Wolf RPG

Despite that this was a desert, there were clouds gathering. Drusk kept an eye on them as he traveled quickly across the sand, not exactly pleased by the sight. The last time he had been caught in the rain he'd found Gavrel and they'd spent that first night huddled together while it sounded like the world was ending. It had left a lasting impression.

Thankfully, as he found his way the wolf noticed that the sky cleared. It appeared as though the weather was concentrated to the mountains which he had left behind; he was reminded of the biting sickness that once swept through the fire-mountain; the clouds above looked like frothing spit against jutting teeth.

He eventually found his way to a river, if one could call it that. The water level was extremely low but he prowled alongside, oftentimes slipping in to the riverbed for ease of movement and to wet his toes; and before he knew it, there were cliffs rising on either side. There was no scent of wolf here, which wasn't a surprise. Few could handle this sort of place.

What he did find was the scent of coyote, and it was prolific. He rolled in a patch of dirt that smelled particularly strong, and in doing so dislodged the soil, so much so that a weathered leg stick out of the ground as some abhorrent tree sprouting. Drusk investigated this with a few probes of his snout, then grabbed for the appendage and pulled.

A few wrenches like this, and something in the earth popped, allowing him to pull the leg of a desert hare free from where it had been buried; the rest of the creature was still buried deep in the sand, but the boy was pleased with his find and touted it around like he'd found the greatest stick ever.

Darkwoman spent most of her days hunting and preparing for her coming litter - it could be any day now, really. But she wasn't resting, continuing to sift through golden sands for any sign of prey to hunt.

But, as her stomach was increasingly round to the point it felt like bursting, she found the need to stop, eat, and rest more frequently. This was one such occurrence.

Caches of food for the Tribe and herself were scattered about, and she went to one, where a hare lay.

Or... did.

Wolf?! This close to Tribe? No! No!

Kusuma scanned the horizon for any sign of the intruder.

He jousted with the hare's foot sticking straight out. He gripped it tight, then threw it in the air and tried to catch it—once, twice, then the third time he failed and it landed softly in the sand. He dove for it after that, his forearms a vee, and chuffed down at it like it might talk back—or maybe with enough jostling he could summon some life to that leg, and it would go bounding off with him chasing it.

Around this time something dark moved in his periphery, and he took a definitive step over the hare's leg to show his possession of it. His tail puffed as it lifted, although he did not arc it over his back; and when he saw the dark shape was a canine Drusk had a decision to make. Did he hold fast to his prize, or chase this living thing?

It looked small at first glance—if he could be compared to a lion, this was a house cat. A fat one. It wasn't much of a decision in the end. The boy forgot about the hare's leg and launched himself in to a run, focused solely on that plump creature, with the intent to eat well.

Well, this was not shaping up to do Kusuma any favors with her fear of wolves, was it? Nope, in fact, she let out a yip-yap of alarm to warn the other coyotes to guard the den mothers and the dark shadow of a canine ran as fast as her slender legs and pregnant belly let her. Preferably... away from the tribe's borders.

Oh, she was a bad luck token and the tribe would be better off without her, she thought, more convinced than ever. But thinking was weak at that moment and thus she chose to not do so.

But, alas, it hurt to move. Muscle pulled awkwardly at her belly, weighing her down. No! Stop! she pant-yapped.

Prior to this, the boy had ventured close to Muat-Riya (not knowing it at the time) and thought the coyotes lived there; and yet here in this desert there were many coyote scents, and he had even been fortunate enough to encounter this small one! It was good luck that presented Drusk with this nesting doll of calories. He wondered how many he'd be able to snatch from her belly when he caught her.

The creature yapped and yapped, and even if he had understood the shouts of protest from the thing, he would not have stopped. She was quick; that belly swung every time she veered in a new direction and Drusk had a hard time compensating against the sand, which seemed to absorb all of his momentum each time. Even while pregnant this creature proved to be light enough, nimble enough, to keep out of Drusk's hungry teeth.

The resistance only fueled him, pivoting this game in to something far more deadly.

How long could darkwoman run? Her feet flew over the sand and away, far away, from the tribe. Far away, where if there were to be a casualty, it wouldn't be with a nursing mother. She scaled a mound of rocks, pebbles launching off their places as she climbed. 

It was then, she turned, fear in her eyes. 

And growled a growl that was not particularly threatening. 

Was this the end, several feet ahead of her? 

Should she keep running or just let it be? Let Wolf take her? 

No, no - NOT. NOW. 

Her fur bristled, ears pinned back. Every disadvantage was thrown at her, but the sandland was her home, and she would not let Wolf take it or her without a fight, she decided.

But could she do it?

He thought he had an easy meal when he'd first caught sight of her. When the chase began, she gained distance that Drusk was certain he could devour with his long legs and strong body. He had not counted on the sand being so difficult, given that he was not accustomed to running on so much sand at one time. He had not thought the fat body of the creature could be agile at all, but she held the advantage of knowing the land—and then she went for the rocks.

Surely she would slip, he thought. She signed her own death warrant by seeking out the exposed stone of the rising mesa! With one wrong step she would stumble and roll, and he would be there at the bottom ready to catch her—mouth open, drooling and hungry. Of course, the boy was wrong.

He got a mouthful of rocks as his target scrambled up, up, up, and the pieces that fell away beneath her frenzied steps were kicked back. Some smacked him in the face; a few hit him in the eye and Drusk could not help but wince away from the debris. Much of it smacked his snaggleteeth and he was left with a mouthful of limestone shards.

As he pulled back and spat them out, the dark creature got farther and farther away.

He stood there panting and coughing, and then groomed at the fur of his foreleg to dry and clean the dust from his tongue. After a few seconds of stillness, as the creature was too far from him to chase now or to catch, he turned his attention to the riverbed—and then turned around, seeking out the discarded hare's leg.

It was as if the chase had not even occurred. He grappled witht he hare's leg, mulling over his options for a few seconds as he chewed on it; then, keeping it as his sole prize, he began to stalk his way along the riverbed again. He had burned a lot of calories in that desperate attempt for fresh meat.

Better now to leave, and at the very least put the difficulties of the true desert behind him.