Neverwinter Forest Intrepid

As Impala stepped into the shade of a thousand evergreen trees, he compared what he was seeing and smelling to Turquoise's description of her former home. His gray eyes lifted to study the boughs overhead, their branches twining together to form a nearly impenetrable canopy. The air here was cooler and scented with wood and pine sap. Underfoot, the soil was rich and covered by a thick carpet of faded green needles. Everywhere, the yearling hunter saw signs of deer. His mother had mentioned that many made their home here.

Neverwinter Forest, he thought to himself, walking deeper into the timberland. He moved carefully, eyes shifting to and fro and whiskers quivering as his nostrils drank in the countless scents here. He saw no signs of a wolf pack, though this didn't surprise him. Impala knew that many packs disbanded over time. Not all could stand strong through generations, like the Blackthorn Clan. His grandparents' faces flitted through his mind and he smiled, albeit only inwardly. His lips remained drawn.

He did not think he would find his father here in this particular neck of the woods (pun intended); he never had. Impala knew Turquoise's history well. His mother had run with a pack here months before her fling. In fact, she had lived here with Rivet, her lover. Impala refused to think of her as Turquoise's mate, for two females could not actually mate, nor produce offspring. No, he had only come about after the pair of she-wolves had parted ways and Turquoise had lain with a man.

One day, Impala would track down that wolf, his father, much like he tracked prey. He knew he was getting warmer. But he also knew that he would not find him here, in this wood, nor on this day. Mindful of this, the strapping yearling slipped further and further into the shadowy taiga, hunting for a much more typical quarry: fresh venison.

The forest, much of it, was an extension of her own claim at the Spine. But Tonravik followed a scent trail of an injured animal she had wounded days ago. The alpha followed the beast dedicatedly, separating it from its herd in her persistent harassment. The herd seemed to realize it was not them they wanted, but this one; the old moose was let go of soon after. The leader would not let it do anything as she followed it... 

And now its limp was a heavy one, more pronounced. It was thirsty; she had not let it near a water source to slake it. The thing was exhausted enough to bring down on her own at this point. 

It drifted out of the Spine and still, she followed it. She would bring it back to the Spine, but for the moment, she let it think itself victorious. Well, if it had felt that way, that feeling was truly short-lived. For his knuckled knees buckled, and it breathed heavily as it fell. Tonravik moved closer to it, to bring it to its end. But the mighty beast lifted its antlered head and jerked it vigorously, suggesting it had one last fight in it. 

Although he knew the chances of capturing a deer on his own were slim, Impala nonetheless wanted to catch up to the herd and see if there might be an opportunity. If nothing else, every moment of tracking practice helped him sharpen his deadly craft. The yearling slowed, taking the time to press his nose to the trunk of a tree and sniff the rough bark, then drop his gray eyes to study the ground. He then lifted his head again, tilting his snout into the air and testing the light breeze that ruffled the thick canopy overhead.

Suddenly, he froze, head turned over his shoulder and black-rimmed ears erect as he listened. Aside from the wind soughing through the evergreens and a few distant bird calls, the forest was quiet. Then he heard it again, in the distance: the distinct sound of large hooves pressing heavily on the soft bed of needles. Impala turned swiftly and broke into a trot, moving noiselessly as he slalomed between the trees. His own paws, though large, were placed carefully and lightly to avoid making a sound.

Soon, a fresh scent came to him. He slowed, panting. It belonged to a bull moose. Impala didn't dare approach without exercising extreme caution. The beast might be more unpredictable and downright dangerous than ever as he fought for his life. Impala proceeded at a slow creep, then stopped in his tracks when another scent wove into the evergreen tapestry. He let out a sharp huff. He was not the only wolf in the woods.

Nonetheless, the young predator continued to move slowly and stealthily forward until he saw the moose between a break in the trees. His gray eyes watched even as the bull fell to his knees, his heaving flanks dappled by sunlight peeking through the leafy brise-soleil. Impala's heart skipped a beat, though he did not forget the other wolf. Even as the moose began to toss his great antlered head, Impala searched for any sign of the she-wolf whose scent lingered in his nose. He wondered if she was alone.

Tonravik watched the beast with apt interest. It had not lifted its head so in days. Its great set had weighed the beasts head down, and wore it into even further exhaustion. But adrenaline coursed through it then, and it gave the alpha female pause. 

It would be smartest, she decided, to wait until the adrenaline ran its course. Her ears flicked, searching for outside sounds and moving to look through the wood. The other was at a vantage point in that he would see her before she made note of him, but she stalked around her to-be meal loosely, protectively. Its killer was also its guardian, and her tail lashed predatorily behind her. 

No mountain lions, no bears, but perhaps other wolves. The dark alpha female could not know yet, but the signs pointed currently to the fact she might be alone... and it was then her eyes drew to the area where Impala lurked. 

His steely gaze combed the undergrowth and he spotted her: a large, black shadow prowling like a panther. His eyes fixed on her as she moved through the cover, circling the dying moose. Her tail lashed, signaling her dominance over the kill. Impala's eyes briefly shifted back to the bull moose, noting his wound, then back to her just in time for their eyes to meet. He held her gaze for a beat, then another swing of the moose's antlered head drew his attention.

When he looked back, she was gone. Impala scoured the scrub again even as he slowly lowered himself into a crouch. He did not prepare to spring, either toward her or the moose. He intended only to observe as the moose struggled through his final moments. He would make no attempt to take the she-wolf's hard-earned kill from her. But if she was alone, perhaps the yearling hunter could feed after she had taken her fill.

Despite his recumbent position, Impala kept his long legs braced in case the black she-wolf tried to attack and chase him away from her prey. Otherwise, he remained silent and motionless, his curious markings helping him blend in with the shifting light and shadows dancing between the evergreens. He kept his senses attuned for the female's approach, begrudgingly wondering at her determination and prowess. Not many wolves could make such a difficult kill on their own.

Tonravik did not expect to make eye contact with anyone, but when she did, the hairs along her nape rose. The woman maintained eye contact until the larger beast distracted him, and then broke away herself to continue her circle, sniffing at the air to garner details on the other. But there were none to be earned yet, and so she continued to prowl loosely around the thing she had tracked for long days and nights.

The woman did not seek him out in the wood. Instead, she reclined onto her haunches, her eyes upon the beast. It let out a low bellow, as though its herd would come to its summon. Once, the sound had caused Tonravik to look around; but he had made this sound so many times before this moment that she knew nothing would come of it. Its many sons would not come to find it, now.

Its head drooped again. Tonravik rose to take a step toward it, but its eyes fell sharpy toward her, ears swiveling. Another step. Its wise eyes had a defeated look to them, and it was this that brought Tonravik closer to it. A howl loosed to call to her pack-mates if they wished to join on this meal, and her eyes sought the figure in the brush ahead as she went to begin her meal, alert even as she dug into the mighty beast.

A howl. From Tonravik. Damn it. The female was particularly frustrating in this going rogue business. She had a nasty habit of wandering off alone and coming back with battle wounds. They'd speak after this. Or growl at each other until they reached some sort of understanding that no matter how powerful she was, she was also not infallible. Until then, he was quick to his paws and followed that call all the same. Hunting. So much better than full combat, but risky all the same.

He huffed, breath escaping from his nostrils as he moved down the slopes of the spine to join her in the forest. She'd called for food. Whatever she was hunting would not be so perturbed by the heavy footfalls of her peers. He abandoned stealth in favor of speed as he pushed through the undergrowth and followed her scent and trails of abandoned urine. That bladder control, or lack of it, was a dead giveaway not matter how much she tried to conceal her impulses.

Soon he arrived on the scene. He joined her on this hunt only to discover it was already over. Her teeth sunk into the rich flesh of the fallen moose and while she scarfed down her meal, Kerosene lingered near the corpse. This moose had been harassed, not taken down swiftly. Surely its wounds attracted a number of beasts. Instead of eating, he stood sentinel. Ears turned, swiveling atop his head as he scented the area for not only the fell moose... but a second wolf as well. A growl rumbled in his chest. His mate would eat undisturbed.

Have a plot twist! It's entirely up to you what you decide to do with it. :)

She did not come after him, though Impala remained tense, as he could no longer see her. Perhaps she would attempt to ambush him. He listened for the minutest sounds of approach, though the bull moose's final, throaty bugles made it difficult. His ears flicked to and fro and his gray eyes shifted ceaselessly, bouncing from the dying ungulate to the surrounding brush and back again. His nostrils flared as he read the scents on the air like a particularly engrossing book. He would not be caught unawares.

Then the black she-wolf stepped out of the brush, closing in on the moose as the hour of his death arrived at last. Before she began to feed, she sent up an unmistakable call, summoning the rest of her pack. Impala's blackened ears flattened and he pressed himself closer to the forest floor, then began a swift and silent retreat. There was no opportunity for him here and it was safest to leave the area before her comrades arrived.

Yet one prowled onto the scene before Impala slipped away. The sight of him arrested the yearling. His breath caught in his throat. Many times he had pictured his father as Turquoise had described him: a thick russet pelt, blazing yellow eyes and battle scars on his snout. Impossibly, that mental image stood before the young Impala now, causing his heart to thunder rapidly in his chest. He had not expected to find his sire here in this wood, yet there could be no mistake; it was him.

Daringly, Impala decided to reveal himself to the feeding pair. When he emerged, he kept his eyes low, his ears pressed to the side and his tail limp behind him. He did not want their food; he had no appetite now. Instead, he wanted to speak to his father. He wished he had a name to positively identify the male, yet Turquoise hadn't known it. The only way to be sure was to ask questions. But Impala would hold his tongue until invited to speak.

The woman surveyed the wood. Other than the sounds one made when eating, the world was relatively silent. Her eyes looked to find the wolf she had noted in the shadows, but none revealed themselves. That wolf she had spotted would likely have been deterred in his own approach by her summoning of her wolves. They were close enough to the Spine that they could come, take what they would, and resume their patrol seconds after.

Her mate was soon at her side. Tonravik had finished her days of wandering far from home, her sentiment mimicking his own after her scrap. That might have been a battle won for her, but if things had truly gone awry then, the lives within her would be compromised. The mother was for that reason even more wary as she looked to the wood. No doubt she felt better with Iqniq there; they could make quick work out of any who came against them.

It was then the other came out from the woodwork. Tonravik lifted her head and her lips peeled, warning him with a low, long snarl. But his posture explained he would not contest their claim to her fallen beast, so she quieted and continued to gorge. Only her pack would eat of this kill...

Though, perhaps he would join them, integrate himself in this moment into their ranks.

Ohh! Interesting twist!

The lurker pulled himself out of the foliage. Immediately, his growl dropped into a seething baritone of warning while Tonravik snarled. If this encounter were to come to blows there was absolute certainty as to who would win. This one appeared travel worn and weary. Kero didn't trust the facade completely, but as soon as the wolf submitted the tables turned entire. He cut off his growl and blinked at the wolf. A young one with peculiar markings. Strange.

He noted that his mate also quieted and continued to scavenge the corpse. He peered back at the stranger, uncertain as to where this sudden display had come from, but it was possible that he might do whatever it took to partake in their meal. His mind rolled, flitting through a dozen possibilities before he realized none served any purpose until they crossed the barrier of possibility into certainty. That would require words.

"Speak," he barked, asserting himself as his position shifted to something between aggression and dominance. His tail lifted. His ears forward. His nose slightly tucked as he stared long and hard into this yearling's face. What did this wolf want? Hopefully they'd soon find out.

Again, feel free to take this in whichever direction you wish... :)

They met his emergence with overt signs of displeasure, causing the yearling to crouch slightly in the hopes of avoiding a physical altercation. He dropped his dark gray eyes to study his black toes, though his ears remained alert. Would they drive him away before he could explain himself? But then he heard as the she-wolf began to gorge again. His left ear twisted backward when the red male, his father, gruffly addressed him with a single word: "Speak."

"You match the description of a wolf I am searching for," Impala replied promptly, his voice even. "I don't know his name." He paused, then glanced upward at that russet-furred, yellow-eyed face before averting his gaze sideways, away from the feasting she-wolf. Carefully, he asked, "Do I look familiar to you?" His heart still beat heavily in his chest, thumping against his rib cage. He found himself holding his breath.

The other had no desire to be competitive with them. Tonravik lifted her head as she chewed through tough meat, pulling out an intestine and shaking it out. She had no interest in the herbivore contents it carried within its stomach, only the wall within it. A lot of its stomach contents were spilled around them, but she made sure to rid the digestive tract of the greenery before chewing again through it. She largely ignored the stomach contents otherwise.

Having already consumed the liver, she paused to lick her chops. She was satisfied, and her own ears twitched as she looked to the two conversing. Tonravik did not recognize the wolf who had asked, but perhaps Iqniq had somehow known him in his many travels. It was entirely possible. Tonravik had seen many a-face in her travels, but remembered only the ones she shared a name with. But their scent... that, she could never forget.

The wolf crouched lower. This further pleased his natural instincts and his own body language relaxed a touch upon the wolf's submission. Then it spoke. Looking for a wolf like him? Kerosene had traveled far and wide. He'd spent some time on his own before ever seeking out another pack. During that time? He'd met quite a few wolves and dabbled around the borders of other packs here and there. Watching. Learning. He'd formed quite a few relationships in his time, so it was entirely possible that some wolf would remember what he looked like.

A russet male with eyes of gold. A pelt so similar to the flickering of a fire he seemed to burn across the woods he roamed. A larger frame. These things were all noticeable of him, but gold eyes were common and red-orange pelts, while fewer in number, were not entirely unknown. There was little this wolf had to recognize him by, if anything, but he found himself searching through time and memory all the same.

"I do not recognize the markings on your eyes," he spoke. The other touches and brushes of color were all possible in a wolf. Rarer still, but golden pelts with brushes of shadow around the edges? He'd seen too many wolves in passing to discredit his appearance. If this wolf had more information with which they could decipher, he might better be able to answer his questions. "Who do you seek?" Or rather, "what" might have made for a better question, but he knew not what to ask.

He felt his stomach twist into a knot when the red wolf did not appear to recognize him or, more accurately, the mother he greatly resembled. However, Impala did not lose hope. Turquoise hadn't even exchanged names with her lover; they hadn't spent more than a day together, so perhaps he might not remember her right away. And he almost certainly wouldn't know about the three fruits of his loins, two of whom were long dead. In fact, Impala was the only evidence of Turquoise's solitary foray into heterosexuality.

"I take after my mother," he explained. "During the spring of last year, she mated with a stranger and produced my sisters and myself. That stranger, my father, had red fur, yellow eyes and scars." He left nothing to the imagination with his brief, pointed explanation. "My mother has golden fur, a stripe down her back and turquoise eyes." Was he jogging the male's memory? Or was this wolf simply a doppelgänger thrown into his path by chance?

The circumstances were suspiciously coincidental. Perhaps it was all too good to be true. The young hunter found his heart slowing and sinking into his chest. He spared the she-wolf a sideways glance, gray eyes lingering on her bloodied fangs. She didn't seem interested in the conversation at hand. But he remembered that she had summoned her entire pack. They might arrive at any moment to feast on the deceased moose, crowding him away from the wolf he thought his sire.

Impala's smudged snout pointed back at the russet male, his tongue pressing against the back of his teeth as he silently anticipated his response.

Skipping Ton this round as agreed upon via PM.

The wolf elaborated. He took after his mother. Okay. A lot of wolves took after one parent or another. Occasionally, they took after a grandparent or whatever else their lineage was made of. The information the wolf provided was nothing terribly new. Until he elaborated. Ahh. His mother had had a random encounter with a male in which this wolf had been born. Well now. That connected all the pieces of the puzzle.

As for his mother? Kerosene couldn't be certain. He'd bedded a fair number of females in the days of past. Most of them he didn't remember. He took care not to approach many of them during their time, but he was known to take a female here and there by water in which it was entirely possible for them to mask the fire upon their loins. "I couldn't say," was all he replied if only because he couldn't. There was no real way for him to know one way or another as to whether or not this was his kid or someone else's. Why, even names were unimportant to him, so there would be no value there.

His ears lifted, testing the forest for sound of thrumming footsteps of his pack. He heard nothing yet, but surely they would come. "Are you looking for a home?" he asked, turning his attention back to the young wolf. He could not soothe this wolf's curiosities, but if he was seeking a place to stay there might be room for him yet. Their kill was fresh and while Kero had not yet eaten, he took no issue in sharing a meal with one of his own.

The red wolf claimed ignorance, though he did not outright refute the possibility. Impala was convinced that this wolf and his father were one and the same. It was hard to trust this serendipitous stroke of fortune, yet he considered all the facts as objectively as possible. Physically, this male was a match. He seemed a man of few words. He was direct, even gruff, in manner. He did not smile or show much emotion. Impala shared many of these traits. Perhaps they were hereditary.

When asked if he was looking for a pack, Impala's lips pursed. He had promised to return to the Blackthorn Clan in three months' time, whether or not he found his father. He was loath to let down his grandparents, particularly Cathal. He intended to keep his promise, though surely the wolf in front of him would not appreciate a temporary pledge of fealty. The seconds ticked past as the yearling deliberated.

In the end, he could not lie. "I would like to get to know my father," he answered with an indicative bob of his striped snout. "I cannot promise my loyalty forever but if I am permitted, I would like to stay with your pack. In exchange, I offer my hunting skills, which I will be happy to prove if necessary." Perhaps this wolf, his father, would accept these terms or he may turn the yearling away.

Once again, Impala waited with bated breath, unaware that the two of them (as well as the she-wolf) had yet to exchange names.

The call had brought her here, drawn from her patrol to this point in the forest. It was not so close that other wolves would bear the threat of her teeth but this did not make her any less irritable. The pale Beta was a rather grumpy creature and her growls told as much, breaking through the underbrush to join the trio of wolves. Both Tonravik and Kerosene were there, as to be expected, and the prospect of such a filling meal made her belly rumble. 

But first, her eyes settled on the loner, her gaze fierce. "The Spine has no damn use for those that are disloyal." Her tone was rough and her words blunt, but they were true. Tartok wolves were fiercely loyal wolves and weeded out those who were not. He had simply made their job that much easier for them by telling them up front. 

Sidling closer to the kill, Kroc waited for her Alpha to finish eating, knowing that hormones would make her much more volatile and possessive, especially when it came to food. Plus rank and all that. Whatever it was, she waited and while she did so, she watched, eyes and ears both focused on SFB and the loner.

Tonravik continued eating. 

She listened to the duo speak, and felt curious as to the others thoughts. Tonravik was also aware that Iqniq may have other cubs out in the world, given his desire to, well, do her long before he knew her. Tonravik might have let Iqniq handle the whole of this, had the other not brought on that he could not promise them as long as a commitment as Tartok demanded. It was true that wolves were prone to wander, and perhaps their dedication to the Spine not be permanent as they migrated to another branch, sent on a mission or called to arms. But, this one did not know Tartok. Did not know what his (potential) father had become a part of. 

And, he had more sons brewing within. She felt she knew for certain, this. 

Had he come to usurp? Tonravik knew daughters that had done this, though sons went to disperse, typically. Here he was, a dispersal wolf. But his interest seemed to lay in a devoted manner to her flame. How did he mean it? Was his intent here ill? She would find out.

Tonravik moved aside, letting her mate and Beta feed, having had her fill. Blood made her appearance all the more grizzly, and the large woman spoke at last. 

"The fickle are unwelcome."

There was too much at stake. Her cubs she would bear. The vapid plains wolves. 

If he could elaborate, if he somehow meant he could not promise forever due to the natural mortality rate of a wolf, that was acceptable. The matrimony into Tartok, into their Spine, was sacred. Til death would they part. 

He was wondering when or if other wolves from the spine might join them. It would be a shame to let this kill go to waste when there was so much of it still left. A moose was a worthy kill. Even he was eager to taste of it. Kroc seemed eager as well, but much like to him, this golden boy was a distraction. It seemed as though their white guardian caught the tail end of the conversation for she was ever quick to speak and remind them all what it meant to be a wolf of the Spine. They did not take visitors. They took commitment and that meant for life.

Tonravik rose then, moving from their kill to give him his turn to eat. He chuffed, somewhat stubborn at her offer if only because he wouldn't have his fill until this dialogue had come to rest. Again, she spoke of loyalties and how those who could not give themselves fully were of no use to them here. This wolf wished to know his father. There were other males of his coloring who might be just as worthy of the title. Might be a wolf who actually knew the female of which he'd described earlier as his mother.

"I might not be him," he surmised, filling in the gaps of conversation with more finite words. "We do not take guests. If we welcome you, it will be forever. Join and then leave? You'll be labeled a traitor." And killed. The stakes were high, it was true, but Tartok, he was learning, took care of Tartok and the Spine was but an extension of those values. Another branch of the larger tree. Son or not, it mattered little. Out here in the wilds every wolf was his own. They were all treated the same regardless of their origins.

He turned then, moving towards the kill with no more than a flick of his tail. He approached the carcass and turned his eyes towards the boy. This wasn't rejection. It was a question. Did he value the life he'd left behind? Or did he care more about a wolf who may or may not be his father? (The world may never know.) Kerosene lingered, watching for a moment more before he lowered his head to the prize and consumed his fill.

Approaching footsteps foretold the arrival of a third member of their pack, causing Impala's ears to twitch. His gray eyes slid sideways as a white she-wolf emerged from the surrounding woods and moved toward the kill. Before indulging, she glared at the yearling, who bowed his head deferentially while taking a few steps backward. She flung sharp, distasteful words at him, which her black companion corroborated. His father spoke last and Impala stared down at his own feet agin.

The problem was, he was none of these things: disloyal, fickle, a traitor. His loyalties remained with his grandparents, the Alphas of the Blackthorn Clan. He swallowed. He understood why these wolves so aggressively rejected his inability to commit. He did not hold it against them for requiring it from their recruits. But he badly wished to learn more about the man who might very well be his father. Would he be able to do that without going back on his word to Cathal and betraying his family?

As much as Impala remained convinced that he was looking at his sire, the holy grail of this expedition, he could not bring himself to break his oath to Cathal, the man who had raised him. "I understand," he said simply. To the russet male, he queried, "Would it be possible to call upon you in the future?" He paused, hoping for an affirmative answer and, moreover, a name. "I am Impala," the young hunter added.

While keeping one black-lined ear pricked for the other male's response, Impala made a point of backing even further away, certain he would now be driven away from the kill, and rightfully so. His dark eyes flicked upward, hoping this was not the first and last time he would lay eyes on his father.

-spits this out- sorry for crap post at work 

She knew there were nicer ways of saying what she'd said, but Kroc had not interest in being nice. She was interested in making sure the Spine remained strong and secure. Tonravik herself echoed the tank's statement and SFB detailed further. Kroc would not have explained, but she was not alpha. 

The red leader moved to eat and Kroc waited still, looking at Impala again as he spoke. "Outsiders are not permitted to linger at the Spine, on the borders or not." If he wanted to chit chat, he could call from neutral lands. If she found him on the borders, she'd attack him, no questions asked. 

As Kerosene ate, Kroc ventured closer to do the same, tearing at tender flesh with her teeth to fill her growling belly. 

He understood.

But asked another question.

Tonravik moved and in one large bound, stood protectively before her packs meal. They were a good enough distance where she need not chase him off from her lands, but she would attack him the moment he drew nearer to the Spines meal. Her tail waved over her back now, a low rumble sounding in her chest, threatening to spill forth if he did not go.

Her Beta answered in any case. Tonravik was less than eager about the idea of this, but would not refute it if her mate decided to know this other. So far as she could see, there was no vendetta here between them, but the possibility occurred to her that perhaps Impala wanted to ambush the wolf he thought was his father thinking himself abandoned. The woman was an obtuse one, but when it came to the wellbeing of the Spine, could be wary of others intentions. Still. Her mate was strong, and could handle himself.

Moose was quite good. It'd been a while since he'd dined upon one of their leggy kind. They were difficult to take down. All hoof and height and antler made for a tougher sport. This one? He smirked, his eyes flickering in the direction of his mate with a certain pride before he buried his head in tattered flesh. Tonravik was certainly something. None could match her prowess nor her determination once her mind was set on something. He liked that about her.

He also liked that Kroc was quick to sputter out their rules. The Spine took their borders seriously. If a wolf wanted in audience of them, it was always better to request one on neutral lands. The borders were close. Too close. They took them very seriously. Borders, and their kills. Tonravik's hostility increased as her patience began to wear thin. The teen wolf stepped back again. Smart boy.

"Call. If I'm within earshot, I will answer." He saw no harm in it. The boy seemed genuinely curious and if there was any flicker of a doubt as to his sincerity, Kerosene had no qualms with agreeing to an escort. He had every desire in the world to remain alive when his children were born. Extra precautions were something he could agree with full heartedly. He hoped, when that discussion arose, Tonravik would feel the same. He turned his attention more completely towards the golden wolf. "Someplace neutral," he reiterated before turning his nose back towards the kill. The boy's time here had expired.

Thank you for an awesome thread!

Once more, the white she-wolf spoke first, issuing a curt warning which Impala received with a nod. They seemed an aggressive pack, so the news that they did not welcome outsiders even on their outskirts came as no surprise. He wondered how many more they numbered, though before the yearling could delve too far into his thoughts, the red wolf spoke. He told Impala he could call for him from a neutral location, which caused the youthful hunter's heart to skip a beat, even if he did not receive a name.

"Thank you for your time," were his final words before Impala bowed his head and retreated quietly and hastily. He headed in no particular direction and, for a change, did not pay much attention to his surroundings. He pictured his father's face and tried to decide how, when and where to call for him. He wondered what sort of relationship, if any, they could forge, especially because the yearling could not swear his loyalty in good faith.

The trees thinned and he felt sunlight dappling his golden back. Impala paused, tipping his snout skyward to peer at the slivers of blue between the evergreen branches. Slowly, he lowered himself onto his haunches. The woods remained still and quiet around him as the young hunter decided what move to make next. He had located his sire. Perhaps he should return to Blackthorn Clan with the news, then speak with Cathal about what to do next: stay with the family who had raised him or perhaps embark on a new path...

After a quarter of an hour, he jumped to his feet and began to gallop away from his mother's former home in Neverwinter Forest, dark gray eyes focused on the long road ahead of him.