Wolf RPG

At last! The coast! John’s senses were flooded with memories, good and poor both. The ocean breeze blowing his fur, the salt on the air, the sun lighting up the world, oh, how wonderful it was. It was here that his new life began, and he rejoiced for his and Boris’s safe arrival. “Here we are, Boris.” John announced, hope dancing in his voice.

Three days of tough travel had passed. The two had to navigate a flood land and then a ravine, and as doing so, John believed God had shown him the way. He kept a close eye on young Boris, being sure that the youth was well tended to. Once they’d crossed the ravine, they found themselves in a wide open field, littered with mounds. These made John wonder, perhaps they were graves from long ago, or nothing more than just natures’ mysterious wonders.


They would stay a night here, so he’d found a tree line, setting camp right at the front. No more than a simple place to lay down under the boughs of a great tree. He set his fur bag down at the base of the tree then laid down, offering Boris a spot next to him. They must rest from the previous journey, and for the journey ahead.

two wolves sat under a large bough, their silhouettes just barely discernible. sobeille studied them carefully, eyeing the tote between them.

in her jaws she had another fish - the last fat catch from suzu’s ailing trap. she’d packed its throat with a rudimentary concoction, hoping for cayetano — but this was infinitely better.

she moved towards the duo at a bold step, her offering flopping with each jaunty stride towards them.

Boris had laid down next to John, to rest, when a scent was caught on the wind, and John swiveled his head, looking around. It took him a moment before the dark figure came into view, and it was coming very close. He looked to Boris, “Stay here.” He whispered, then standing up, he moved a few feet in front of their resting spot, his hackles beginning to bristle, an alert stance. 

“Who is this? Are you friend or foe?” He wouldn’t normally be as on guard, but with the speed of her approach, it surprised him. 

As she neared, he could see her feminine figure, she was young and swathed in cinnamon, her face darkened. In her jaws she clutched a large fish, and though it seemed promising, he was not sure how to judge this situation.

He hoped they had not treaded on claimed land.

the man under the tree bent to the supine wolf, something whispered into his ears sobeille could not hear.

she placed the meal on the leaf-studded earth, her paw firmly atop it as if it had the life still to flop away.

this man’s silvery hackles were raised. he was alert, a shrewdness to his gaze sobeille assessed warily.

friend or foe? her ear twitched as she mentally navigated various past encounters for an appropriate response. she settled on friend., her gaze narrowed. who you be?

He watched closely as she approached, setting the fish down holding it as if she was keeping it still under her paw.

She declared her stance, friend, although still unsure of the stranger, he relaxed his stance. 

She asked in return who he was, “I am John.” He replied, “And this is Boris. We are on our way, journeying to the western coast. I am searching for family who has been lost.” 

the man introduced himself and his partner. sobeille lacked fear; her gaze flickered between the two of them.

two men. where were their women counterparts? were they consorts? why did they not have a female leader spearheading their search party?

who be sending you, den? sobeille followed up, still marveling at why any self respecting woman would send men to do anything important.

Who sent them? What a curious question. — “I myself am sent from RivenWood, in the Rising Sun Valley. As for Boris, we crossed paths after I set out from home.” 

This young lady was different, she also smelt of a pack, salt and ocean breeze entwined. Perhaps she belonged to a coastal pack, but was it one that could help him?

“By the way, young lady, what is your name?” He asked, as she had not given her name in return

rivenwood. there was an immutable quality to that name -- and it drew her attention.

she glanced to boris, who remained silent under the tree. when asked of her name, sobeille tightened her claws around the fish and answered:

trust like dat is not freely given.

he would have to earn her name. sobeille was on her own terms now, an adventurer -- and she set whatever pace and narrative she wanted. she could reinvent herself totally, and strangers would never know better.

who you be lookin' for?

Of course, she’s not one to give trust out freely. He sighed, “Very well then.” Who was he looking for, she asked. Would she know their names? 

“Redhawks. Born on last year on Wheeling Gull Isle to Heda and Caracal Redhawk.” He would not mention the death of Caracal, there was no need, it was not Caracal for which he searched. 

He look back to Boris, who had decided to rest his head, then brought his ocean blue eyes to the young lady.

names and a pack she was not familiar with. sobeille stiffened, wondering if maman knew these wolves or that they settled somewhere down the coast.

dere names? she asked of the patently patient man, paw still possessively digging into the fish.

behind him the stranger rested his head on his paws — watchful, but not intervening. some might find it rude to not be addressed by all parties, but sobeille was deeply satisfied by his “been-seen-but-not-heard” mannerism. she attributed it to a form of courtesy very few of the mainland possessed.

“Simeon, Judah, Malakai.” He stated clearly, “They’re yearlings, last seen down the coast before they separated from our group.” What John didn't say was how long ago they were seen.

These question were short, simple, a quick way to gain info, and he responded with such answers. Boris didn’t seem to be in any rush, and neither was John.

Something else that did pique his interest was that fish, that fish that just sat there. Did it have a purpose? Was it her’s and she got distracted? That would be another question, but not right now.

more names that meant nothing to the seacrawler. sobeille possessed good memory; it would be a while yet before the names faded from her mind.

she caught the quick glance to her fish and clutched it tighter, making a point dig her dark-tipped claws into its iridescent scales. she tilted her head. 'ow did you lose dem?

What was it with this girl and the questions? 

He gave a gentle sigh, it seemed like he might have to dive deeper into what had happened. 

“It’s a long story, really. In midst of a crisis, our original pack, SweetHarbor, had bisbanded, and a few of our members had chosen to separate from the group, to behind. Only five of us had made it to the Sunspire Mountains, where we have set up once more, under the name Rivenwood.”

His face had grown soft, and he began to feel a hint of tiredness crawl over him. At least Boris had taken the chance to rest, and hopefully soon, John might get to.

a crisis had befallen this man's pack in the past. sobeille listened with one ear turned forward, the other one pulled back.

sweetharbor. the name should have familiarity to sobeille, but it did not.

she nosed the rising wind between them, noting a tiredness had sunk into the man's gaze. he was patient to deal with sobeille's barrage of questions.

a normal custom would be to extend condolences upon hearing of hardship. sobeille did not feel compelled to offer such things. she leaned on the fish in thought.

for once, the girl said nothing.

She continued to listen, her one ear turned to listen, the other put back. There was silence, no questions, no answer. They two remained in silence, and John looked around, a wind blew, rustling his fur.

“Well, it’s been…” a pleasure? Eh, an experience really. “Good to meet you.” 

He’d give it a gander, but she probably wouldn’t answer. 
“What pack do you reside in? So that I may beware of borders, respect the territories.”

I say we can wrap it up here if your down for that.

for a spell nothing but the wind spoke for them. the balmy air raked along the back of her neck, stirring her cinnamon ruff.

when the man spoke again, there was a finality to his voice that suggested conclusion. though she refused to give her name, sobeille was proud of her pack’s fierceness and offered it unconditionally.

saffique. an’ you can be havin’ de fish.

she pushed it towards him noncomittally. have it, or don’t — but she would be back later that night to see if he’d wisely left it where it stood in the sand.

She let John have the name of her pack, and it was Sapphique. Still, she would not give her name, and he would not press any longer. She then offered him the fish, yet he was conflicted to take it, seeing how strongly she held it from him. 

“Thank you, very much. I will watch out for your borders.” He stated, then finished, “Go in peace.”

He would then return to the side of Boris, and lay down to rest, until they would continue on the next morning.