Wolf RPG

From her 'check up' with @Kerosene to now, Kroc's mood hadn't improved much. The copper wolf had been well received if only because he had been the one to put her on the path to a quicker recuperation. She wasn't in a necessarily nasty frame of mind but what difference did it make? Limping through the pack lands, Kroc didn't give much though to where she was headed and it was only when she reached a particularly warm patch of sun that she stopped to settle there, taking a break to relax for the moment. When she was ready, she would get up and get on the move again. 

 

Tonravik scoured the land for Kroc, who was not so difficult to find. She was a moving boulder of the Spine, one the leader saw frequently in passing doing patrols and plenty more for the pack. The leader had not forgotten her attack on Kivi, and sought her out for this very reason. At the moment, Kroc rested. Tonravik was glad to see this; she wanted to be sure the wound itself did not break open to become prone to infection, and she also wanted to be sure that Kroc's limp would fade into nothing in the coming days. 

The leader moved toward Kroc's side, grunting a greeting before falling onto her rump, dust and dirt billowing outward. Her eye first went to the Gamma's face, then the wound, inspecting it. Tonravik decided that learning a thing or two from Kerosene might be useful, as she looked at the face of Kroc's injury. She could retain the very bare minimum, though she presumed it would be enough. 

While her fur dried from the sun after her water therapy, Kroc was content to lay there. Of course, she would rather be patrolling the borders but the pale wolf knew that she would be of more use once she was operating at 100% once more. Injuring herself further would only cause her to be more of a hindrance to the pack and she wasn't having that. In other words, screw that.

The only other wolf that could safely approach her at the moment appeared in her peripheral vision. Head turned to watch Tonravik close the distance, her tail thumping against the ground a time or two. Nothing was said in the midst of the dark Alpha's inspection but her companionship at the moment was welcome all the same. 

Tonravik occasionally patrolled during the day, but her activity was largely at night in the Summer. As the sun beat at her back, it was more likely that it lapped gingerly at Kroc's own paler furs. But, not knowing that any other felt different than she did given she did not know any other color but her own, she was not envious. Tonravik was content to idle in the company of Kroc, knowing that the other could be as silent as she was. 

The wound, Tonravik thought, looked less angry than it had when she had gained it and it wept blood. Tonravik knew that the other wolf looked worse in the end. And next time, should she come again, the other would not leave. Willing or unwilling, the Spine would be the others grave. The idea gave her much pleasure. The leader slid onto her belly, now, laying Sphinx-like on the ground beside her subordinate. 

Their silence, though pleasant and as easy as it always was, broke with Kroc's voice. "I'm tempted to hunt her stupid ass down." Her fury with the Plains bitch had not abated, even if it had been masked under the irritation of her wound. But the Warden would do nothing so brash, if only because of her next statement. "I smelled pack on her." If the idiot spun her own tales of maltreatment and abuse, Kroc was pretty positive that she would not be the only Plains wolf to bleed on their borders. 

Kroc broke the silence, and only the shifting of her lobe told of her listening. Her response required no thinking: “No need,” and a dark expression was open to be read. Tonravik was a book that even a child could understand. There was something sinister in her gaze that held fast to the horizon. The leader had no doubt in the stupidity of the other. “Her grave is here.” They would piss on it, and leave her to the maggots. 

That the other had pack did not worry her. Pack only went to war for territory, not for a reaction to their own subordinates insubordination. That was law of wolf; Tonravik knew little else. Still, she humored Kroc. Kivi ignored all instinct after all. She turns her proud crown to Kroc, the question relatively evident. What do you think of this. 

A slight smile curled her lips as Tonravik spoke in response to her own words. The answer satisfied that quiet, instinct-and-blood driven side of her. The stupid wolf would perish if she came against them again and of this, Kroc would make sure. Her leader's look was not lost upon her though, the tilt of her head, the attention of her ears. There was something that needed to be answered and Kroc rose to that moment in full. 

Their grave is here should they play to her foolishness. I'll even bring you the leader's head if they show themselves to be that dense. The gravity of her words was something that passed between them as easily as their silence settled.

Krocs words caused Tonraviks eyes to linger. She agreed, of course; their graves did await them, this place their rocky tomb. If Tonravik had a subordinate such as Kivi, she would have removed her from the ranks from disobeying basic instinct a multitude of times, and taken her tongue for good measure. The Spine did not host or humor idiots. 

Tonravik blinked, “We are already prepared.” here there were warriors. “We will train more.” it was better to anticipate the others packs stupidity, even if it was nonexistent. For she was certain it existed in one within their ranks, and there was nothing to say the others were not as brainless as she was. 

A simple nod showed her agreement. Already, Kroc had taken up the mantle of Warden to defend and protect the wolves of the Spine, even if many of them were capable at taking care of themselves. They wouldn't always be. "We can and we will." Always. They would slay any of those that came against them, and if the foolish wolves of the dry plains came against them, they would quickly learn the error of their stupid ass ways.

The day the white female stopped being a Tartok wolf was the day she took her last breath and she wouldn't have it any other way. With a final sigh, Kroc rolled to her side, carefully stretching her limbs before she looked over at her Leader, pleased that they had found one another in the end. 

Tonravik echoed the sentiment, her eyes looking now to the treeline nearby. "We can, we will." Her words were a quiet hum, and Tonravik sees in her peripheral Kroc laying on her side. The leader, now putting her large head between her forelegs, stares for a while longer into the distance. Already she has decided she will rest with the pale Kroc and take a small siesta, needing it thanks to the heat of the day.

Her eyes drifted to a close, though the wolf somehow seemed at attention in her rest. Anything could wake her, Kroc herself included. But she would rest until the day cooled, the heat too obnoxious for her to do much of anything productive in it.

Silence fell. They lay there in it, comfortable and companionable. Yes, this was where she belonged. While Siku was the true Issumator, there was a brand of kinship between the two here that Kroc appreciated. Tonravik held her loyalty now and this time, the wolf would not leave. Her brother was likely dead and even if he was not, he was dead to her. Blood was not thicker than water, not when it came to the wolves of Tartok. 

The Warden rested with her Alpha until the sun dipped low in the sky and the hottest hours of the day rolled by. At some point, Kroc was left to rest on her own again, a quiet curse offered to her leg. Soon enough, she would heal and soon enough, she would go back to her duties, pouring her life and whatever she had for a heart into the pack that she protected. 

Thread end.