Porcupine Ridge the devil and his sons

@Taggarik perhaps? He's looking to join the pack :)

He wasn't exactly angry that Sebastian failed to do what he promised to do which was to start a pack on Dragoncrest Cliffs. Sure, he was a bit annoyed for the charcoal tank to lead him on, and then to dump him when he decided he had enough of playing the role of Alpha, but Romulus was more amused than irritated. Seb could still gather members and lead alone if he truly wanted a pack, but he wanted love but love did not want him. In a way, it was a tragic love story and Romulus enjoyed every bit of watching it. Technically, Sebastian didn't 'dump' him, he'd offered for the Roman to follow them in search of a pack but Rom was no longer one of them and he, being independent to a fault, refused.

Winter's grasp upon Teekon Wilds was forcing him to find a band of wolves, or better even, a pack to stay with, at least until this cold season ended. Surviving winter alone was not impossible, but it was hard and while Romulus was pretty sure he would be able to survive it alone, he wasn't going to take any chances and the moment he found a pack that didn't look like it housed crazy psychopaths like Blackfeather Woods and they had enough space for one more member, he was going to join.

Romulus headed south once more, having found no packs on any of the lands that he wanted to settle in. He wouldn't mind starting a pack, but in the middle of winter with no wolves to be found, the odds were against him and right now, he would rather like to be alive than to be dead halfway through trying to gather members for a pack that was destined to never be formed. So he moved and moved, but still, he found nothing and slowly, he was losing hope.

Rom pawed the ground and lifted his head, nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of wolves which meant more than one wolf. It didn't seem to be a pack yet, but perhaps they were on the cusp of forming and would be glad to accept one more able body. He stood at the edges and observed, not sure what action he should take next.

He'd mentally mapped about one fifteenth of the ridge and added ground squirrel to his mental catalogue of animals that could be found upon it. Excellent. The loner was well on his way to becoming a functional member of Taggarik's pack, even if the wolves who were flocking to it were the sort that vocalized more than was necessary for basic communication. Farstep was already learning to ignore the gruff noises that his companions made unless he could guess at a specific purpose for making them, which often went hand-in-hand with their body language. His fluency in that, at least, made up for his inability to speak or understand words.

The snowy ridge, once pristine, was now littered with the prints of himself, Taggarik, Capriccio and whoever else had come to call the place home. Their scents intermingled on the wind into a conglomerate message—here there be wolves—that was surely what attracted Romulus to their borders.

But Farstep was higher up and had the advantage of sight. As he was inspecting a set of tracks he was unfamiliar with, slight motion in his periphery made the silent wolf turn his head slowly. There! Nearing the ridge's base, a creature cut a shade apart from the snow. For a moment Farstep wasn't sure what sort of creature it was, but as he turned and began a graceful descent toward Romulus, the figure took shape. Too large for a coyote, so he must be a wolf. For once, the lone male approached with some level of confidence, a vast improvement over his usual nervousness. He pressed forward his ears as he made his final approach of Romulus, squared his shoulders, and lifted his head high (but not too high; he wasn't the leader here) to expectantly await an appropriate response.

Can skip Farstep as needed, mostly keen on exploring how he handles border duty.

But before Romulus had to make a decision, someone made it for him. A figure descended down and slowly approached him. He tilted his head, eyes narrowed, taking in the unfamiliar wolf. Slowly, the silhouette became a solid wolf, draped in a pelt of agouti tans, browns and blacks and graced with eyes of clear blue. The stranger's posture displayed some level of confidence, ears forward, shoulders squared and head lifted, but not too high to show that he was the leader here. Obviously, this agouti wolf was one of the wolf smells that he'd scented here; perhaps a member of a pack ready to be formed.

The other male did not speak but was obviously waiting expectantly for a response. Romulus, himself, stood confidently, but he dropped his ears, lowered more than the agouti, head tilted down a little but still held up high and his tail was held very slightly lower. Too high, and he'd seem disrespectful; too low, and he'd appear weak. His posture was just right. Romulus turned his head a whisker to the side, showing he meant no harm and the tip of his tail wagged slowly, amiably.

"Is a pack being founded here?" he asked softly, lowly in his smooth baritone voice, expecting an answer in return.

spectator mode activated!

The time was nigh. He had his minimum numbers. So with that, Taggarik took to his borders and started to lay down the first scent markers, confident that his wolves would take their turn to add their own scent, and would see to borders' defense. He knew already that Farstep and Capriccio patrolled the edge of their domain frequently, their tracks were embedded into the trail his own sizeable paws had first made. He was greatly pleased with them.

Speak of the devil, it was not long before the black wolf caught a whiff of his silent companion, and with it, the scent of someone new. He advanced on their position quickly, and though he felt the pull to assert himself, his curiosity took precedence. He slowed and stopped some distance away, his confident, neutral posture betraying nothing of his position. From here he could watch and hear, and he looked forward to seeing how his non-talking packmate would handle a stranger on their borders.

The first thing he took note of was the minimal submission the gray youth showed.

What Farstep expected was utmost submission, at least enough to prove that the wolf standing on the edge of Taggarik's ridge was capable of following others. Farstep may not have been the alpha but to a lone wolf seeking acceptance into a pack, that pack's hierarchy was irrelevant—all were superiors in that moment. The flattening of ears, the upward tilt of a supplicating snout, the press of tail against hindquarters or at least a very low, full-bodied wag would have been all very acceptable actions. After all, Romulus had approached the pack. It was only logical that he show absolute deference to those who called these lands home; it was a sign of intelligence and respect in Farstep's feral world. Unfortunately for both of them, Romulus did not show utmost submission. Hell, he scarcely showed even a modicum of it.

Though the youth brought his head lower and pulled his ears back, his head was not craned upward with respect, and his tail... his tail was the biggest issue. Held only slightly lower than Farstep's own, with a stiff wagging of only the tip suggesting that the wolf was tense rather than friendly, and that the posturing was relatively significant. In other words, Romulus' body language suggested that he did not truly acknowledge Farstep's position above him. Definitely not acceptable here. Arrogance did not sit well with the tawny wolf anywhere, let alone where his pack resided. His face transformed into a mask of offense as his muzzle wrinkled over, with lips threatening to pull back over his teeth in a silent warning grimace. His tail, waving amiably just above his hindquarters before, stiffened completely and rose into a line above his hips. No sir, he was not a happy pack wolf, and Romulus now had about ten seconds to swallow his pride and correct his posture before the drifter would deem him a threat to Taggarik's authority and send him packing.

Another wolf soon joined them, dark furred and gray eyed, his posture was similar to the agouti male's: confident and neutral but he too, did not speak and Romulus was beginning to wonder if he made the right decision coming here. Already, a small part of him wished that Sebastian's pack had actually been founded; at least the charcoal male had a voice and a sense of humor, and didn't seem to mind the Roman's general snarkiness and vanity. Young and arrogant, Romulus already resembled his father in ways that were definitely not good and it was going to take a lot of time and effort to correct the youth's behavior and to make him act in a respectful, cordial manner sincerely.

The sudden longing for Sebastian and Aduin approached once more as the agouti male's face transformed, muzzle wrinkling, lips threatening to show teeth and his tail which had been rather amiable before had stiffened and rose. It was obvious that this wolf was not happy with his show of minimum submission and it was all Romulus could do to not shift his own features into a grimace and challenge the other wolf. He would have done that if not for his hunger and his utmost desire to survive. Instead, his velvety ears flattened completely against his skull, his tail dropped until it hung by his ankles, flicking in an apologetic manner. Romulus averted his gaze and respectfully looked the other way as well as crouching down to appear smaller and submissive.

It hurt. It genuinely and literally hurt Romulus to do that. It hurt not only his pride, but his whole person and it was all he could do not to grimace at himself. Instead, he remained quiet and silent, swallowing most of his pride. However much he did to suppress the desire, though, it still remained. The desire to overthrow this agouti wolf in front of him.

There was nothing weak about a show of submission, if anything it demonstrated a strength of character, wisdom in knowing one's place and how important that place was the survival and well-being of the pack. The black wolf knew what was coming. He had witnessed his subordinate's displeasure for a lack of regard of the order of things before, on the terrace to the west.

Farstep reacted as expected, intensifying his display, demanding the respect that was owed to him as a pack wolf on his own territory confronting a lone wolf that sought to live among them. Taggarik held his position, his lips pursing and brows raising as he peered down his muzzle at the young male. Really? his expression seemed to say. Fortunately, the loner realized his error and corrected his posture, but the thing about first impressions were that they came first, and there was only one of them to be had.

"Tsk tsk," Tagg chided humorously, winking at the prone boy. He would allow Farstep another moment of control before stepping in.

After a brief moment where Farstep couldn't tell whether Romulus would challenge him or do as he wished, the youth finally submitted properly. His face smoothed back out into a mask of neutrality the moment that Romulus crouched lower and pressed down his tail. The tawny wolf only then became aware of Taggarik, who had come to stand nearby. He swung his head around to gaze at the alpha, then arranged himself into his own form of submission: ears back, tail falling lower, shoulders back and not hunched. He whined his greeting and swept his whole tail side to side, pleased that the alpha was here to take over.

Before truly leaving the scene, though, Farstep would reach out in an effort to clamp Romulus' muzzle firmly, but painlessly, between his jaws, if the youth would allow him to. He meant it as a dual sign of acceptance and welcome intertwined with a reminder of their respective ranks, but his approach was slow and deliberate, aware that Romulus might refuse to tolerate it, as many wolves did. Always he kept a lowered ear cocked toward Taggarik, in case the alpha male would not tolerate Farstep's display here—it was always a possibility that the lead male would want to do the honours, or that he might wish to demand more submission than what was given. He was ready to dart away if Taggarik showed even the slightest sign of displeasure, but until then, he continued reaching for the boy's snout.

Romulus's silver ears twitched as a voice cut through the tense silence of the air. It didn't say any actual words, but instead, the owner of the voice was tsking him. In a humorous manner. As if this was anything that was funny, or needed tsking. His anger flared and for a moment, Rom was tempted to lift his head and glare straight into the speaking wolf's eyes, challenging him but he restrained himself and kept silent, ears returning to their position flat against his proud silver crown. This is the real world, the wild world, he thought to himself grimly. You got to play this right, or you'll end up dead. Dad won't be very happy with you. Not that he'll know anyways. Don't disappoint dad, he taught you all about this world, you should've listened. Make him proud.

Romulus remained still in his position of submission, he did not raise his eyes when the tawny wolf greeted the black male, did not do anything but stay still. It was the middle of winter and Rom couldn't afford to be turned away yet. If it was spring or summer, perhaps he would have challenged the agouti and left, but now, he simply couldn't afford to be mouthy and rude just yet. He needed a pack; a place where he could survive. His pride would have to wait. Survival came first. Reduced to the basic instinct to survive, eh? Thought you said that'll never happen to you, said a nasty voice inside his head. I'm naive and stupid, I'll play it right now, Romulus replied to the voice in his head in a rueful manner, ashamed at himself but still fueled with hurt pride and anger.

The youth's ears twitched again, catching the sounds of slow approach and his heartbeat quickened immediately. Surely, surely not, he thought to himself, rather panicked. Then the panic was replaced by fiery rage and youthful idiotic aggressiveness. He submitted already, so what the hell? Romulus's first instinct was to jump away and snarl at the approaching male which pretty much meant being a lone wolf once more. Stop, he thought to himself fiercely. Restrain yourself, boy. Your father taught you better than that, snarled the cold voice of his patron god in his head. If you're beaten before you've even joined a pack, you're utterly pathetic, unworthy of being my champion, Pluto spat at him.

Romulus winced, bi-colored eyes glazed over for a second and a shadow of a grimace crossed his face before vanishing into a mask of neutrality once more. His muscles tensed beneath his thick winter coat, and his blunt claws dug into the snow before relaxing once more. He did not move, but remained still, grimacing only slightly.

His silent subordinate acknowledged him then, greeting him with respect submission, which Taggarik returned with a friendly and appreciating wave of his tail. Farstep seemed content by the boy's efforts to correct his error; he grabbed the loner's muzzle between his jaws, a reminder of their hierarchy and a gesture of welcome, one that the black wolf was not inclined to interfere with as he watched with a small smile. He did not miss the grimace that appeared on the gray face.

When Farstep presumably moved to the side, Taggarik stepped forward, drawn to his full height with his ears turned forward and his tail lifted high and swaying lightly. "What is your name?" The gray wolf had some learning to do if he were to make it on the ridge, and although the black wolf almost considered turning him away for his struggle to show submission and accept the superiority of another, he ultimately decided that he would give him a chance providing he made no further errors in the next few moments.

He sensed Romulus' discomfort more than he saw it, but of course, he didn't pay much mind to it. Some wolves were uncomfortable with the notion of submitting to others; it was those wolves who often found themselves bereft of companionship amongst their peers, too consumed with their own self-worth to make meaningful connections. Romulus was an immature male, as well, not yet the ripe age of two years, so his pride was the misplaced foolishness of youth. Farstep had made such mistakes when he was so young, but time as a lone wolf with nothing to lose had stripped him of his youthful pride. Now, he carried with him a confidence borne of finding life with a pack, but knew there were times when pushing the envelope was inappropriate, and he knew the sorts of wolves he would instantly lower his head to. Taggarik was one such wolf, a man who knew the subtle language of the body and agreed with Farstep's principles regarding when and where it was appropriate, and presumably, a man who would not take offense to an appropriate display of dominance. With an Alpha to follow, Farstep was more likely to test others and attempt to gain an advantage over them—it was the natural way of things—but he knew well when to submit, and knew it was not a sign of weakness to do so.

He gloved the young wolf's muzzle momentarily, then let go and stepped away from the encounter. He was free to go anywhere now; it was Taggarik's situation to control. Yet he remained, hovering nearby in the event that further, more severe domination was required with the yearling before them. Taggarik was more than capable of it on his own, but Farstep could intervene to enhance the display if so needed. It wasn't unusual to gang up on a subordinate that way. Besides, as a subordinate of Taggarik's, it was his duty to ensure the Alpha male reigned supreme, until such a time as a better wolf deposed him, if ever that should occur.

The tawny wolf approached and clamped Romulus's pale sterling muzzle between his jaws painlessly but still firmly, reminding the young Roman of how much he did not know or like about this world. It didn't matter what he liked though, because if he wanted to survive, if he wanted to be a true wolf, he would need to get used to the ways of the wild. His father had told him of his endless pride and how it had gotten him into trouble, his father knew when to submit and Rom thought he could too. Apparently not. It was at that moment when he promised himself to learn everything he could about this world and when he did so, he would be like his father, a ruler.

But until then, Romulus knew his place was with the subordinates and surprisingly enough, even to the silver prince himself, he was content with it. Perhaps it was the part of him that was his mother that acted this way, and for that, he was grateful. He remembered his mother's comfort and gentleness and silently drew peace from the memory, for he knew if he only had his father's pride and stubbornness, he was going to die quickly in the real world. He remembered those painful lessons of humiliation and for once, was glad for it; it was, after all, practice for real world. His father had taught him well on the laws of wolves, it was just Rom's teenage immatureness that made him this way but he was going to learn; he had to learn.

The tawny wolf released him but Romulus remained utterly still and silent, waiting as the black wolf approached. Respectfully, only the corner of the Roman youth's bi-colored gaze grazed the wolf's form as he came forward, noting his posture and realising, all too late, that the Alpha Male had been watching all along. Cursing himself internally for his foolishness, Romulus's tail crept between his ankles and he crouched lower, ears pressing hard against his skull and head held in respect. He made far too many mistakes in five minutes, no way in hell was he going to make more.

"Romulus," the Roman replied quietly, "Romulus Frostfur."

Taggarik was satisfied and nodded once. "Tagg," he introduced himself. "Alright then, Romulus," he said, "come. I'll show you around." He would keep a watchful eye on the young male as he assimilated into the pack, but his first order of business was to escort him into the ridgelands. He stepped forward to brush his shoulder against his new packmember, welcoming him physically and lending his scent so that he could not be mistaken for a trespasser. Then with a sweep of his tail he turned and headed inward, presumably with Romulus in tow, and perhaps Farstep if he did not go his own way.

The exchange went amiably. Farstep didn't miss the ease with which Romulus submitted to Taggarik, far different than the way he himself had been treated. That was expected given a difference in ranks, but his eye would remain upon the youth as well, critical until such a time as Romulus proved that he knew who his superiors were. Who all of them were, not just the Alpha male.

He slunk away from the scene, shaking out his fur as he went, intent on finding a stream to slake his sudden thirst.

The Alpha Male nodded once, telling the Roman's name his own name in return before asking, or more correctly, ordered the yearling to follow his leader so Tagg could show him around his new home. Truth to be told, Romulus had only been finding a pack to stay for the winter and his plan was to leave right after that, but then he realised that that wasn't really a good plan and decided that if Porcupine Ridge was a good fit for him and if he learnt a lot from this then he would stay, and possibly, settle here for a long, long, long time.

But that was too far away for Rom to think about this now and so, he simply shook out his coat and obediently followed his superior, tail wagging to show his barely suppressed excitement of his new home. Mother and Father would both be proud of him.