Swiftcurrent Creek & heaven knows i'm miserable now

AW to swiftcurrent wolves, looking for someone to yap to abt milan !!
-- tags for ref . (looks at you xenon)

He'd been playing in the meadow with @Milan only a few hours before. And now, he was back at the creek, patrolling the borders like the good packmate he was trying to be. Stoic face was hardened, cold as he traced along the pack scents. But his mind kept wandering to the Bearclaw doe. Her face, smile, laugh.

All of it played within Frederick's mind like a scratched DVD—replaying over and over only to pause on the whisper of her voice: "Hi."

With a long groan, Frederick squeezed his eyes shut, letting his head hang low, neck stretching out as he stood in place. Trying to force the woman out of his head wasn't working. He needed to be banished, or something. To be executed. That was the only way he'd be able to get the thought of her out of his head.

He opened his eyes once more, continuing to trudge forwards, rather absent-minded, too. A grey lump on the horizon was all that his eyes could focus on. A large, flat rock. Frederick headed towards it, paws eventually firm upon it's base.

The goliath would climb up, laying across the rock. Looking depressed. Feeling depressed. And also lonely. He sighed, trying to convert what he felt now to happiness for even getting to bound with the woman. To share space with her. To know her.

It worked, a bit. But the warmth of her pelt felt so far away.

Sometimes storylines merge in the most unexpected ways and it was about to happen today. Here was this tall, regal and handsome man living out his own Romeo and Juliet story, feeling the first anguish of love and desire for a person they could not have. A tale as old as time and had the fate wished it to be so, it would have sent either the lady in question herself to him so that they could profess their love for each other and have a good jolly time, or a friend to either encourage or discourage from doing anything. Instead he sent a five month old copy of Arric on short legs, eagerly searching for something and having an air of a person deeply discontent with everything. 

He spotted the packmate in the distance, beelined towards him and without a "hello" and "my name is" demanded: "Did you murder Mr Fluffy?!"  He tried to appear very angry and serious and were it not for the size difference, he would have even seemed scary. 

And a tiny, small little charcoal-covered baby came and yelled at him, providing Frederick with quite the fright. A yelp, and a glance casted downwards only to see what looked like a mini version of one of Swiftcurrent's betas. White ring around the eye and everything. @Arric, he scorned, deep within the recesses of his mind. Your tiny clone just scared the shit out of me. A huff, then.

No, I did not, Fred said, almost trying to nudge the child away with a large, white paw. You should refrain from sneaking up on a person like that, especially while they are brooding. You shocked me. Not scared. Scared was too strong a word for this mere fur-ball. While he usually could deal with, entertain, those of youth, he was not particularly in the mood for it today, and so he would begin walking away.

But then guilt would grip him, fist made of iron, tightly welded around his form, and he would sigh. Relent. Turning back to the child, he observed the kid before sitting upon his rump. You are one of Arric's, his words were factual, almost flat. I am Frederick. And your name is..? It would be disrespectful, he thought, not to know the name of the deputies own child. Their own spawn. So he would learn it.

A breath. Though the thought of Milan was fleeting, now.

"Isn't that something, what a murderer would say?" Burdock did not buy the guy's answer for a second and, even though the white beast was the size of three such puppies as him, he had outgrown the phase, where he feared and took every word adults said for granted. Noooo, folks, he was in the annoying stage, where he trusted no one and questioned everything. 

"Mr Fluffy was white and you are white. So, it makes you a perfect suspect. If you ended him, then no one would see the white fur on you," he cemented his logic, evaded the big paw intended to shove him away and sat down, looking at the fellow through narrowed eyes. Frederick mentioned something about not sneaking up on people being polite and in response to that Burdock snorted: "I wonder, how come you have survived this long, if you hate being sneaked up on. You have to be always ready. Besides - aren't you a bit too old to be afraid?"

"Burdock," he replied, paused, remembered their earliery topic of conversation and continued. "So, why did you end Mr Fluffy?"

To be accused of murder by such a small child. Such a thing came with two revelations: 1) How did this child know what murder was? And 2) How often did this child go around crying 'murderer' for no good reason? The colour of Frederick's pelt seemed to be the only evidence of this so-called crime. And then he was called 'too old'. Perhaps this pup was the murderer—Frederick's self-esteem was feeling quite dead.

Burdock, he sighed, looking towards the child in a pointed manner. I do not know who 'Mr Fluffy' is. I did not murder him, either. Perhaps you should investigate someone else on the matter. Perhaps someone that had more energy for the kid's games, or his wild theories, or his misplaced accusations. Maybe Frederick would not prove to be a good father after all. But at that thought, something panged within him.

An urge to prove himself wrong.

And so, with a blink and a why the hell not, he sat down, turning to face the pup. Who is the next likely suspect? And perhaps he would feed Burdock's imagination.