Wolf RPG

Fiona settled in as well as she could once she had dropped off her portion of the supplies at what the locals called "The Pharmacy." She steered clear of the whelping den, preferring to wait until the smell of birth had at least worn off a little bit before getting too close. The witch learned the names of their hierarchy, a play on the trees that scattered their home. She was fond of that. It reminded her of Greenroot in a lot of ways. In fact, the whole place did. The hollow had been fine, but it had always felt so closed off from the rest of the world—likely a reflection of Anselm's inner feelings, come to think of it.

She would need to find a place to set up her tincture, which she began doing by digging out a small pool next to Tealwater Creek, not far from The Pharmacy itself. There, she dropped in the stalks of medicine, then rolled a rock on top of them to make sure they didn't get recaptured into the flow of water. It was nowhere near strong enough yet, but in a month's time, she would feel comfortable giving up her spot at the hollow.

Satisfied with a job well done, she sent Prowler off to find a safe spot to hide so the newly deigned Ash could relax and not worry about anybody coming to kill her little friend.

The den father had been relieved of his guard duty for a time and he was searching for a meal, or a place to catch a few minutes of shut eye, when the scent of raccoon thrilled his nostrils. They were difficult to catch being such crafty creatures, but he thought he had a chance, so he followed that scent. It wasn't long before he was stopped again though; the woman who stood before him was not a raccoon and not familiar.

The scent she carried was herbal; there was also some mark of Anselm on her, which made the man scowl. How many bodies were loyal to that fool, and why were they amassing here?

Who are you? He called to them, with an edge to his voice that made him sound like a traffic cop. Glaukos stared her down.

Fiona turned around to the sound of a voice. It reminded her of when she had first met Anselm. This must be the guard-dog. The witch curled her tail to her belly and flattened her ears on her skull, making herself look even smaller in comparison to the angry guard-dog. Fiona. A friend of Etienne and Druid. Okay, so that was a bit of a stretch to call them friends, but at least she wasn't on bad terms with them. The first she thought was a bit over his head when it came to healing, and the second she scarcely knew at all.

She didn't ask him anything just yet, letting him steer the conversation however he wished. Fiona had found it worked best that way, especially with angry men (ahem, Anselm). Let them talk themselves into giving her an idea of what made them tick. Then she could begin to unwrap layer after layer, pulling them apart until they realized there really was no reason to be so rude.

Another friend to Druid? At least she did not name Anselm among them. The last thing Glaukos wanted was support within Rivenwood to turn against him; but then, hadn't that already started?

Druid and Heda put up with him for now. The others held no respect for his presence here - they only ceded to his demands when he threatened them adequately. That was no way to live, for anyone involved. How had Germanicus managed it?

Glaukos held a dubious look on his face as Fiona spoke, and as the cogs ticked within his mind. He gave an eventual huff, clearing the raccoon scent from his nose.

If she was waiting for more than that from him, it was unlikely she was going to get it. Glaukos was hardly talkative on a good day, and lately each day was worse than the last.

He huffed, but the guard-dog did not speak further. Instead, he simply stood there, and Fiona wondered if there was something he expected of her beyond her submissive display and answer to his question. At least with Anselm, he had always been willing to shoot angry questions at her. The guard-dog seemed to be more of the stonewalling type. That was a more difficult sort of project, but one she could (and would) work with.

Is there any work that needs to be done here? she asked, figuring she could at least help out while she was here. I'm a decent hunter, and I can keep an eye out for trespassers. That had been what took up most of her time at the hollow, and there was no reason she couldn't continue that work here alongside her softer skills. And boy, were those softer skills going to be put to the test here. She could already feel it.

He did not know what he waited for, if he was even waiting for anything. There was always some work to do and Glaukos should have gone to seek it out. The woman asked for a job if there was anything for her to do, and that surprised the den father immediately; everyone else was so resistant to his orders, or did not offer to help in any way.

He scrutinized the offer from as many angles as he could, and aside from the possibility of a subordinate ingratiating themselves with a superior, Glaukos couldn't find any ill-designed motives.

I handle patrols. The bypass only has one way in and out, which simplifies things. In that way he was dismissing the idea of Fiona on guard duty. He did scowl a little bit though as he looked in the direction of the entry point—That said, we've picked up more strays than I anticipated.

He didn't let this idling frustration show for long, and appeared to stand straighter, almost like a soldier at-attention and ready to give a report. As for hunting, that would be... appreciated. He didn't order her to do anything, though.

His orders so far had been summarily ignored or overridden by those of the sisters, and he was adapting to this by withholding more and more. It didn't appear to matter to the rest of Rivenwood that he was among the leadership, and he couldn't fight to change that until he knew Druid was healthy and safe again.

The guard-dog responded well to her question and offer—progress. Learning to speak one's language was always a bit of a process, but Fiona was becoming more accustomed to it with each difficult case she met. This one was decidedly easy when compared to Anselm, who had always seemed to change his mind about what he wanted. The guard-dog wanted his underlings to work. He used the word "strays," which she could only assume referred to Etienne and Anselm. The only other adults in Rivenwood were Heda and Druid, both leaders and presumably of equal status to the guard-dog himself.

He seemed to think he was the only one capable of handling patrols, and Fiona would let him have that. It certainly wasn't her favorite thing to do. I'll get right on it then, she replied, pausing only a moment in case he had any further instructions. It would be easy enough to hunt on her way back from the hollow, and she could always find time to hunt while she was here, too. A particular raccoon, however, would not be on the menu.

I do have one request, she said, thinking of it only now. It's a small one, but if you see a raccoon hanging out near me, don't eat her. She's valuable to me. I'll make sure there's plenty in the caches to make up for it.

It was satisfying to have someone accept his orders without a rebuff. Glaukos did not trust the words in his ears at first listen, and gave the woman an inscrutiable look, but when he had nothing more to add and she had nothing more to convey there came a tense silence—broken moments later, which felt like minutes.

Her request was peculiar. Glaukos scowled a little bit, and snorted, then his brows and shoulders raised in a dismissive, maybe defeatist, gesture. It didn't make any sense to keep an animal for any reason but food (and in that case, a dead one). If its small, I see no reason to hunt it.

But he made no promises.

If at any point you do not feel safe, call for me.

He would go, if she had nothing else to say.

Glaukos did not give her a "yes," but it was likely the best she was going to get out of him. Prowler would simply have to make a run for it if she ever saw him; that was going to be key to her survival here, Fiona thought.

His final comment amused her, though her expression remained neutral. It seemed as though he had some kind of protection complex. That was ripe, coming from a man whom Fiona so far had seen do zero protecting and all kinds of damaging to those around him. She had a feeling she would be doing no such thing, should some harm come her way. She'd much rather fight her own fight than get the guard-dog involved (or anyone else, for that matter). Maybe if they'd formed some sense of connection, but that was a long, long way off, assuming it happened at all.

She made no move to stop him when he left, and instead began searching the packlands for the various caches—or rather, what was left of them. Two hungry mothers and a large burly father did not leave much behind.