Wolf RPG

The rain persisted on towards the evening as he drew himself close to the borders. In his sore and healing state, the incline towards the mountains was more difficult than he recalled it. But he pushed himself onward all the same, knowing that sleep would greet him when he decided to retire. He followed the natural curvature of the terrain, pushing those boundaries out as far as they would go; the sky above him had become an almost unnatural orange glow as the sun slipped beneath the high rain clouds.

Thinking he would only go a bit further before turning back, Mordecai allowed his pace to slow down considerably. At least that was what he told himself, even though it was more a limitation of his body crying out over the work he had tried to funnel back into it. He paused along a ridge of bent, stilted trees, and hiked up his leg out of habit. Injuries be damned, the borders still deserved to be tended by him just as well as anyone else.

She was becoming more and more impatient, more irate, and as the days drew on she sought not the company of her women but the company of men. She herself had none; no pack, no male wolves to follow her. First she must find the land, but in her strange haze her priorities had shifted. First a companion, then the mountain.

Tonravik traveled a ragged, zig-zagging trail this rainy evening. Tonravik knew there was a pack nearby; she wondered if she would happen across the one Mordecai had told her of. Things had not worked out at the glacier. Now, she would work things out for herself. Her long strides carried her nearer and nearer to Mordecai, but she kept her distance from that imaginary line. She herself had no interest for trespassing.

The haze of early evening had set across the slopes, but he found that it was not as difficult to see through. More importantly, it was not as difficult to spy out the figure that snaked its way through some of the scant underbrush, quietly moving with the shale and granite. Mordecai found that the appearance of this figure inspired tension to build within him, though not out of fear. He did not fear what lied beyond those borders; it would take more than a tussle with the violent to deter him. Instead he planted his feet evenly, drawing his figure upward to stand out from the scenery better himself. Following that, his body went rigid, drawing his tail upward in a display of dominance. Though his muscles ached and the scabbing wounds left to heal dared to bleed once more, he held it.

Tonravik moved slowly. In the rain it was difficult to pick up scent markers, and so she took great care in minding herself. It was not enough. In the distance, a wolf—whose injuries she could not see or smell, yet—appeared, pushing past the dreary grey mist that rolled around them. Tonravik behaved accordingly, her ears flattening atop her head defensively and her tail lax between her legs. She was a wolf; she was not exempt from instinct or its law for how great she thought she was. Tonravik was a slave to the way of the wild. As of yet, she did not recognize the figure. And the woman did not shift, to enable the others approach if they wished it. If the other was too territorial, she would go; skirmishes over things she did not desire were a terrible waste.

She drew closer and noticed him, her own behavior turning more neutral. He thought of that as a good thing because truthfully, Mordecai wasn't interested in a skirmish. Chances were, he would have been taken down far more easily now than before. He eased in his own stance, choosing to approach her curiously even though that also was a gamble. It could have been a ruse, but somehow as he drew nearer, there was an air of familiarity to this bearish female that he did not immediately place.

He didn't tell her that she was coming close to pack borders, or that in a way she may have been rightfully on that threshold. The rain muddied some of those scent markers, but they were always strong. She hadn't invited him to come in closer but in a way, Mordecai felt she forfeited that right. Yet he didn't draw in too close to her, staying well outside any striking range that wouldn't give him a moment's warning. And it was there that he drew across recognition of her dark features in a waning light.

"Tonravik, wasn't it?"

Tonravik imagined she was on the threshold. But she would leave it as soon as she had come, now that an eye had found her. Even if she minded herself, she knew there was no avoiding this sort of thing if the borders were well-tended to. That in itself was the test.

As he approached, Tonravik grew tense; she knew he was in his rights to come at her, attack, try to kill. Tonravik had no qualms in fleeing. While she was a warrior and a fighter, this was not her territory. Tonravik had no territory. Her eyes were hard as he came nearer, but she vaguely recognized him as he came closer. Yes, he was familiar.

Mordecai.

Her ears perked as he regarded her, and she nods to him. Tonravik was not sure how he would handle her here; but she would leave if he asked her to. Still, she shifted her own body-weight, leaning more in his direction. So far, Spring had kept him here.

She nodded, a simple affirmation that she was in fact who he thought she was. It surprised him to see her there of all places, especially when she had spoken of going out to find some glacier. Perhaps she had and was now just coming back around to scout. Yet there was a part of him that believed that she hadn't either, because often things did not go to plan. For that reason, he found he did little in the way of planning things and simply let things go the course that nature would dictate.

In this instance, his guard dropped considerably. Tonravik struck him as many things, but violent wasn't among them. It wasn't to suggest that she wasn't, because in a way they were all violent, feral creatures. "What brings you here? Just scouting along the mountain?" Though he hated to tell her, the mountain climb only became worse from there on out. Eventually, he found that it seemed impassable even to their ways. The plateau seemed to be — at times — nothing more than a sunken piece of the mountainside.

All wolves had intents and drives, reasons to do the things they did. His question was met with another brusque nod. Tonravik had plenty of scouting to do to discover where she wanted to reside; but she was scouting for more than that. Tonravik was scouting for a potential partner, too; and it amused her that again she had run into him on such a search. Tonravik did not yet note his injuries.

Her eyes look around him for a moment, surveying the landscape. Tonravik wondered the benefits of this land; if he liked living in it, if he wanted to stay. Her ears shifted, rain falling gently down and misting over her eyes. Her eyes then fell back to him, the far from verbose wolf lowering her head some.

Like before, she was far from a conversationalist. This proved to be somewhat of a challenge for him, because he considered himself able to hold conversations well. But there were enough subtle nuances to her body language that spoke volumes that only they would understand and this time, it may as well have been small talk about the weather. His eyes left her for a moment as though he would be able to find somewhere of better shelter, but nothing came about. And he would not take her into the plateau's grounds, instead holding them both at bay to be happened upon.

Bringing his gaze back around to her, Mordecai's lips twitched at the makings of a smile, knowing that the weather was far less pleasant than it had been in days. But it wasn't snow, it wasn't bitterly cold. Winter had come to pass by them both and now they were subject to whatever rolled up from the coastline and from the west. "I guess the rain means winter's over," he commented idly, this time drawing his gaze to the west and rightfully so, over the plateau itself. But the haze had long destroyed the view.

Tonravik was far from the perfect specimen, mentally. Physically she held the perfect conformation of a warrior, muscled and large, strong and robust. She had inherited her mothers conversational aptitude, which her father also had in his genetics. Kilgharrah was far from verbal himself. Mostly she was reared in silence aside from Tartok's subordinates. Without them she might not have learned words, at all. So rearing her had truly been a pack effort.

His guess was one that was prompted Tonravik's head to lift upward again somewhat. "Spring approaches," she agrees evenly. For weeks she had been curbing her own heat, though whether this was nature or willpower who could be sure? Tonravik knew by Spring she ought to have found herself a partner. She followed his gaze before her own eyes returned to him again. Tonravik was not good at this, but felt comfortable in her silence. "Are there cubs," she asks at length, gesturing to the land.

Her voice brought him back to her and her agrement earned a nod from his head. Yes, spring was definitely approaching. Spring had been the point at which he had claimed he would leave the plateau, but there was plenty he felt he still had to do before that. Repaying a debt he felt certain he owed among those, but Mordecai did not feel fit for travel at any length. Every day was better than the last, but it was a slow going process, and as he learned there was only so much that Blue Willow had been able to do with the absence of herbs from winter.

"There are some, yes," he answered her, though leery in saying so. He didn't think it was the wisest thing, but it also seemed unlike her to be curious of such things. Yet she was female and perhaps the inclination was there all the same. Spring was a season of many things, something that he knew well. And that was in part of why he wanted back onto the road to travel, to avoid the potential commitments that came with the season. He tilted his head, an implication of the curiosity lurking behind, unspoken from his answer. Why did she want to know that, of all things?

Tonravik watched him, and read him. She could do this far better than she could interpret words. "I would like cubs of my own." Not other women. This she said as though it were the most normal thing in the world; for Tartok, it was. Tonravik was a leader. Tonravik would eat the child of another before she aided it in its own survival, because any cub that she had not bore if she had children was a competitor of its resources.

Was he content to raise children not his own? To be anything but their parent? Tonravik was not one to settle. Tonravik would have cubs this season; she only needed to find the proper suitor.

Perhaps not at all that surprising, she alluded to what it was that she was after. It may sense then, perhaps her pressing interest in him. It was a typical want of many, though Mordecai could not relate to such a thing. His desires ran in other directions, though the thought of settling had crossed his mind a time or two. Most recently it had been with Harlyn, but he felt as though she were lost to the time of travel and her own interests. But the road had called to him deeper than any woman, so in essence, his of that of a self-imposed exile from what others deemed the goal in the big picture.

Others may have seen him a leader, but Mordecai shied away from the potential for other things that caught his eye. At times, even carnal desire claimed him, but this was not yet one of those times. He found that there were no words he could supply to her, but instead studied her curiously, as though it were to suggest that if that was all that she wanted. He did not doubt that she was a leader and thought the same of him, but he did not depart his position at the plateau for visions of grandeur.

Tonravik had not come here to ask him to come away with her. If that was the natural course this evening came to, that was that; but she had been passing through. His ambitions were very clearly not to lead at this point. This was a guess. He looked at her in a way she could not read and she tilts her head as though to ask his meaning. 

She imagined if he had any desire to lead, he might ask to come with her. He might just do it. Tonravik was a wolf that believed in action. 

When she inquired about his own interests, Mordecai dismissed the original query with a turn of his head.  It wasn't his business what her intentions were and he was doubtful that she was willing to follow Dante in the plateau.  The pack was robust in itself, largely self-sustaining.  If not for his own friendship with Dante, Mordecai considered the likelihood that he would have been able to join their ranks even if only for a short time.  But his inquiries were empty, in regards to what it was that she may have been after, other than the prospect of children.  He found that he was leery and forward; an after effect of a tangle he would have rather avoided; his thoughts jumbled themselves before her for reasons he could not piece together or even bothered to.

"How was your glacier?" he decided to ask, this time preferring the verbal sort of conversation.

 

Tonravik watched him, her eyes more calculating than they were curious. The woman could not help but wonder how he might respond or receive her after she made her intentions as clear as she could; but, he remained disinterested. Tonravik still could not feel offense. He received her no differently than he had the first time, and Tonravik accepted this. 

His question was met with a deep grimace, if ever her natural countenance could grimace any more than it could. I could not follow their leader. Tonravik did not gossip; but she answered questions. Emotion rules her. Tonravik despised emotion, even though admittedly she felt it. The Tartok woman was just not ruled by it. 

Her response surprised him, but only so far. Perhaps in a way Mordecai anticipated that things had not worked out for her, if only for the fact that she was there, near the Plateau, than the far reaches where this pack upon the Glacier lied. He wasn't quite sure what to make of her comment though, that one part where this leader there was ruled by her emotions. He didn't see emotion as a necessarily bad thing and would have prefered the company of someone who had emotion to them, rather than the stoicism constantly or the implication that they had none at all. Though he thought himself objective, there were times when he may have been far from it. His claim of the Spine had been anything but objective.

"Why is that a bad thing?" he asked, having gleaned her disapproval well.

How could she articulate to him what she thought? For some, it might be as easy as simply saying, "it clouds her judgment". But for Tonravik, she could not be so eloquent as that. One ear twitched as she thoughtfully said, "She is mad with it." Perhaps for others, emotions might be useful. Tonravik kept them at bay, living life by instinct and drive alone. Emotions took no part in her day to day life, though she did care for Echelon. The woman was perhaps the only one.

Tonravik shrugged her shoulders. "It will be their ruin." This was what she wholeheartedly believed. Tonravik had the proclivity to picking apart the weak point(s) of things, wolves, packs, and prey alike. Her words were said with conviction, but no anger or resentment. It, to her, was simply matter of fact.

Mad with it. He had never thought things to be put down into such simple terms, but mad with it certainly spoke more volumes than he could have cared to reckon with. There were always reasons behind such things but he didn't push for them because he didn't believe that she would have stuck around long enough to get invested and care enough to know. Likewise, he felt that same pull here, even in spite of the alluring, curious behaviour of the bear-like wolf and her dark pelt.

"That's unfortunate for them then," he commented dryly, though he hadn't considered why it came out that way. "Guess that's just what happens to some places when things stay rough for too long. Tears them apart." And once that had left his mouth he knew what he was calling back towards. That strife with the Spine had been enough to tear him apart from it, just like the strife of wanting something more than a life of wandering had cost him companions time and time again. Homes, even. It was a reality check for someone who considered themselves grounded — a realization that he was perhaps not as grounded as he thought. If nothing else, he was a middle-aged lost boy in wonderland.

"Where will you go now?" he opted to ask of her, once more curious of where her steps would take her. She had come along here for one reason or another and he presumed she was searching for something. Or seeking something out. He was half inclined to believe it was company given her own suggestions, and was even half inclined to entertain the thought of giving her company.

Mordecai had a strange way of appeasing Tonravik with his words. She had no use for them, but had no qualms with hearing him utilize his repertoire to agree with her in his way (so she believed). Tonravik nodded at his words, darkly enjoying that he agreed. It was unfortunate, of course. The woman doubted they could last too long with a leader as irrational as Tuwawi; the woman had doused herself in kerosene and was a flame that would burn herself to death. It was a shame. Tonravik might have tried to aid her had she known who the woman was to her mother; Siku had some semblance of affection to the girl. But Tonravik had never even heard her name, only that she was referred to as a "flame".

Tonravik shrugged at his words; she could not empathize. When the going got tough, she was one to always get tougher. Plenty had not worked out for her. The Glacier had not worked as she had hoped it would, her attempt to begin Tartok here once had been foiled due to a war starting in the West and she herself being called upon by her mother. Life was rough; one needed to be rough themselves to punch back. She did not roll with the punches.

"I will lead." She stated to his query. There was no room to doubt her, there. It was clear she could not follow. "You are welcome to follow. Perhaps lead," she invites, and one might think Tonravik to be flirting, but she only said what she thought she saw. A leader there. In the latest invitation was the proclaimed thought: you are not meant to follow, either. Tonravik takes some steps backward, blinking the rain away. She had duties to attend to, now. And so she nods in goodbye, knowing as she had found him, he might be able to find her, before trotting off. She had nothing left to say, and her lack of enjoyment for talking at all had taken its toll as she decided it was time to go. The woman who was typically observant had not been able to see his wounds, and the scent of them she could not find due to her own changing musk which distracted her.

He caught her offer easily, but the urge to rebuke it came immediately. It flooded out his thoughts; Mordecai was not interested and it displayed in his mannerisms. Yet he took it under consideration all the same, some age old temptation that they all held within at the most core level His ears splayed to the side for a moment as he looked away, but it was brief. For as much as he was tempted to strike back out on the open road, he did not feel his debt to the wolves at the Plateau was repaid. Beyond that, he was in no condition to lead, or follow someone who had the whims of venturing out to find something to claim for their own.

"Good luck," he offered, certain that she would pick up on his declining. And she did, merely offering a nod of goodbye and venturing on. Mordecai lingered there along the border for some time. And then slowly he turned back to the inwards of the plateau and set off, destined for healing and rest that he found was more needed than he had expected.