Wolf RPG

There was new, young life in the Rise and Redd stalked the borders as jealously as any mate.  She marked them clearly and ensured no crossings… any creature who presented even a mild threat would meet her fangs.  Today she had encountered a fox slipping through the undergrowth.  Its body now hung from her jaws as she continued her path.

The Berserker was gone, searching for ones disappeared.  Wanderer was off doing the same.  She had promoted those within to help instill unity, but instead, the pack still felt scattered.  Divided.  Unwhole.  Her anxieties had not settled, driving her aggression alongside instinct.

If she mated, had children, it would help them to unify.  Help them to strengthen.  But no mate had been found to be worthy.  Until one desired her, and she him, she would forever be lacking as Wealda.  A shade of the memory of her mother.

Redd growled, clenching the nape of the fox even harder as her jaw tightened.  She would defend.  She would provide.  At least she could ensure the legacy of her Ulfhedinn.

Gavrel lingered around the taiga. Today he found himself near claimed land, the smell of wolves crawling like fog down the mountainside. It was of no surprise, but of some anxiety to him when he glimpsed a pack wolf from afar.

He paused, the look on his face almost quizzical. He had never seen red fur on anything but a fox -- like the one hanging from the stranger's jaws. Her and the fox's features united them in some folkloric way he found satisfying. An idle thought crossed his mind: you are what you eat.

Then he remembered himself, where he was. Close to pack grounds, maybe too close; he hadn't been careful enough. His ears flattened themselves tight against his head.

He looked gangly and uncertain, even from a distance, but did not move to leave just yet.

A man and a stranger.  Redd stiffened, and her tail and posture both rose immediately in challenge.  She would attack if he came closer without invitation.

He did not seem to want to.  This lack of confidence, and awkward yet open curiosity, set her slightly at ease.  He did not seem interested in their borders nor proving anything.  Perhaps he sought something else.

She dropped the fox before moving forward, the tension melting into something more cautious.  She watched him as she approached, hoping to take his scent, but ready to stop should he warn her back.  She would not fight a stranger for ground that was not hers.

He turned his good side -- his unscathed cheek -- toward her as a knight in a duel might do with his escutcheon.

Wordless, he watched the soft flare of her nostrils as she noted his scent (he wondered if he still smelt of riverwater, though that had been a few days ago). Gavrel mirrored her.

She herself smelled of fox and others, and this only served to pique his curiosity about the lives lived beyond the scent border, cloistered further up the slopes. Something about this terrain -- jagged, old world, without compromise -- reminded him of home.

He glanced in the direction of pack land and tilted his head as if to signal this curiosity, though he kept his tail tucked and avoided eye contact, choosing instead to focus on a ruddy shoulder.

He was polite.  Unattached, smelling only of wind and earth and himself.  She let out a quiet breath of approval and her tail relaxed into a slow wave behind her.  No messenger, no challenger, no threat.

He was respectful in his distance but still showed interest in the Rise.  Redd tracked his eye as it was drawn, then turned and started towards it.  After a short distance she paused, glancing back in invitation to join her.

There was no need for interview or fear.  He seemed strong, and if he took too much interest in the pups before trust could be built, both she and Ulfhedinn were watchful.  They needed new blood, and despite her measured gaze, Redd silently hoped he would choose to join them.  Too few did so and remained.

The woman relaxed, if only by a fraction. The knot in his chest loosened; he fought the urge to smile. He took her invitation in stride, nosing his way past the scent markers into the teeming green just beyond it.

Through the sparse canopy he could glimpse the very top of the rise, its contours sharp and haphazard as if created slapdash by chance instead of incremental geologic straining on the order of millennia. Vertigo thrilled through him.

I'm Gavrel, he offered, feeling breathless although he knew not why. And then, a touch sheepish: should we get your fox...?

The ghost of a smile entered Redd’s look too as he followed, and she flicked her tail dismissively at the mention of the fox.  It would be a gift for the hunt mother; she would retrieve it later.

A name.  There were times, in the silent pack, she forgot these existed.  Her mind had already provided not a name, but an association - the flickering sun, filtered through the dense leaves above.  She did not know if this sense was of his hesitance or a sign towards a fleeting presence here.  She would not judge until she knew.

Redd.  Wealda to the Rise.  She said this with some pride in her bearing, but the mention of it brought the weight of her previous thoughts.  She was awkward in conversation even in the best circumstances, but it stole any words she might have found.

Her anxieties were not his, and she found freedom knowing that he had not been here.  He did not know her failures or the ones better suited to replace her.  With a sudden motion she nipped playfully at him, her teeth lightly catching the fur of his ruff, before springing away.  She would slow if she needed to not leave view, but sought to lead him into a chase that would follow a haphazard path through this part of the rise.

Though she couldn't have been much older than him, her authority immediately made him look up to her. He had been a follower all his life and he unconsciously fell into step beside her, a few strides behind.

Her name was Redd and she was Wealda. He committed both of these foreign words to memory, imagined the way they might feel in his mouth. Her tacit nature reminded him of the boy from the plains, how their paths had diverged suddenly and silently at the lake.

She thought of her shortcomings, he thought of his own -- but he before he could begin to properly wallow, she darted forward and he tensed, thinking it a belated test. When she leapt away, it was a profound relief that fully dredged a smile up onto his face; his eyes shone as he accepted her invitation.

Two figures, one russet, one blond, weaved their way through early-spring lushness. He barked once, voice throaty with delight.

To her relief and answering joy, he followed without questions.  She let the tension of her own thoughts, and the worries of the moment, fall away into the simple pleasure of play.  It was not behavior that spoke of dignity or rank, but Redd was not a Wealda who could take this so seriously.  She treasured unity in the pack too much, and for the pack to be one, they needed fondness.  She found this most often this way.

She circled boulders and occasionally stopped to shift detection entirely, challenging him with her tongue lolling in a silent laugh.  When he caught her she switched to pursuit, turning the game into tag instead.

A loneliness that had grown since Ancelin’s departure began to ease.  Even Masquerade and she had not shared this easy kinship.  New Snow at times, Mountain Boulder others, but it was different in one her own age.

Redd was sleek and knew the land like the back of her paw. He felt like the lumbering terrier sent after a clever weasel.

The salmon pink of her tongue! Her golden eyes! 

He wished to study them in more detail, but as soon as he caught up to her she would somehow disappear from view, within the bush or behind a boulder; he did not know. He scoured his surroundings with his single amateur eye, ears pushed forward to the telltale sound of pawsteps.

There she was!

They ran without direction to the base of the rise, where he rolled gracelessly onto the dirt path, belly-up and sides heaving. He closed his eyes and savored the sweet ache in his lungs.

Redd was spent too by the time they reached the base and stood catching her breath.  After a few moments she approached to inquisitively nose at him before settling in alongside and yawning broadly.  The carefree nature of the run persisted, and it was like he had always been one of them.

She would return to the fox, and the borders, in time.  But she lingered here a bit longer, both to enjoy his easy company and to offer familiarity of her own.  An opportunity to gain answers, though she did not know if questions existed, let alone what they might be.

They sunned themselves until the shade cast by the Rise inched over their bodies. He felt his heartbeat slow, the residuals of his hammering pulse thrumming thickly in his paws.

Then he leapt to his feet, intent on exploring what had drawn him to this land in the first place: the imposing incline of the Rise, its surface rugged and weathered, not particularly conducive to an easy climb. But he knew how to scale slopes with no obvious footholds, had grown up alongside trails just like these.

He flicked his tail in vague invitation, but he would proceed with or without her. Surely, she herself had scaled the Rise countless times over during her tenure as Wealda -- it was possible that her own paws had created some of the paths that wound toward the corrugated apex.

They shared the rest wordlessly, in comfortable presence, until he rose and the moment was past.  Wealda too had other places to attend, and the knowledge of this once more lent silent weight to her thoughts.

She would take the fox as a gift, allowing him to explore and encounter the others.  Before leaving she brushed against him, ensuring their shared scent was strong.  It would prevent the hunt lead, and others, from seeing him an outsider.

Then she departed in her own direction, this time on a direct path to retrace.  She would seek him out later to see how things progressed.