Wolf RPG

She was a red stain upon an otherwise drab canvas. A streak of crimson flanked by the gray clouds and dim light of morning. She slithered across the earth with as much insistence as a hungry snake, winding one way, twisting another, taking hours to work her way towards the mountain peaks in the distance. By midday the girl had reached a lake of some sort, and paused along the bank to recuperate and watch for fish. Salamander was panting, heaving breaths in and out, and her patience waned even before she caught her breath. A few moments later she was off again - growing curious as the thickening smell of wolves met her flaring nostrils.

Along the outskirts of the borders, Echelon had picked up on the scent of a vagrant. With all the trouble they had been having, this came as little surprise to her that they would have anyone or anything poking around the borders that they had been working to keep free of foolish creatures. She moved quietly and quickly, stalking in their snaking steps along that outer fringe... just waiting. That moment she found where their musk crossed over those borders, it would be the end of them.

But as her steps went on, she found that they hadn't. And in a short distance later, she found the weary form of someone lounging around. That's how it looked to her, lounging. Though it was kind of an awkward sight to see, given the physique of the creature before her. This did not deter the Tartok wolf any, and she growled lowly as she narrowed down that distance between them, brushing past young ferns and bristling as she rose to a fuller height that she could muster. It was a warning, a demand for reasoning, even when drawn up into her aggression she was still smaller than the wolf she had come across. It didn't matter at any rate; Echelon would curb this nonsense of lingering at their door.

How it went would be entirely up to the vagrant and their lounging.

The trees trembled with the touch of the wind, but Salamander was oblivious to any hints that lingered there. It was a mild day, but she thought she could smell the steely taste of rain; it was overshadowed momentarily by a plethora of other aromas, and soon enough the weather was forgotten. It was a boring subject, and wouldn't be directly affecting the woman for another few days. Immediate things were all that concerned her. She paced among the trees, unaware that she was being watched until - with a presumptuous rumbling - a dark creature emerged from the foreign forest.

Salamander's instant rebuke was primarily physical in nature, a direct response to the stranger's posturing. Her fur spiked, ears shot forwards, and she turned to face the oncoming shadow with a sneer curling her lips. But there was no sound coming from her - not yet. No warning, nothing to dissuade the stranger from coming nearer to assert herself, but a stern glare leveled directly in to her eyes. Come at me bro.

The first mistake the vagrant made was to challenge her in such a way. The posturing Echelon could handle, but the meeting of their gazes only revealed a certain fire that burned within them both. A fire that not all wolves were born with and granted, Echelon only hoped that the wolves that would eventually make up the Spine were wolves who carried that flame. Her jaws parted in a once-more warning, yellowing teeth jagged in the way that vicious smile split her face.

She began to close in the gap left between them, but was not foolish enough to attack on sight. She wanted to see just how all of this was handled and part of it was keeping herself cleanly out of the jaws of the other. They weren't cornered, but she wanted to make them feel that way. She growled once more, crisp and to the point. What were they doing there? What did they want? And most important, did they know what they were up against?

They glared, they grinned, and gradually Salamander began to pace. Her legs were stiff, but her movement fluid. She watched and walked, keeping her eyes upon the shadow's own until the dark girl's teeth flashed and the growling became an agitated chorus. Salamander's tongue snaked out, licking the air and - then she faltered. Her teeth sheathed themselves but the grimace remained firmly placed upon her pale face. This stranger's scent was one of the marks upon the earth. This land, these mountains, must have belonged to her - or someone similar. The red-furred girl pulled back from the confrontation for a moment.

"Move." She slurred, her voice trying to be commanding, trying to dissuade an attack, but knowing it was to some degree, pointless. She stopped pacing long enough to duck her head - only a few inches - and looked towards the west where she had originated. Saying, in her limited way, that she would get the hell out if the shadow would let her.

Unless she was lying. Salamander was always up for a fight, and it had been ages.

And for a moment, Echelon thought everything was about to boil over and go into the fire. But it didn't. It boiled off and to some degree to her disappointment. She relished in the moment of being tested but it was soon overshadowed by the fact that this wolf moved to defer to her, moved to draw in enough senses that she was something here. That ounce of validation in their cause was enough to appease her, but it was not enough to make her move. She would not take orders from a creature who held their head beneath her own.

Instead their close proximity allowed her to give them a proper once-over, now that they weren't lying about akin to a wastrel. Though her temper had evened out and her posture began to reflect it, Echelon was meticulous and thorough in the appraisal she gave. "Home," she stated simply, "do you want it?" And for now she withheld that she was not the one who gave that final say, that it would take her Issumator to do that. Her alpha, who could have easily been this boarish beast's own if she was willing to cooperate.

The dark stranger did not budge. Salamander flickered before her like a bonfire, still trying to side-step and escape. But she stopped when a proposal met her ears. They twitched, twisted, and then righted themselves smoothly. This was the only moment where her eyes narrowed, equal parts suspicion and curiosity.

"You're offering?"

The stranger was imposing in her mannerisms, attempting intimidation with her posturing and sounds, but... She didn't seem entirely in control of things. There were many smells upon her, and at least one scent which dwarfed her own among the ferns. A smirk spread across Salamander's face then, realizing something. "Or must you ask permission first."

Unchanging was her expression as the wayfarer came to their own realizations. Instead all Echelon felt she had to do was simply uphold her own steady gaze, wanting nothing more than to put a point of doubt into their mind. She allowed this to drag out for as long as she felt she could hold this particular canine's interest, and merely offered her a tilt of her head as if to suggest well, do you?

It made no real difference to her one way or another. She knew that they could use the able body, knew that the more able bodies they had and the things that they could use to hone their skills and sharpen them would only make them better as a whole. It would make Tartok better as a whole. They were all familial creatures at heart and if nothing else, Tartok was a family through and through.

This was the first wolf she had encountered in weeks, the first area to not harbor a population of her own family, and the first to not be half-dead from over zealous hunting. These bits of fact and fancy were reason enough to stick around; and the stranger wasn't going to talk her ear off in any desperate attempt to keep her. Bonus points. Salamander was amused by the shadow. Amused and agreeable. "Alright." She began to accept the offer, and then paused to think.

If this was a small pack - and everything hinted at this being true - then it was either a brand new one, or failing. Perhaps both. This may have dissuaded a lesser wolf, but not her. Not someone with her grand vision. If it was struggling despite its prime location and obvious potential, she would take it for herself (in the name of the Legion, of course). If it was just a fledgling group, all the more reason to stick around and benefit. Little did Salamander know that her plans and ideas were held by the very Alpha upon whose lands she now stood.

With a deferential dip of her head, the russet woman accepted the offer and began to take stride; moving only a few feet before pausing and looking at Echelon. Take me to your leader.

Echelon did not care for the boldness that she saw here, how that stranger was willing to pace off and suggest that they go inward. She bounced after her to nip roughly at her heels. A firm notion of we wait and that would simply be that. There would be no taking or leading done by Echelon, not when she had her reservations of every creature beneath her in the ranks.

Instead with a growl to imply that they would stay put, she called sharply for @Tonravik to come. There was little doubt in her mind that her aokkatti was lurking somewhere nearby, but not necessarily out of convenience. The duo were never really all that far apart, whether it was purely out of instinct or simply from habit was questionable. For this boarish joiner, the real decision making was only about to beginning.

Tonravik had been heading toward Echelon, doggedly on her trail to join her on a patrol, and the scent of another caused Tonravik to move all the quicker. This scent was not the one that had faded overtime and had now, become nothing... but an altogether new presence. The howl that cut into the open air prompted the bear to move headlong into a sprint, until minutes passed and she was before the pair. Tonravik knew Echelon would not have called to waste her time, and saw the worth in the stranger by her form alone. The build of the wolf was a strong one, and Tonravik descended toward them, scree coming with her.

The red in the others furs vaguely reminded her of Ivitaruk. The color was one she had not seen on many, but not one she thought too much of. Beauty was lost on the homely Tonravik. Her tail was high over her hindquarters and her ears perked forward, she moved closer, and closer, awaiting the appropriate response from the loner, her perpetual grimace ever present as she approached.

Feeling a pinch to her heels, Salamander wheeled around as if to deflect an oncoming assault; her teeth were bared defensively, a grimace meant to dissuade. Before Salamander could muster up any real force, a second body had met with the first - and the red girl turned a blank stare upon the dark form as it approached. At first she thought it was the alpha male. There was very little indication that the stranger was anything else but a bear-like brute of a man. But as the stranger drew nearer, lifting their tail and staring down the russet woman, Salamander was assailed with the dominant scent she had been perusing earlier.

This, this, was the Alpha. While Salamander watched the stranger's face, wanting very much to bare her fangs again and let the challenge rise within her, she knew better. For now she could keep her temper in check. After a tense moment, she looked away from the dark woman and - carefully - looked to Echelon, her features only slightly smug. As if some big secret had been revealed.

When she turned back to face the bear of a woman, Salamander was passive. Her posture adjusted enough to be deferential, but did not lack the pride which had already caught the attention of the first wolf.

The smug expression was not lost on Echelon, who could have smoldered beneath that gaze.  But she did not, instead allowing her own attention hone in on the imposing stature of Tonravik.  Her own deference was there as well, but she had no qualms about showing just a little boldness, just a little tidbit of her own status within the Spine by having a lesser reaction.  She knew that Tonravik was making her assessments just as Echelon had made her own and her wonder lied not so much in what Tonravik would think of them, but rather what she would think of her for finding them.  But this did not come without the truth, either.

"This one is arrogant.  They were laying about our border," she told her Issumator in their native tongue.  This was on purpose naturally; the tone was unsurprisingly flat.  What they may have thought of her in that moment she did not care for, openly confident that no ill will would come of it here in the presence of her aokkatti.  But they could have used the extra body no doubt, leaving her with one question with the same absence of tone.  "Should we break them in?"

Her ear swiveled and faced Echelon as the wolf spoke in their Native tongue. Within Tartok, they spoke this language exclusively to one another; it made it easy for those joining them to learn if they intended to stay. And, by the time the newcomers could speak it as well as those born and raised in their homeland they might as well have been born and raised their themselves, their patriotism had become so fierce. Tonravik continued to glower at the submitting wolf, and she looked thoughtful. And then, she growled back in a guttural tone, in English so that Salamander could understand exactly what was said: "We will break her in, here." If those words did not deter Salamander or send her running, then perhaps she had the stuff she desired of the members in the Spine.

Her eyes openly assessed the wolf before her. "Aupârtok," she hums, clearly regarding the red wolf, having no interest in any pride the other bore in bestowing upon her a simple name--Red. Tonravik moved nearer now, to sniff at the other. "What good are you." Eloquently put, Tonravik desired to know. The truth of it was, Tonravik cared little for wolves that were arrogant, particularly if they had nothing to offer. Arrogance was as swift a killer as curiosity could be, and Tonravik had smothered brighter flames than the one before her now.

The wolves accompanying her only grew more strange by the moment, but the shift in language did not appear to bother Salamander. She hadn't heard this language before, she could not translate any piece of it, but she saw this shift in use as more than just a simple conversation between pack mates - she saw it as a potential scare tactic. If these two ladies thought that speaking in tongues would frighten her away (or in any manner really unnerve her), it wasn't going to work. She smirked as she pulled her head up from its diminutive position, licking her lips and casually watching Echelon and then the Alpha. And then the Alpha's attention turned to her; using a collection of sounds to identify her with (which made Salamander wonder, "What the hell did you just call me?" but she sat comfortably within her ignorance).

"What good are you." The woman voiced, this time in a language Salamander could understand. It was a good question, but she answered it with a bit of chuckling, first and foremost. Followed by a roll of her big shoulders.

"I'm a warrior. You have a word for that in your language, right?" It wasn't a good idea to poke a bear with a stick. Salamander's voice was the equivalent of a reaching branch, filled with pride and humor, which struck out towards Tonravik. Before an answer could be given to that question, Salamander added, "You want something dead, I can make that happen. My specialty is any fool stupid enough to cross me - but I'll bring down anything you want." Unless it was small and fast, like a rabbit, but Salamander wouldn't reveal this lapse in her abilities for a few more hours.

Echelon listened as Tonravik bestowed a rather simple name onto the vagrant, something that would do for the time being. And then she listened at length to what was spoken by this Aupartok. The fact that she could have been a warrior was not lost by her — it was evident. A commonplace skill among the wolves of Tartok, but not one that would necessarily disqualify her. There would always be a place in the world for those who were skilled at holding their own in a fight. Those that could track through night and day, unwavering in their pursuit.

Her eyes shifted between them, assessing what would come of it, what Tonravik would say, do, or otherwise instruct. At that point, any notion of suggestion had left her; Echelon was no more than a cog in the machine, left to wait and more than eager to jump at chance when it presented herself.

The others chuckling was met with a blank stare, but one that was not unintelligent. Simply focused. Whatever amused the other was lost on Tonravik, who was a humorless wretch. Fortunately for the red one, sarcasm was a language Tonravik did not understand. So, the question, which was rhetorical (rhetoric being another thing she was not fluent in), was answered with a curt nod. Yes, there was a word for that in their language. 

That the other one was a warrior was something Tonravik found useful. She would always have use for those, especially in the time to come. But, of course, there were wolves that could be bought by others, and Tonravik was disinterested in fickle wolves. Those were the very wolves Tonravik would want put out. It was unfortunate that this even needed saying, but it did. "I seek loyalty." Loyalty to the Spine. Loyalty to her cause. Be it blind or informed, she did not care; she wanted wolves that would fight with her, beside her, and not so much as sway for anything other than the warranted things, such as, say, her own leaving without a word. Now more than ever, she desired that loyalty.

Of all the things to ask for, loyalty was not high up on Salamander's list of traits to be coveted. She was intrigued by the pair of them, though. Interested to see how things would pan out in a new land, with a new pack, and was swift to nod her head; as if to indicate understanding, when really she was just agreeing to the terms. If all they asked for was a body that could rend and tear and fight, she could be that. But if they thought Salamander would stick around for any lengthy period without hesitation, that.. That was a hard bargain. But she smiled, her teeth faintly visible in a snake-oil grin, and muttered quickly: "I can be loyal. If you deserve my loyalty." This was probably not the answer required of her, but the red woman spoke truthfully, and to the point. The Alpha would be testing her mettle but Salamander would be testing the pack - the group in its entirety - for their own strengths and weaknesses in the days to come. If she didn't like what she found, then she'd be out. "For now I agree to follow you, if you are accepting."

Reservation remained a constant because of the tone that she heard. For the words that she heard. While perhaps any other wolf may have found them to be understanding and acceptable, Echelon did not. In her thoughts, loyalty came with the acceptance into Tartok. It was unwavering and ran deep as it was supposed to. As nothing more than a bystander still to that exchange, her eyes shifted to Tonravik. Would she find these words reasonable? For all the time that they had spent together, this was one particular area that Echelon found she was not versed in with her aokkatti. She knew how she would do things, but how would Tonravik?

Tonravik listened.

The wolf knew she was more than deserving of anyone's loyalty. It was unquestionable. Tonravik had no doubts, there. There was no trial and error. "We are accepting," she rumbles, her eyes seeming to darken as a cloud passed by overhead, "though less so of runaways." Tonravik allowed her own grin, ugly in its entirety, to encompass her features. There lay the implication, with the odd timing of her grin, that while the other may be admitted, should she leave she would certainly be met with a barrage of fangs were she ever found. Tonravik did not, and would not, encourage others to stay on the premise of the word "if". It never boded well for them.

Implication accepted, Tonravik let the wolf pass. Time would tell whether or not the red one would stay.