Wolf RPG

His search was relentless and long. His weight had diminished but his stature had not. A decent doe on his belly would fill him out nicely, but eating wasn't a priority of his at present. The scent of her had been strengthening over the last few days, and something as simple as feeding himself couldn't become a distraction when he felt her nearness almost as clearly as he could feel his own heart beating.

The restlessness that had settled deep in his bones began to rattle him into wakefulness; and thousands of meaningless steps had suddenly become forceful and hard with purpose. She was here -- it had been over a year since he had seen her, and still he hadn't forgotten. Her face had not misted into nothingness after a while, not like the faces of so many others, but it had taken him long enough to realize that his heart lie with her and not with the feral wolves of Tartok.

He stopped abruptly, the crescent moon casting his shadow directly over another's, and when he looked to his left he could see her there. He could see her eyes and their distinct gleam (though they seemed just as dark as the rest of her), he could see everything. Immediately his tail rose, and his lip curled to reveal stained and violent fangs. The Ripper beckoned her forth, her furious body and her tumultuous wild soul; she was not one to be won with words and declarations.

Tonravik had, as of late, been a woman without rest. Like Ripper, she remained the same in stature but not in girth. She certainly maintained the appearance of bear, though perhaps an underfed one. Tonravik had no attachments to any bar her aokkatti, but she thought nothing of the woman as she explored the vacant land. 

In the near-distance, she heard a sound. Lifting her muzzle, she sniffed the air curiously. This scent she knew well. It was a wolf she had recently come across on her journey home who had run with Tartok. Perhaps he had been sent. Tonravik watched his proud display and bore her own fangs, head lifting all the higher as she took one step forward, but no more. 

One daunting step forward, challenging all he represented as a male, was all it took to awaken what power lie dormant in his blood. His silver-touched back bristled, and eyes like an old fire relayed to her his purpose here. I have come to claim you.

The Ripper was not one afraid to make the first move. Some thought it advantageous to wait for a first strike and then retaliate, but the wild wolf saw never saw any need for such tactics. Either you had the strength to overcome, or you did not -- and he knew nothing but strength; he relied on it heavily and it had carried him thus far. It took no second thought for him to spring for her, mouth gaping and feet as powerfully sure as the ground beneath him.

He did not seek to harm, only to best, and his body sang of the champion bred within him. You are mine.

Tonravik was not still as he came to meet her. The tension in her own hinds was released as she felt the coiled muscles spring. A low snarl threatened to come forth, but the woman of the wild was silent in her attack; her eyes were cold, but they burned as dry ice would. Tonravik did not seek anything in particular, only to catch him roughly between her fangs so that he would think twice of his attempts to dominate. For surely someone's time would come when her season was upon her, but until that point the woman would wield her choice and her own irrefutable dominance openly. 

Oddly, she, too, did not seek to harm; he was Tartok, she knew, and so she sought to cow him with her weight and her fangs which she undoubtedly would use were he not to stand down. In the meantime, she sought to thrust her shoulder into his chest as she turned broadside in her run, jowls neck turning and jaws agape to protect and to snap at him should he think of retaliating to give him a truly painful blow. Tonravik only attempted to wind the man she had been so fond of in their time together; she knew his true name, but she had many of her own for the poltergeist who sought to throw his own weight at her.

This time, her aim had been true. He saw the severity of his action toward her and darted off into the wood. Tonravik snarled after him but let him go, for the time. Perhaps he would be back to court her, or perhaps not. In the meantime, Tonravik shook out her ruff and looked around her, adrenaline thrumming through her veins.

He yawned. Tiny fangs snapped together as he was roused from his roust by the snarling of challenging wolves. Asbestos shook himself out of his slumber and crawled onto his perch to watch it all go down. Beady eyes watched the happenings as he squeaked here and there to cast a audible mirror of the scene. Pesky wolfies. Pesky peskies with all that snarling and biting at each other's faces.

He ninja snatched a mosquito from the air and chowed down, chomping on it like popcorn as the show eventually came to an end. The male scampered, leaving the female alone in the afterglow of her victory. He watched her for a moment before fluttering to a lower limb and leaning up against the trunk of the tree. He folded his leathery arms over one another and looked to her.

"Congratulations champion!" he chirped, pushing himself off the trunk and walking a few paces down the branch. "I've always wanted to have a mighty wolf hunter helping me out! I will be your wise leader, and you - you shall be my fearless minion!" He hopped down from the branch and settled on the ground a few giant strides away. "What say you!? Shall we go for a test drive?"

Whatever landed on the ground spoke in too high a pitch of Tonravik to understand or translate herself. She looked at the flying rat, and the woman cocked her head, one ear falling forward. One might think the action cute if they discounted the predatory curiosity that came alight in her eye. She had seen bats before. But one had never come so close to her. Tonravik had heard nothing good of them; unbeknownst to her, her relative by blood but by nothing else had succumbed to the bite of a rabid one.

Tonravik was not hungry. All the same, the feral wolf was something like a cat when it came to small critters, though only on occasion. For a moment she was as still as a rigid corpse in the Winter, but she escaped that deathly stillness when she sprang forward, moving to snap at the creature not so far from her at all if she moved as she could. Her jaws were splayed, and it was she that looked like a bat out of Hell as she made to snap at the tiny figure.

Woah there! "Bad minion!" the bat chastised, hopping backwards as he lifted into the air. He'd narrowly avoided the snapping jaws. Nevertheless, it appeared as though there was still quite a bit of training to be done if he were ever going to bring this wolf to heel. He fluttered, just out of reach as he winged back and forth and attempted to hover in the air. Ever true to bat fashion, the flight pattern was rather unpredictable and shaky. 

He circled over top of her and dove, attempting to land upon her nape and crawl up to perch upon her head. If victorious, he'd make himself at home, otherwise he was quick to pull backwards and alter his course, seeking once more the safety of the skies. "Minion! Your master needs your help. Whenever you're ready buddy!"

The strange pitched sounds continued. More obnoxious than a chirp. Her jaws clacked shut, and she tasted nothing but air. A loud snort sounded as she rose, watching the thing flit in a manner that looked as though it lacked control. The bat landed upon her furs, though, and Tonravik attempted to turn her head backward to snap at it. She curled her body around and noted her lashing tail, and her attentions were moved from him, to her own plume. Tonravik seemed to forgot that this was a part of her body and snapped at that, instead, growling as it moved away from her... but then she felt the thing move to her head, and although its weight was inconsequential, it was annoying.

Her head shook and she fell onto her hindquarters, letting out a high pitched, frustrated whine as she moved, lowering her head and bringing her foreleg to sweep over it (her head) in an attempt to rid herself of this pest by dislodging it.

He landed, successfully perching upon her nape long enough to crawl up to the top of her head. "That's it minion. Nice and easy." He patted her crown, tapping it with a hooked thumb a few times before she took to shaking her head. "Wooooaaaahhh!" He clung to her, holding on for dear life and was thankful that he'd had plenty of practice in that. The whole "sleeping upside down" thing made for very powerful toes.

"Minion! We've still got a lot of work to do." He took the moment's reprieve to talk at her. She didn't appear to understand him, but that was fine. They'd figure it out eventually. Maybe develop their own special code or something. That would be cool. Like a secret club or something. He rather liked that idea. 

What he didn't like was the sudden ducking motion she made with her head as she lifted a paw to scrape him off her neck. He wasn't expecting that and her paw hit true, planting itself on his tiny body and flinging him across the clearing. He landed on the ground a few yards away and rolled to a stop beneath the base of a tree. He lay there, dazed and confused for a bit. His head hurt.

After successfully removing the thing from her head, Tonravik looked to the fallen bat on the ground. She was not hungry enough to go for it again, and did not wish for the critter to flap around her to land on her again. Tonravik would leave it to the other creatures of this place, snorting indignantly at it. The leader then turned tail and headed out, having gotten all she had wanted from the day. Idly she wondered if she would see the dark Tartok wolf again. She thought not at all of the bat, instead thinking of finding Echelon. The duo would again resume their search for a home.

He rubbed his head for a bit, lifting a hooked thumb to his furry ear holder. It was all tingly up there. A little achy. He wiggled his jaw a bit, emitting a squeak of an echo that vibrated off the trees and returned to him. He cringed, stiffened and fell over dramatically, wrapping himself in a leathery wing as if it were a cape. 

He played dead.

It appeared to work as the wolf lost interest and walked away. Ah-ha! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha! VICTORY! He'd lived to flight another night. 

Asbestos crawled to his feet and fluttered away. 

-thread end-