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Adjusting to life with the Vale wolves was not hard. In fact, it resorted him to the most simplistic of instincts and took out much of the need for spoken conversation, something that the Norseman was secretly grateful for. It was humiliating to stumble over the words of their common tongue when he much preferred his native tongue. Yet, this also put him at a disadvantage surely. How was his common tongue to improve if he did not speak it? The avoidance of conversation was both a blessing and a curse. Rigr was content to linger with the pack for the days had joined the nights in the bitter and chilling cold. Winter was upon them and he was grateful for the pack's acceptance. Still, he was loathe to entirely give up the very desire that had driven him here in the first place. He hadn't asked but wondered what the policies on venturing outside of Duskvale were. While he waited out winter he could be collecting valuable information that would serve to be useful to him.
Rigr's bi-colored gaze focused on the groundhog a few feet from him, where he'd broken off from the pack to sate his hunger, though he remained close by, venturing off into the yellow zone of where they had previously been in pursuit of the large rodent. It dug at the grass and freezing earth, throwing clumps of dirt behind it before it's head popped up and it ceased chewing, a beady black eye focusing on Rigr's form, hunkered low and coiled tight like a bow string ready to be released. A slow exhale was taken before he filled his lungs with the chilly morning air and lunged at the rodent. It hesitated for a moment but managed to wiggle its way out of Rigr's first attempt to grasp it, his teeth lashing against and grazing the flesh of it's back as it squirmed free. Rigr propelled himself after it, teeth snapping against flesh again. The chase continued for a small while before Rigr's patience had worn dangerously thin and he lunged himself at it once and for all, seizing it's neck betwixt his jaws and giving his head a series of harsh shakes, feeling bones snap beneath the power of his jaws as the groundhog laid limp betwixt his jaws.
Content he dropped it unceremoniously to the ground with a sickening plop and slowly began to feast, eager to take his time and enjoy his breakfast after it had almost escaped him.
[/td][/tr][/table]Rigr's bi-colored gaze focused on the groundhog a few feet from him, where he'd broken off from the pack to sate his hunger, though he remained close by, venturing off into the yellow zone of where they had previously been in pursuit of the large rodent. It dug at the grass and freezing earth, throwing clumps of dirt behind it before it's head popped up and it ceased chewing, a beady black eye focusing on Rigr's form, hunkered low and coiled tight like a bow string ready to be released. A slow exhale was taken before he filled his lungs with the chilly morning air and lunged at the rodent. It hesitated for a moment but managed to wiggle its way out of Rigr's first attempt to grasp it, his teeth lashing against and grazing the flesh of it's back as it squirmed free. Rigr propelled himself after it, teeth snapping against flesh again. The chase continued for a small while before Rigr's patience had worn dangerously thin and he lunged himself at it once and for all, seizing it's neck betwixt his jaws and giving his head a series of harsh shakes, feeling bones snap beneath the power of his jaws as the groundhog laid limp betwixt his jaws.
Content he dropped it unceremoniously to the ground with a sickening plop and slowly began to feast, eager to take his time and enjoy his breakfast after it had almost escaped him.
and so we ask ourselves:
will our actions echo across the centuries?
will our actions echo across the centuries?
December 11, 2016, 05:01 PM
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This pack was unlike the many others he had tried to mesh himself in to. They weren't a family. They did not need him as desperately, for each wolf among them was strong on their own. Together they had formed this collection of self-sufficient entities that need not rely on any others — yet they thrived when they supported one another. It was a strange thing to Tryphon, who had always felt like the outcast, the one that did not belong, the odd duck. Those feelings had not totally left him but with each passing day, each shared moment with the ever-present group, and each second utilized to protect Saena, he felt more and more at-ease with everything.
So when he saw a figure he only vaguely recognized branch off from the group, his interest was mildly transfixed.
Tryphon had spent most of his morning making sure Saena (and the copper girl Indra, who was never far from her side) had been cared for, and then sought out Dagfinn for some light-hearted wrestling; he was breathing heavily and still feeling pumped with adrenaline when they broke apart, and so when he spotted the wolf in the distance, he was feeling bold enough to investigate. Without thought, the boy's body lifted from its lethargic, head-hanging, Eeyore-esque sag and took on a natural confidence; Tryphon wasn't aware of it, but he was boasting the posture of a leader, or someone close to it. His tail had flagged out behind him and his head was up, face alert and ears pivoted forwards expectantly.
When he saw the wolf grappling with something down by its paws, the boy came up eagerly to his flank, and as he loomed, he absent-mindedly rumbled a tone that would've made even Warbone proud. He could smell food and having tussled with Dagfinn, Tryphon was hungry — it was only right he call dibs, even if it was subconcious.
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