Porcupine Ridge Just a ghost running scared

There was a vole under the snow. Farstep could hear it, its little feet scratching against the harder ground below as it tunneled through the thicker banks near the base of the ridge. He followed it doggedly as it worked its way downhill, with his tail flagging every time he caught the sound again after losing it. His head whipped to and fro as the vole scurried in zigzags, but no matter how keenly he was able to hear it and follow it, every time he brought his paws down in a slam, he missed it.

Damn vole. It was too clever for him.

Still, it preoccupied him enough to carry him to Taggarik's borders, where the growing scent of the alpha male triggered a new instinct in Farstep. He stopped right where he was, hiked a leg carefully, and urinated over the alpha's paw prints to refresh the scent. With that finished, the wolf gave his shoulders a quick shake, scratched his hind feet against the ground as if a tiny dusting of snow could cover the yellow patch he'd left, and loped after his quarry once more, this time following the vole parallel to the newly laid border line.

Anwyl marched along the new borders of the ridge pack with pride. It felt good to belong to something again. He liked the territory so far. Lots of trees at the bases of the ridge, which suited him just fine. Forests were his favorite place to be. He looked up suddenly, catching a familiar scent as it passed his muzzle. He didn't know the particular wolf, but he could tell by its scent markings along the border that it was one of the ridge wolves. Now would be a perfect chance to meet a new pack mate.

The yearling male bounded through the frosty snow, his large white paws sinking into the snow every time they hit. It was very frustrating, this was his first winter where he wasn't a pup, and he wasn't sure how he liked snow so far. He finally came to find a brown wolf walking along the borders and marking his scent. Anwyl grinned to himself, satisfied by his tracking skills and barked out to the other male. Hey! Wait up. He slid down a small frosty hill and next to the male. He skidded to a halt in front of him, tucking his tail and bowing his head submissively. Hi I'm Anwyl, part of the new pack here like you.

Surely if he followed it for a while, the vole would show its face in time. Could voles breathe under the snow? Farstep didn't know, but he would've guessed that they couldn't, so this was really just a waiting game until it had to come up for air. But maybe a vole was like those creatures of the sea that could go weeks without breathing, or so he thought. A week was a terribly long time for him to track a vole. This thought made his paws falter, and soon he drew to a halt, discouraged by the thought of the vole persisting beneath the snow for longer than a few minutes.

This was enough time for Anwyl to locate him. Farstep started when the silvery youth seemed to appear before him in a flurry of snow. His usual nervousness began to worm in his stomach until Anwyl's head and tail both went lower than his own, and then the agouti wolf could relax. He didn't have any particular ambitions, but he could smell a male that wasn't sexually mature apart from one that was, and in his eyes, yearlings were still pups. Not wet behind the ears like real pups, but still not mature enough to stand above their sexually mature companions. A prejudiced viewpoint, surely, but the world Farstep came from emphasized age as well as ability to command respect; as a yearling, he had had no right to dominate his elder siblings unless they let him, and so he believed that was true elsewhere, even here.

Anwyl was a smart yearling, though, with no wayward pride or overbearing sense of his own worth. That was good. This was a wolf who would fit seamlessly into the hierarchy and wouldn't rock the boat enough to make the pack chaotic. Oh, every subordinate rocked the boat in their own way, especially when vying for a higher rank, but all were careful not to upset the balance of the pack. A perfect example of a pack wolf was Anwyl. Farstep was pleased with that. He arranged himself into an easy dominance, high head held only a little higher and his tail horizontal and waving fully, a friendly gesture.

To Anwyl's question, which he did not comprehend, Farstep had no verbal response. Instead he stretched out his neck, hoping Anwyl would let him sniff the downy fur on the top of his head and would take the opportunity to smell Farstep in return, so they could become familiar with one another on a more primal level.

Anwyl didn't expect the response he was given. The tawny brown male seemed to disregard his words. Perhaps he didn't understand. Anwyl had heard of wolves who didn't speak. Whether the brown male couldn't understand, or couldn't hear, Anwyl didn't know. But at least he seemed friendly. Farstep extended his neck to sniff at Anwyl's soft forehead. He bowed down, allowing the male to do so, obviously Farstep was more dominant than him and he didn't want to come off as rude or disrespectful. If the male didn't understand speech, Anwyl would have to get more instinctual with his actions.

Once the older wolf finished getting used to Anwyl's scent, the yearling reached forwards to sniff him return, with permission of course. So far he liked Farstep, the male's lack of comprehension for speech intrigued him. He was tempted to ask why he couldn't understand, but that wouldn't do any good. All he could really do was ponder. Curiosity flared inside his pale blue eyes as he took in his new pack mate's scent. He'd definitely never smelled it before. Then again pretty much all of Teekon Wild's scents were unfamiliar.

Anwyl permitted him to sniff his crown. The yearling smelled of Taggarik and also of the female of the pack, Capriccio, whom Farstep had enjoyed an afternoon of play with not long ago. A definite pack member, then, and one of the two unfamiliar scents about the lands. He'd known from the smells that there were two other males on the ridge, but one of them was only prevalent in the lower reaches of the ridge and faintly at that, and the other belonged to this wolf. Pleased to make his acquaintance, Farstep gave Anwyl all the time he needed to scent him out, then withdrew a half-pace.

With a cheeky twinkle in his eye, the Gamma opened his jaws and gnashed them harmlessly, playfully, at the air in front of Anwyl's nose. He enjoyed a good jaw spar with any wolf and hoped to entice his newest acquaintance into one. His front half dipped slightly toward the ground and his tail flagged high, curled and waving jovially, as he wriggled in place.

Anwyl was snapped suddenly out of his thoughts was a set of pearly whites nipped at the air in front of his nose. Play! That was something that Anwyl knew well. His brothers, all larger than him, used to wrestle with him. Anwyl never stood a chance against them, but they always let him win. He missed that about his family. How they were always there to lift him up, never put him down. Perhaps he could find a brother in some of his new pack mates.

The silver white male instantly dropped to the ground, his fluffy rump swishing side to side as he bounded from side to side playfully. He gnashed his teeth near Farstep's muzzle, forcing him back a little before jumping backwards. He turned in a little circle around the clearing before looking back to his acquaintance and barking at him, urging the older male to spar. It seemed like ages since he'd last played around like this. It was a great relief from the daily grind.

Anwyl obliged him, lucky for Farstep, who sometimes expected others to spurn his playful attempts. That had never happened in his birth pack but since leaving home he'd met quite a few unsavory characters, those who had forgotten what it was to be wolf, those who were much too serious and those who had forgotten how to communicate with actions. Anwyl was not one of those types. True, he used his mouth to vocalize, as indicated upon their first meeting, but he knew the wild as well. An instant favourite in Farstep's books.

He snatched back his muzzle as the youth retaliated with a sound half between a whine and a growl, a sort of chortle if you would. Pushed back, he could not catch Anwyl as the yearling leaped away, though Farstep did click his teeth gently on open air as the youth's tail whizzed by in a hopeful attempt to nip it. He rose and plowed through the snow in leaping bounds intended to close the distance, though it was Anwyl's game to call at this point. The yearling might run and they would engage in a spirited game of tag, or he might stand his ground and they would test one another's strength and cleverness in a spar. He lunged after Anwyl with jaws half opened, blunted against causing real damage, with an excited growl.

Anwyl hadn't had this much fun in a while. Farstep was far different from any other wolf he'd met. He found that play without words was almost more fun. It gave him a chance to treat his instinct and to enjoy a spar. No need to decide what game to play, no need to argue over 'who won', just simple fun. Farstep seemed to understand the excitement as well. Anwyl had just joined that pack, and had already found a friend. 

The silvery male yipped as he felt Farstep's jaws close on some of his tail fluff. It pinched a little, but it was no injury. After he had jumped away and barked to ebb Farstep on, he grinned a goofy and childish grin. His tail wagged back and forth, he panted as well but wasn't close to tired. He was young and definitely not going to give up yet. Suddenly Farstep lunged forwards, and the joyful youth found himself with two options. He could either stand and take on the tawny male, or run and enjoy a game of chase. 

When it comes to fight or flight, well actually Anwyl was more of a talk it out kind of guy. But considering talking wasn't very effective, and this was just a game, he took up his secondary instinct. His eyes widened as Farstep neared him and he get loose an excited bark before turning tail and speeding away. He ran as fast as he could, which wasn't very fast. The snowy ground kept him from taking large fast leaps, and if he took short and speedy steps he would trip. He stuck out his tongue, a habit he'd had since he was little. He always justified it by saying that it helped him think.

Anwyl ran up to a large tree, the sun streaming down onto it. He turned around to make sure that Farstep was still following him. He took the chance to breathe, but it also gave his companion a chance to catch up or sneak up on him.

Anwyl revealed something about himself with his decision. Every decision that another wolf made revealed something about them. The wolf turning to run told Farstep he was probably non-confrontational by nature. Most of the time, Farstep was the same. Nevertheless he chased after the yearling, similarly hindered by the deeper banks of snow but undeterred by the way it dragged his chest down and slowed his legs. Chasing prey was quite similar, minus the stance. His was far more playful and less vigilant than if Anwyl was a deer.

The yearling was making a beeline for the trees. Farstep could use that to his advantage if he wanted to, but there was also the possibility of losing his playmate if he suddenly disappeared. No, he opted for a much more direct approach, and did the completely predictable thing: he went right for Anwyl, in plain sight, while the younger wolf rested.

The tawny male's target was the silvery wolf's scruff. The fur there was thick enough that accidentally getting too rough wouldn't result in any real damage, and it was the most unfeeling part of a wolf's body besides. He huffed breath as he closed the gap, and at last threw himself at Anwyl with no way of predicting the yearling's next move. Perhaps he would run again, or perhaps now he would stand his ground.

Farstep wouldn't find out, for in fact he had thrown his weight forward too early and fell short. Instead of closing the distance between them, he stumbled over his paws and rolled, hitting the tree trunk with a startled yelp.

Farstep seemed a lot farther a moment ago, maybe waiting for a moment wasn't a very good idea. It seemed to Anwyl that he'd only been there for a few seconds, but found that Farstep was a few yards away. He scrambled up to avoid the tawny male's pounce, but he tripped nearly losing his footing. If not for Farstep's falter, he would've been down. He couldn't help but laugh a little as the older male plowed into the tree next to him. Anwyl trotted quickly towards him, sniffing him to make sure he was alright.

The silver male nudged Farstep with his nose, making a small whine urging the male to get up. He wasn't done playing yet, and hopefully neither was Farstep. All of his natural puppy instincts had taken over, and he found that he didn't mind. He was definitely glad that he'd met Farstep, the older male had proven to be a lot of fun.

Winded and stunned, the two-year-old remained prone on the ground momentarily. His breath came out in a slow whoosh, and then finally his lungs kicked back into gear and he gulped in a deep breath. Anwyl's nose touched him and he started, having briefly rattled his brain enough to forget what he was doing, but the sight of the soft silvery youth made his tail wriggle as he remembered. They'd been playing a game of chase.

With a sound between a growl and a bark, the tawny male threw his forelimbs awkwardly into the air in a futile effort to hook them around Anwyl's neck and pull him down. Of course, his legs weren't long enough and he ended up grappling with the yearling's chest instead, but hell, at least he tried! When he admitted to himself that it wasn't going to work, he began rocking on the spot until he was able to twist agilely around and regain his footing. Almost instantly he resumed the game by lurching toward the younger man's ear, employing the same tactic that Capriccio had used against him only a day prior.

Anwyl was surprised by Farstep's sudden movement. As ever glad as he was that the tawny male was fine, he didn't appreciate his tricky tactics. Anwyl shouldn't have been so naive. Farstep lunged towards him, trying to pull him down with his arms, but failed and ended up more attacking his chest down. Anwyl yipped all the same rearing up on his hind legs but not getting very far before his new friends jaws were close to the boy's ear.

Anwyl wasn't able to escape Farstep's attack, and was pulled down by the older male. He didn't want to give up, but he knew he was beat. He made a few weak bats at Farstep's face, letting loose a frustrated whine as he tried to break free of the man's grip. Anwyl wasn't fond of losing, but he also wasn't a sore loser. He wouldn't pout over being beat, nor would he brag if he somehow won. The end of this spar was now up to Farstep.

Capriccio's trick would be one to keep in mind, for Farstep successfully capture Anwyl's ear. He gave it a playful tug, enduring a swatting or two of the yearling's paws in the process, before he let go with a bubbling growl-bark that seemed akin to laughter. His tail swayed gaily as he tamped the snow under his front paws with an excited little dance of his feet, and then without warning he flopped his tongue out and swept it wetly over the side of Anwyl's snout.

Chortling in his strange manner, the two-year-old darted away from Anwyl, only to pause a very short distance away and slap the snow with his forepaws. Down went his torso, inviting Anwyl to do the chasing now if he was up for more games, and then Farstep tore away in hopes he would be chased after all. If not, he would have no hard feelings.

Can probably fade here if you like, or we can keep going if you'd prefer that!

Ok that's fine. If you could archive it that'd be great, I haven't figured out how yet x3

Farstep had Anwyl in his grasp for a moment, tussling him before darting away. The brown male seemed to want Anwyl to follow, but the youngster had actually gotten pretty tired. He barked in the direction of his friend, alerting him that he was done. He ran over to Farstep and touched his nose to his shoulder in a friendly and respectful manner. Then at that he turned and went the other way, ready to take a nap. He had really enjoyed the little game he'd shared with his silent friend. If he ever wanted to play again, he knew who to find. Anwyl made his way back to his den, a small tree with a hollowed base, just big enough for him to squeeze into and get comfortable. He patted down the loss he'd piled up and laid down to rest.