Porcupine Ridge Melange, The Spice

Trying something new with Tuwa since she doesn't really fit any other place on the board... I also miss rping my baby!

It was a balmy Spring morning. The air was unsullied by the salty brine Tuwawi had become accustomed to while traveling along the coast. Winter had brought her mission to a halt. Frozen winds and meager hunting opportunities by the sea caused the red vagabond to waste away, withering to a skeletal figure. Unsuccessful in her retribution and near death, she had been forced to retreat inland where her knowledge of terrestrial prey was much more expansive. Eventually her health recovered — the new season tempering her conviction only just enough — and the Sveijarn found herself winding through Sunspire's peaks, unknowingly passing by the abandoned Plateau where one of her sons, Valtyr, had spent his childhood. 

The borders of that pack were stale, however, and so she continued along the ridge, confident in her ability on mountain terrain. It wasn't long until she met the gates of Porqupine Ridge, knowing by the fresh scent that wolves currently resided here. Her ruddy tail flicked curiously as she slowly traced the territory's outline, half wishing to be found so that she may discover what kind of creatures lived here.

Since his coupling with Vuk, the tawny wolf had not seen the patchwork woman. He neither sought her out nor expected her to come to him. While he failed to understand the spoken permission required for having children due to his own inability to utter words, the tawny beta knew well the consequences a non-alpha litter could face. It was likely that Vuk's children by him would die at the teeth of Taggarik and Capriccio. Perhaps for that reason, he sought not to find the slender woman and know the fate of them both.

He laid low for many days before emerging to pace the borders, worried that Taggarik would come for him, but the alpha male never came. This gave the beta a false sense of security as he strode along the edge of the ridge, hiking his leg now and again to refresh the scent markers, and that was how he discovered a slim crimson-and-creme female with a foreign contraption around her neck.

The wolf's head arced up and his tail lifted into a straight line over his hips as he approached, with wary blue eyes fixed upon the collar. A low rumble in his throat announced his discomfort with the object, but the wolf to whom it was attached did not seem ill or otherwise unwell, so it was mostly out of mistrust for something unfamiliar.

The red matron slowed her pace to sniff at a recently marked stump. Porcupine Ridge's wolves were consistent in their patrols, she could gather, which alluded to active leadership and a deep sense of self. Tuwawi appreciated this mantra, for she had been equally protective of Duskfire during her reign in the Taiga. Only a few moments of nostalgia were allowed to pass before the sounds of an approaching wolf caused the Sveijarn to return to the present. Her ears perked as silver gaze fell upon a tawny agouti male at the borders — rigid in posture and assertive in stature — his eyes fixed upon the device strapped around her neck. 

He was good-looking and healthy; a fit animal who appeared well-fed and strong. Though his voice rumbled with skepticism, it did not deter Tuwawi who was, by now, accustomed to such reactions. The collar had become apart of every-day life. A burden the likes of a crown of thorns... a daily reminder of past transgressions. Yet the important part was to convince this wolf that the alien equipment posed no threat.

Tuwawi's tongue rolled over her chops as her posture slackened comfortably, approaching the male with bright eyes and the confidence of an experienced individual. Her tail was neutrally set and wagged to covey a level of amicability, ruddy ears poised at 9 and 3 o'clock deferentially. She smiled (as self-assured wolves do) — scarred muzzle open with her lips relaxed in an easy-going grin. She chuffed a greeting and approached slowly with the intent to sniff at him... however, she was careful to be vigilant should he reject her welcome.

The wolf regards the ember-cloaked woman with a level of mistrust bordering on frightful, but she stands upon the borders of his pack. For now, he is still reigning Beta and is confident that his pack, small as it may be, will back him up as needed. Yet when the woman begins an easy-going approach, he takes a step back and his eyes dart to the collar again as his nose flexes upward.

The position of her ears and her smile draw out of him his nature as Beta, however, and he can't help the lift of his head and forward flare of his ears. His tail twitches over his hips, giving an occasional sway that suggests he isn't playing around but the severity of his dominance isn't all there either. His blue eyes seek Tuwawi's, searching for the deference suggested by the rest of her. Without words to use, this primal ancient dance of dominant wolf and submissive wolf is his interview style.

Though the ember's gaze was steeled upon the wolf's paws, she could feel the power of his distrustful stare fixed upon her figure and the collar. He stiffened, moving back as she approached. Tuwawi paused — thoughtful enough to not press further into the male's space — yet the desire to become apart of something greater suddenly resurfaced in the jaded Sveijarn. It spurred her to appease the beta with further displays, wanting to pacify his worries. The fact that she had once asserted herself as an alpha did not dampen her submissive actions, for they were in earnest. Yet it was noted that her past honorifics did not matter here. As a lone wolf, she was at the mercy of this creature's judgement.

The Wolf would find her silver eyes, but they would be lowered from his line of sight amongst her soft expression. Tuwawi's ruddy ears tipped backwards, crown dipping beneath the height of his shoulders. Her tail wagged softly to and fro as she yawned, hoping to relieve this creature of his anxious wariness. Her tongue poked out - wanting to lick at his chin... yet he was still a pace or two away. She welcomed his inspection, and slowly began to lower her core - anticipating the need to show her underbelly, should he ask it.

The opposing woman is a perfect picture of submission. Perhaps it's the warm weather or the fact that he's appeased by her actions, but the wolf feels a calm settling over him in spite of the contraption strangling Tuwawi. Her soft gaze stokes the fire of dominance in his belly and her wiggling tail brings a joyous shake to his own. The wolf has misjudged this one based upon her unwilling accessory, and while he still doesn't understand it, Tuwawi still acts the part of a reasonable wolf.

And this particular male wolf has no way of questioning what the device is capable of; he knows naught of such things.

Taking the opportunity presented to him, the beta wolf steps near to Tuwawi. He investigates the collar first, sniffing it with weaving motions of his head, in-and-out, so his snout never quite touches the band but he flinches away nonetheless. Only when he's satisfied that it is non-threatening does he explore further, seeking to collect the scent from the crown of Tuwawi's head. All the while he stands part neutral, part stiff, as if unsure whether to act in dominance or stand down in friendship. Her reaction will determine this for him, and until then, he will continue exploring her scalp and even her ruff if permitted.

It appeared Tuwawi's placidity payed off when The Wolf chose to approach the red stranger. She watched his paws step closer with careful motions, perhaps not entirely convinced of her presence. Yet, his proximity offered the promise of a proper greeting. The Sveijarn barely moved as he inspected the collar — her own gaze studying the pattern of his tawny fur patiently — but the sensation of his nose so near her head elicits a shiver that runs down her back and withers. It is a nuanced gesture — a pleasant feeling; for this closeness... this type of interaction... was one Tuwawi did not realized she had longed for so deeply. 

He passes over her ruff with the same care, and at this moment the woman take a half-step nearer to him, muzzle reaching out to gingerly whiff at his shoulder. Her posture remains slack and inviting, though her tail wags a bit more vigorously than before. Perhaps a younger wolf would have phased into a play-bow, but the matron is poised with all the graces of an older woman. She does not touch him, for she feels it is not her right to initiate first contact. However, her posture appears open, friendly, and wanting to continue their silent dialog.

We can probably fade here if you like!

The wolf's gentle manner continues in spite of a ripple of apprehension that Tuwawi's investigation prompts. He feels his furs shifting along his spine, but the prickle is anticipatory more than anything, and lacks aggression of any sort. He's intrigued by the black collar but determines that it isn't harmful, having neither strangled its wearer nor injured him, and with that out of the way, there's nothing barring this wonderful woman from joining their fold.

He takes one step further to close the distance, turning his head to brush first his crown, then his shoulder and finally the length of his body along her flank. In so doing, he deposits his own scent along her hairs and welcomes her to the ridge pack. His tail beats back and forth as he attempts to round her and do the same on the other side, after which he would invite her in with his customary play bow and a rambunctious bark.