Otatso Wetlands I think I'm freaking out

@Magpie

The world sloshed around her as she walked, and it was frustrating enough to make Ptarmigan's hair stand on end. She had wandered into what appeared to be a gloomy forest, only to find that the ground was a complete and utter lie. Rushes and wetland algae clouded the stagnant water, looking so deceitfully like solid ground that when she first stepped through them, she yelped so loud that birds took flight around her.

Ptarmigan had pressed on undeterred from there, determined that it was only a puddle. It was only an overflown river. It was only a small lake... But the deeper she went, the more mired she became. Her fur was soaked through to the skin, and the chill of the shaded forest ate through to her bones. The only reprieve from the water and the muddy, slippery terrain were the knotted roots of trees, which were still all submerged. But even an hour of wandering didn't bring an end to the wetlands, and soon Ptarmigan pressed her body against the solid trunk of a tree and whined softly.

She still lived upon the fringes of the creek, afraid to immerse herself completely lest they decide not to keep her. Although from their perspective, it was she that was strange, Magpie still thought of them as outsiders. And with that, she remembered every terrifying story and warnings of them told by the Corvidae — there were other stories, of course, and perhaps a greater portion of the stories told were good. But those were a lot more difficult to remember when Magpie found herself utterly and completely alone; there was no familiarity here.

When a particularly strong bout of homesickness washed over the juvenile, she found herself journeying beyond the confines of the pack's territory. Of course, there wasn't a precise and clear line; but Magpie found a profound sense of freedom upon leaving the creek. It was the first time since she had arrived, and she hadn't realized how suffocating it had felt to be so rigidly stuck to one place. It was likely she would get in trouble for this; but in the moment, Magpie didn't care. Perhaps she could make this place feel like a home, if only she were free to occasionally come and go as she pleased.

Before long, she had come to the place where Fox had found her. It wasn't intentional, but she supposed it made sense. Maybe they sent another scout to find my body, she thought with a whine. In her belly, though, Magpie felt an uncomfortable twinge that spoke the truth her heart didn't want to accept. The Corvidae were long gone. She would never see Raven, or Treepie, or her brother and sisters again. Even so, her heart and mind refused to listen; she trudged on, determined to find any sign of her family.

Instead, she found a stranger stuck in the mire. Magpie knew how to find the solid portions of the wetland, if only because she had done it before. The wetlands generally looked the same whether mire or solid earth. She couldn't leave the female here to be swallowed by the swamp — the fate her family believed had befallen her — and so carefully moved closer, before tilting her head curiously and offering the stuck female a child-like and curious whuff.

A shiver crept up her spine, prompting the silver-smattered female to glance back in the direction she'd come. Ever since entering the wetlands, she had the strangest sense that she was being watched, but Ptarmigan had for a while ignored it and pressed on. Now that she had stopped, she could feel eyes on her... But whenever she looked around, there was nothing there. It was easily one of the creepiest places she'd ever wandered into, and the watchful spirits weren't helping.

She whipped her head around when the sound of rustling reeds and softly splashing water took on the semblance of an approaching creature. She coiled her body back, puffing up to appear larger in case it was her secret watcher come to take her to a muddy grave... But it was only a wolf that poked out of the gloom. A wolf who, at her front, resembled Ptarmigan in an uncanny way, but who wore a strange band of white right across her lower back. The soft chuffing sound was met by relaxation in Ptarmigan's posture, and with a softly waving tail she whispered, “are you lost too?”

At the shift in the other female's posture, Magpie sat. She felt oddly safe here, outside the border of the pack's territory. It felt good — a little exhilarating, actually — to be in neutral lands. Here, she knew exactly where she stood. Although there was much more to harm her here, without the protection of a pack to come to her aid, Magpie felt oddly equal. Perhaps a little stupidly, she no longer felt the need to constantly watch her back, or defend her presence. She was a wolf in unclaimed territory. So was the female that whispered to her.

Magpie shook her head at the question, though a small sliver of doubt suddenly found its way into her mind. She was fairly certain she knew the way back to the creek, but then she had been certain she knew how to find her way back to the Corvidae... and she hadn't, which was why she was in her particular situation. A heartbeat later, the youth loosed a cautious whine. Maybe I am.

Ptarmigan didn't get a verbal response, but the menagerie of tiny cues that crossed Magpie's face was more than enough to answer the question. The whine confirmed it. They were both hopelessly lost in this cesspool of a wetland. Any hope that the Endore had built up deflated, and she felt her shoulders slump as she leaned more heavily into the tree's embrace.

“Great,” she scowled, lifting her head to scan their surroundings for an exit. Nothing popped out from the dreary background. At length her gaze returned to Magpie, and for a moment she felt a touch of regret for her attitude regarding their joint situation. It wasn't very fair for her to expect a wolf that young to be the answer to her own problem. It was gone in an instant, however, as Ptarmigan decided that scapegoating Magpie was preferable to taking responsibility.

“Well, guess we'll die here,” she said with a resigned sigh. “But if you go first, I'm going to eat you. Just so you know.”

She was put off by the dramatic response to her admission; after all, it wasn't like she had gotten them both lost. Her doubt was replaced with anger, which flared both her pride and stubbornness. Magpie had, after all, initially believed she knew her way back to the creek — it was the stranger that had recast her certainty to uncertainty by questioning it. Green eyes narrowed, and she was of the mind to simply leave the female here to her fate, but the words spoken by the other stayed her paws.

Magpie exhaled sharply through her nose at the female's dramatic sigh, and the commentary about their deaths injured the teenager's pride. Death was a part of life, the little wolf knew, but it would not take her yet if she could help it. She was settled. Giving the stranger a pointed, irritated bark, Magpie returned to her feet and began to walk the way she had come. I won't die here, but you can, if you want. Nevermind that if the stranger did follow, then it really would be her fault if they got lost.

She had expected some sort of encouragement or comfort, but Magpie's response was nothing but a bark. One that seemed to be made of figurative knives. Ptarmigan glared back, her expression clearly saying well laaaa-dee-da. She couldn't help but to wonder whether Magpie was even real. How rude was it to completely ignore everything someone said and not even bother responding with anything more than a primitive bark? She rolled her eyes, only looking back when the small, white-banded wolf began to leave.

“Wait!” she called, reluctantly dunking herself back into the slushy mud bog and wading after Magpie. Though Ptarmigan might have admitted to finding anything more fun than following the cavewoman of a wolf around, it was the only way she knew to potentially find a way out. She also knew that if in fact one of them starved to death, she wanted to at least be able to find Magpie to eat her remains if she was the lucky survivor.

Magpie paid little attention to the attitude emanating from every fiber of the other's being, though she was well aware that it was there. But, really, how else was she expected to respond to a wolf that had just said she would resort to cannibalism. It disgusted the young female, to think that anyone could disrespect their brethren in such a way, but she supposed when she was dead and a spirit flitting around in the breeze, she probably wouldn't care much what happened to her body. It was the principle of the thing.

She paused when the other finally cried out for her to wait, and Magpie gave her a look that was accompanied by a knowing smirk. Suddenly overcome with a feeling of power, the juvenile decided to veer off in a direction she clearly hadn't come from, but she did so with an air of confidence. Let the other think what she would — hopefully it would scare the attitude right out of her, let her believe Magpie was taking her to some sort of lair. Only when the stranger was well and truly at her mercy would the juvenile turn back to her tried-and-true route.

She snaked her tongue over her jaws and nose as she followed the mute juvenile, awaiting some indication of where she was being led. Ptarmigan never entertained the thought of being brought to some witch's hut or monster's den. She was grounded in reality, and therefore the very concept of some of the things other wolves believed in—spirits and the like—was ludicrous in her eyes. The dark-haired female held fast to the belief that the lost juvenile would lead her to safety.

Having already forgotten that Magpie likely held something against her for her piss poor attitude, Ptarmigan spoke up from behind the youth, as though she had some right to do so. “What's with the silent treatment?” she wondered loudly, pinning the other with an accusing stare. “Do you think it makes you creepy or something?” Was that offensive? Oh well.

Stories had been the lifeblood given to whelps born to the Corvidae, and Magpie's imagination was wild with them. If a wolf were leading her through this place and she did not know it, she would have imagined that she were being taken somewhere sinister. It felt good to not be that wolf, and she was going to milk this situation for what it was worth. However, with the stranger following obediently and without worry, Magpie's step soon showed her boredom and disappointment. They could wander in this direction for a small bit longer, and then they would go back the way she knew.

It wasn't long before the other spoke through the silence, and Magpie stopped walking to turn at face her. The female pinned her with green eyes that rivaled her own, but still the youth said nothing. When she was accused of trying to creepy, Magpie snorted dismissively. Still, the older wolf had sparked something in the juvenile and she responded in a similarly childlike manner, "I only talk to wolves that are worth it."

She thought that Magpie was preparing to turn around to glare daggers at her until she left, but the younger wolf only snorted. Ptarmigan flicked her ears forward challengingly, pushing her boundaries with a stranger, but before she could do much more than that, the banded wolf spoke. This alone shut Ptarm right up, if only because it was the last thing she had expected.

A smirk worked its way across her lips then, and she accepted this explanation with the rolling of a single shoulder. It was apparent from the way the smile touched her eyes that this was a satisfactory answer in the Endore's eyes, partly because it was ballsy and partly because it implied that she was worth it. Although it wasn't likely they would become fast friends or anything like that, whatever Ptarmigan had against the youth was suddenly put aside as approval replaced it. The other's attitude was admirable, at least to Ptarmigan, who never would have had the balls to say that out loud.

All she said in response as she continued to tail the yearling was, “smart choice.”

Magpie had shut her mouth with a click after her small speech, choosing to bravely ignore any display of dominance that the other had shown. Her green eyes were fixed on the older female, challenging but not bitter; the banded girl was confident for her age, though she hardly showed it amongst the pack she now belonged to. She was far more comfortable here in neutral ground, where she knew exactly where she stood.

Thankfully, her words seemed to wash the attitude right out of her companion — though not quite in the way that she had hoped. She opened her mouth to say something else, like, Not that you're worth it, you're just annoying the crap out of me, but she supposed that at this point, the hole was already dug and regardless of the content of her words, they were likely to be taken by the other as a compliment. Magpie closed her mouth, her expression clearly confused, before she turned to continue leading their trek.

Smart choice, the other then quipped, and the juvenile wheeled around suddenly to face her once more. "Aren't you, like, old?" she questioned saucily, giving up on the silent act because she had already broken the metaphorical cherry with this one. "How don't you know how to find your way out of this place? Just pick a direction and walk, since it's got to end sometime." It was the most she had spoken in a long time, and it felt good.

Hope you don't mind I archived it here so you wouldn't have to worry bout this thread when you got back! Feel free to resurrect it and tack on one last post if you'd like to!

She flung her ears forward and drew up to her full height, half expecting to be outright attacked when the younger female turned on a dime. Instead, a question was thrown her way that struck a very tender nerve, resulting in the falling of Ptarmigan's face into a mask of shock and then one of outrage. She didn't justify the kick at her age with a response, if only because she was in fact much older than Magpie and wanted to seem like the more mature one. She bit her tongue, doing her damnedest to keep from asking the Creek wolf where her mommy was.

“Fine,” she snapped, shouldering roughly past the juvenile with a flip of her tail to show her indignation. It's a matter of efficiency, she almost said, but something caused the words to stick in her throat. As she left Magpie behind, doing her best not to fall into the muddy water and wail in despair for her predicament, she hotly muttered, “unhelpful little wench,” just loud enough for the other wolf to hear it.