Wolf RPG

His paws thrummed gently against the ground – summer had brought with it a flourish to the lands Tonravik now laid claim to, and had he a better appreciation for the beauty of nature, he might have idly sat down to glance upon their kingdom. Instead, the fiery wolf made to keep himself busy.

For today, that included scouring the packs borders.. leaving his mark every so often as a reminder to any that might come upon them that a pack did indeed have these lands as theirs. His large form would push upward on hind limbs every so often, his claws raking down the bark of a misplaced tree before he would then move on, his brown eyes scanning the lands before him.

Something had shifted in the Spine. The pack had appeared to be settling – but now, a new scent traced the air, and it lingered upon his nostrils with a dangerous allure. Tonravik was in heat, and now the Tartok wolf made to avoid her. It would seem this proved to be simple – as such, he had not yet come upon many faces of those within his pack, and he knew he would need to remedy this soon. Pack was family.. and it would do the male no good to remain as an outsider to his comrades.. nor would it inspire Tonravik or her mother to bless him with a branch of his own stemmed from the name of Tartok.

With the arrival of summer came the return of the fire-robed woman. Her trek in to the unknown - at Tonravik's private request - had led her far afield, but it was good to have a base of operations to return to. She was creeping through the woods (as well as any large creature could) when she thought she heard the sounds of bark snapping.

Was there a bear in the area? Perhaps a family of black bears and wandered in among the trees and sought to climb them; Salamander was instantly on the offensive when this thought slipped in to her mind. She was no sleuth, and came barreling through the tree line with her teeth set in a hungry grimace, ready to chase off any pests that might have endangered the pack. But when she landed her eyes upon a wolf, the flash of her fangs was only a thought - they were swiftly hidden, although a malice remained.

With her tail lashing behind her and the mane of red across her body rising like a true flame, Salamander witnessed the canine's odd behavior. She had never seen this tactic used by wolves before, and found it bizarre. With a brooding little grunt to garner his attention, the woman sidled up to him and queried, "What are you doing?"

Two. There were two in the immediate vicinity and she went to meet them, ending her afternoon patrol to go find the Spine wolves she'd scented. She recognized both, though one a little more than the other. She hadn't had time at length with either so the pale tank decided to remedy this, letting her large paws carry her to follow the scent, away from her current location. There were sounds she began to pick up, curious, deep scratchings sounds that made her think of cats that were too large for their own good. 

But it was not a cat. It was a wolf, Ivitaruk to be exact, who was making the noise. Kroc noticed she arrived just as another female did, gold eyes lingering on her for a few moments. They had not met and Kroc did not know her name but that was fine. She asked what Kroc had been thinking, and so her attention switched back to the male, one ear twisted in his direction. "What she said."

With one more lift, the crimson wolf scoured his claws down another strip of bark, though his eyes drifted to a flash of movement. Sidling up beside him was a she-wolf whose pelt resembled his own greatly – and without any pause, she stared up to him, stirring his own wolfish brows to arch. “Marking,” he responded simply, one ear shifting back at the entrance of the large ivory female who had been at Tonravik’s side through his acceptance.

They both seemed confused by this method – and slightly bemused by this, Ivitaruk pushed off the tree, allowing his form to settle neutrally below Kroc’s own dominance – though his cinnamon eyes flashed toward Salamander, as if daring her to attempt to stake claim at rank above him.

Determining that he had answered their questions, the large wolf’s head tipped slightly, a quiet indication they could continue to walk with them along the borders, should they so desire. Just because company had befallen him did not place pause to his task.

Salamander had never seen such tactics used, but that didn't mean they weren't uncommon. A rarity for her to see, yes. Being a warrior and not a scout, nor a warden, nor any other type of beast who may interact with the borderlands - the red woman only shrugged softly at his comment, taking it at face value, and then turned to Kroc as if to judge the other woman's reaction. When Ivitaruk began to stride on, likely to make further marks and delineate the border more substantially, Salamander slunk along nearby. She did not keep too close, as that would impede the work. But she did familiarize herself with the clusters of scents in the surrounding areas; dipping her head towards hunks of moss or the occasional fern, and taking brief pauses.

Marking. "Makes sense." That was why cats did it, so why not wolves too? She made no objections though her posture remained ever the same with her tail held high. The Warden walked on with them, moving to assist Ivitaruk with his self-appointed task. She knew the importance of this task and had already spilled a fair amount of blood to carry it out. Her newest wound was shedding its scab finally to reveal the shiny scar left behind, one that would likely not be covered with fur for many years.

Gold eyes flickered to the other female, considering her for a moment. "You got a name?" She'd seen her at the recent pack meeting of course but the name had not been caught. Plus, she was pretty bad with names so if she had heard it, she still did not remember. 

Both of his companions seemed to take his response with acceptance, and as he moved forward to continue, they amicably trailed after him – something he encouraged with a cant of his muzzle. One ear shifted to Kroc’s question – his own brown eyes gliding over the red she-wolf before pushing himself upward once more, one paw casually placed upon the thick tree trunk, the other clawing downward to leave mark to those that dared try to prowl past their borders.

The scent of the Spine was unquestionable – should any wolf dare try to cross their borders, it would be their head that would be left also to ward off any intruders. Yet somehow, power drew those more foolish.. and thus had been proved time and again by the wayward waif, Kivi, who insisted on returning time and again.

Salamander chuffed softly, and then turned to regard the pale wolf when she was questioned. At first she thought the stranger was asking for the man's name, but upon glancing her way, realized she was the center of attention for the time being. Sal wanted to be an ass -- 'Yes, I have a name.' -- but decided it would be better to befriend these Spine wolves as opposed to irk them.

"I am called Salamander. Although, the leader keeps calling me Aupârtok. I think she's confused." It didn't sound like any name Salamander had ever heard; but the comment she made was swift, quiet, and not meant as an insult. She gave a small shrug. "Who're you?" Her gaze shifted from the female to the marking male, then back again.

Her claws pulled free of this tree and they moved on, the Warden following Ivitaruk's chosen path easily. She felt no need to take over here because this was truly something they all needed to be doing. Especially with the recent trespassers. An ear twisted in Salamander's direction, knowing it was another reptile-like creature, kindred to her own name. 

She knew the name was a way to bring a new wolf into the fold, to help them shed their prior identity and become Tartok. It was their way, but she did not shed light on this to the red female. But she paused in her act of marking to answer her. "Kroc." She had never had a name bestowed on her but it was also unnecessary. Kroc had taken to the way of the Northern wolves without needing to shed her prior identity. She had never asked about this and did not plan to. It just was.

Moving to the next tree, Kroc rose and drew her nails across its bark. She would split from them soon to resume her patrol but for now, this was a good activity. 

He withheld a small smile as the fiery she-wolf determined Tonravik must have been confused – it seemed strange to him, for a wolf to follow one without question if they determined them ‘confused’ or even slow. “Not confused,” he offered then, one ear flickering as Kroc had just finished offering her own name to the female within their presence. “It is the way of Tartok. A name is bestowed upon you.”

It did not explain to him why Kroc had not received an inuit name, and his brown eyes grazed over her briefly, the question lingering in his gaze, though he did not outright speak it. Lumbering forward still, he canted his muzzle back to Salamander, his tail giving an idle flick. “When they found me upon a riverbank, they called me Ivitaruk. Red trout.” With that, the bear-like wolf stretched up to his next tree, his claws raking the sides of it to announce their presence even further.

Kroc and Ivitaruk. Very different names for very different, but similar, entities. Salamander gave a shrug to the male's explanation, accompanied by a little commentary: "Well I have no idea what Aupârtok means. But if it makes living here easier, I'll accept it." Although she was quite fond of her name - itself being a nickname, actually, given to her at such an early age that there was nothing else to call her - and it felt like a betrayal to accept this second one.

Still, it wasn't that important. A single word could not determine her value, nor stop her from doing her job. As Ivitaruk gouged his claws through another tree's bark, Salamander watched him, and then sauntered towards a neighboring tree. She observed for another moment before rising up to try and do the same thing - balancing carefully, and then trying to score the bark. But she wobbled a bit, and fell forwards, with her chest connecting to the tree (like a hug).

The woman snorted and decided to abandon the task - let the man do it, while she monitored. That seemed like a much better plan.

In time, the female would start to pick up on the language. Meanwhile, Kroc had no motivation to explain the name to her, even as simple as it was. If she was curious, she would ask Tonravik herself. Ivitaruk explained his own and the tank remained silent. Her own name was self-appointed long ago. She'd had a brief conversation with a wolf who had described a crocodile once and she had taken to the idea quickly; the creature was cold, relentless, brutal. All things that she had become once she'd let her childhood slip away into the murk of her past. 

For a moment or two, the female joined them in the task but she ceased soon after. Eventually Kroc did as well and left them both after a rough but companionable nudge to their flanks. It was time she return to her own duties. 

Kroc exits. 

They fell to silence then – Kroc and Aupârtok aided him for a few stolen moments, though the latter had not quite found herself able to do so. It mattered little – her presence was welcomed regardless, and after the ivory Kroc gave a nudge to his flank before moving onward and away, Ivitaruk continued on his own path, one ear swiveling at the sound of his companion’s gentle paw falls near to him.

The line of trees remained ever before him – a task that would take a decent amount of time, but not all of the coniferous trees were able to hold his marking as desired – the branches swept too low on some, blinding his claw rakes from line of view and the fresh pine would hinder the scent.

Ever diligent, Ivitaruk continued, his own large form lumbering along the borders he was growing so familiar with.

They spent some time together - this mismatched trio - until finally the pale wolf broke from the group, leaving Salamander and the male. Without further conversation to beguile her (and a general apathy towards the work Ivitaruk was doing), before long she too was departing. It had been a brief encounter and not an unpleasant one - but already as she slipped from their company, Salamander's mind drifted to far more entertaining things. Perhaps a border patrol would ease the aggression from her body.

[exit salamander!]