinned bloodily at Sable. That had been quite the tag team effort. She adored her mate but it had been nice to hunt alongside someone else for a change.

Thinking of him reminded her that, I need to get back to him. My mate, I mean. Her face and voice were both regretful. We’ve been staying in the woods directly west of here, past the two rivers. You can’t miss it. You could come by sometime, if you want. We have most of a dead deer left. I wouldn’t mind sharing with such a good hunting partner.

For a moment, Sable considered the mysterious “him” Masque spoke of, head lightly cocked to the side. But then she cleared it up almost immediately and he dipped his head in acknowledgment. 

A camp, with another strong hunter and someone who could also be a strong hunter. Three in one area was always a good idea, at least to Sable. Three wolves meant three mouths, but three mouths meant three mouths to catch things. He would definitely be thinking about it, at the very least.

Sable nodded around the half beaver in his mouth, ignoring how it was leaking blood all down his front. He would drop by, at least once, before he took his leave from the area. He chomped a little harder on his prize.

Thank you, head ducked low, ears lightly back.

Although a nod was hardly a commitment, Masquerade met it with a smile and an, Until then. Take care of yourself, Sable.

She dipped her head to him, then snatched up her portion of their kill. Without ceremony, she turned and began loping steadily westward, eyes squinted against the glare of the sun already sinking low. She hurried her step, eager to reunite with her mate and show her gratitude with her gift.

Sable watched her go with a curious expression, chomping more securely on his prize, before he let out a little sigh of a sound.

Back towards the lake he would go, tail bobbing, happy with the prize he had won from this endeavor. Though, he was less happy when he returned to the bush and the chipmunk launched into a squeaking tirade about, presumably, the state of his coat.

Sable sighed, a long, low note, and ran his foreleg down his nose.

Back to this again, he supposed.