Wolf RPG

The past few weeks felt like a dream. There was nothing that pushed him away from Shearwater Bay. There was only the pull of something more. Something greater. Something that Artax could not simply ignore. And one day, he had simply failed to stop when he got to the outer reaches of his birthplace. He trusted fully in Atka and Sos, and he believed it was their will that he move on from where he had been born. So he had, and now, here he was.

Artax had gone two weeks without food, and he was beginning to show it. His stomach ached, and he scavenged when and where he could. And yet, he was acutely aware that it could not last forever this way. He would need to find a home, to plant his roots, gain his strength back.

He was hunger, personified.

Each step launched a wave of pain through his joints, tendons, and muscles— but the greatest pain lanced through his innards at regular intervals. The fat supply his frame had previously stored was almost spent; biology demanded that his body begin consuming his muscles, for if it consumed the remaining fat, his organs would begin to fail. He did not know this. He only knew that he was in electrifying pain.

His progress was slow. The pain and lack of energy stores required the male to stop frequently, where he would eat snow or grass, or decayed and frozen meat if he had been lucky enough to scavenge it. He could smell other wolves nearby, which meant there were caches. That was his next determination, boundaries be damned.

But before he made contact with a pack's radius, the form of another became visible. Without thought— there was no thought, only hunger— the male rushed the other, teeth flashing. It might be wolf, but it was meat.

Artax had become acutely aware of his surroundings as of late, and he rarely slept. When he did manage to catch a few moments of sleep, it was always with one eye open for whatever was surely out to get him. The young boy had been lingering along the banks of a creek, attempting to break through the ice. After several unsuccessful attempts, he had abandoned the task in search of something else to put his mind to.

Not five minutes into his quest, he was met with an oncoming flurry of bones, skin, and fur. Artax knew this was a fight he could not win, and so he immediately crumpled to the ground, going belly up and hoping that this distinct display of submission would allow him his life.

Bone met bone, but his teeth did not make contact. The jarring clash of their bodies was enough to call the desperate male off from his attack; there would be little to be gained from eating this one. He growled and snapped— all show, of course— as he untangled himself from the other. Part of him wanted to kill the other, simply for vengeance against the loss of precious energy he had expended, but he felt too weak and depleted in the wake of his charge.

Sides heaving, the male loosed wheezes and whines he was unaware of as he struggled to regain his breath. Dull eyes rested on the other, though there was nothing to be gleaned from his gaze; for it was the lifeless gaze of the dead walking.

Mercy was granted, and Artax silently thanked Atka for her protection. If it had been Sos watching him just then, he would have been dead. His attacker likely would have been spilling his entrails right now, feasting on the life that was left in him. The young Eyjolfur whined, further displaying that he wanted no conflict. He lay still for a minute at least, panting heavily due to the stress of the situation.

Once he was finally convinced that he wasn't going to be eaten as soon as he moved, Artax slowly, carefully rolled onto his belly and eyeballed the skeleton of a creature. "I know where to find food." While he was unable to take down large prey himself, they could work together and both benefit from the sustenance it provided.

His lips drew back at the other's voice, brows narrowing— this was a pup, not grown enough to be worth a meal, and perhaps an even more useless hunting companion. They would be a pathetic pair, able to take down a small doe if they were lucky. If that were the case, Dapper might as well have carried out his plan to eat the youth, for scrawny as he was, it would mean more meat and less competition.

"You will be dead, soon," the male said, emotionless. His breath caught, though his muscles ached, the yearling gathered himself and rose to his feet. He wasn't about to take on the responsibility of a pup; and so his words of intended parting were, "I should have put you out of your misery." It was spoken with regret, and as if on cue, Dapper's innards rumbled and his jaws began to salivate.

"I can, if you'd like."

“Atka and Sos protect me,” the boy protested. He would not die here. The great bears would not let him. He would find a way to survive, and nobody could stop him. Atka was a more kind being, and while Sos was cruel, he did like to taunt and tease those who lived. It was because of them that he was alive, and it was because of them that he would continue his life onward.

“If you help me break the ice in the creek, we might catch some fish,” Artax explained. He could not do it himself. The ice was too thick, and he worried that if he pounced too hard, he would fall through and drown beneath the frozen water. He needed somebody bigger. And although he did not think that this wolf was much stronger than himself, he was bigger.

"Atka and Sos?" the grey male queried, though he truly didn't care. It sounded like nonsense, perhaps meant to confuse him. That thought made him angrier, and his lips peeled back away from his teeth. He licked the saliva that bobbed from the corners of his mouth, as if to emphasize his offer. It would be no bother, really.

Still, the youth lacked the good sense to run, and Dapper's grey eyes furrowed. The talk of fish caused pain to lance through the yearling's rumbling stomach, as his body cried out desperately for nourishment at its mention. "I don't like fish," he declared, though if it wouldn't have required so much work, he would have dined upon them. "I like red, bloody meat."

He made no move, but continued to watch the youth hungrily.

Artax was unwilling to go on about his gods to somebody who so clearly wanted to eat him. In fact, he was pretty certain he was fed up (pun intended!) with this guy all together. The young Eyjolfur was fairly certain he could escape unscathed, so long as he could outrun the larger, skinnier male. He had refused to help, which Artax could hardly blame him for, and so there was no more use for the older wolf to him. If he wasn't going to help, Artax would have to find something else to eat. And so would this creeper.

“Good-bye, then.” His voice was curt, though not rude. And without saying anything further, Artax spun around and burst into a full-speed sprint, heading north with the creek on his left.

There seemed to be little fear in the youth, Dapper noted— that, at least, was commendable if not foolish. Perhaps it was a lingering empathy starvation had not yet taken that stayed the yearling, or perhaps it was simply an echo of who he had been before the world had beaten him down... Perhaps still, it was mere logic that prevented him from giving chase, knowing he did not have the energy to take down such a lively meal.

With no time for regret, at least not yet, the yearling turned away from the retreating youth in search of easier prey.