<font style="font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; letter-spacing: 1.5px; font-family: cambria; color: #000; line-height: 6px; text-transform: lowercase; opacity: 0.6;">
if you are afraid, change your way,</font>
if you are afraid, change your way,</font>
4 Posts
Ooc — Jeanelle
Offline
September 21, 2013, 08:17 PM
Sunset, 9/21 at 6:50 PM. 73°F · 20% chance of rainfall.
Visibility: 10 miles, Humidity: 95%, Winds: 7 mph SE.
Visibility: 10 miles, Humidity: 95%, Winds: 7 mph SE.
Silvertip Mountain—finally, she arrived to her destination. Like many wolves of Tartok, Nunavut felt most at home upon these landscapes that stretched miles above sea level. She was used to the elevations and the less hospitable climate. Nearly a year ago, her Anânak had given birth to her and her older brothers on Arktayok Peak in Seahawk Valley, one of the most unruliest and dangerous mountain in that facility and at six months of age, Nunavut was following her Atâtak down the steep slopes with such ease. She patrolled with her Atâtak as much as she could, learning about diplomat and politics directly from her Atâtak before her and her older brothers were given a proposal to start a-new in Glacier National Park.
Like her Atâtak, the Tartok siblings would establish a new clan with the Matriarch's progeny, building from the ground up and making Tartok known in a different area along the Pacific coastline. She gladly accepted the offer and left Seahawk Valley the next morning in search of Siku's daughter. After a week of traveling, Nunavut arrived to her destination in Glacier National Park and the musky urine scent was predominant along the foot of the peak. Nunavut could only assume that Siku's daughter had a liking for mountains and claimed the Silvertip Mountain for the establishing clan of Tartok.
Her tongue flowed through her parted mouth as she breathed heavily, audits flowing on top of her skull while her nostrils flared to catch the other scents upon the breeze that passed through her shedding coat. She noted the few scents that inhabited the area and figured out that Tartok was forming here, at least, a pack was. One of the odors had to be the Matriarch's progeny. Her head lifted itself up, dragging her muzzle to the skyline as her mouth began to vocalize her presence before returning her cranium to an upright and normal position.
September 21, 2013, 10:34 PM
Border patrol was one of the many duties required of Tartok's members. Hunting, filling caches, and establishing dens were important as well, however, there was an air of urgency as the young pack began to settle on the virgin lands of Silvertip Mountain. Establishing and defending the borders was the of the utmost priority, as their lines had already been breached by the bold and careless. Tuwawi marked as she moved along the fringes of Tonravik's range, guided by those who had walked here before her.
She felt oppressed by dusk's humid air as she walked, and wondered if this long summer would ever come to a close. The craggy mountains had provided some relief from the sweltering sun, but it had been minimal at best. Just as the moon began to rise over the land, a long howl announced the arrival of some wolf unknown. With a burst of energy, Tuwawi kicked off into a steady run to intercept whoever waited at Tartok's doors.
Her ruddy ears rolled forward as her gait transformed into a lofty, assertive trot. Physically, she did not look the part of a Tartok wolf. She was a small, but rugged, fiery redhead with unkempt hair and attitude to spare. Much unlike the silent monochrome bear-wolves that made up the majority of Tartok's lineage. Despite this, she did manage to share some traits with her adopted "family," particularly the propensity to rise.
With a steely gaze and a waving rigged tail, Tuwawi approached, evaluating the pale she-wolf. She appeared young and alone, with no backup in sight. "Who are you. What do you want," she stated with her usual raspy voice, overly blunt and perhaps a little uptight. There was no more room for mistakes. No unprivileged wolf would cross their borders again.
She felt oppressed by dusk's humid air as she walked, and wondered if this long summer would ever come to a close. The craggy mountains had provided some relief from the sweltering sun, but it had been minimal at best. Just as the moon began to rise over the land, a long howl announced the arrival of some wolf unknown. With a burst of energy, Tuwawi kicked off into a steady run to intercept whoever waited at Tartok's doors.
Her ruddy ears rolled forward as her gait transformed into a lofty, assertive trot. Physically, she did not look the part of a Tartok wolf. She was a small, but rugged, fiery redhead with unkempt hair and attitude to spare. Much unlike the silent monochrome bear-wolves that made up the majority of Tartok's lineage. Despite this, she did manage to share some traits with her adopted "family," particularly the propensity to rise.
With a steely gaze and a waving rigged tail, Tuwawi approached, evaluating the pale she-wolf. She appeared young and alone, with no backup in sight. "Who are you. What do you want," she stated with her usual raspy voice, overly blunt and perhaps a little uptight. There was no more room for mistakes. No unprivileged wolf would cross their borders again.
currently sports a radio collar around her neck.
<font style="font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; letter-spacing: 1.5px; font-family: cambria; color: #000; line-height: 6px; text-transform: lowercase; opacity: 0.6;">
if you are afraid, change your way,</font>
if you are afraid, change your way,</font>
4 Posts
Ooc — Jeanelle
Offline
September 21, 2013, 11:22 PM
Like Tuwawi, her bulk didn't compare to the legacy of the Matriarch's progeny, in fact the Alpha pup was average with extra muscle that replaced all of her baby fat weeks ago, filling her in quite nicely. Nunavut had the captivating beauty of her Anânak while sharing the coloration of her Atâtak, in fact, the younger bitch was a minimized version (also, a bit girly) version of Iluliaq.
Her audits flipped forward, swiveling on top of her skull in the direction of the approaching bitch as her glistening plume gave a firm, but friendly wag before dropping to her ankles. From a young age, Nunavut was taught how to respect authority. Nunavut was a stranger upon these lands (although, it was fairly obvious that the other wolf was not), but the aging pup was Tartok. So, Tuwawi needed to be respected.
"Nunavut. Tartok," she responded with a prompt ease as instructed by Iluliaq, audits swiveling on top of her skull, alerted to the older bitches' arrival while her eyes over-looked the russet coloration of her pelt, but her expression was meaningless. Tuwawi didn't look like Siku—but, then again, appearances can be very misleading. Besides, the bitch could have been adopted. "Siku's panik," Nunavut added, her voice clipping close after uttering the final word in Inuktitut. A word that Iluliaq, her father, her Atâtak would often use to describe his daughter to others.
September 22, 2013, 11:53 AM
The white wolf's gestures appeased Tuwawi, and her expression softened as she moved forward to more closely inspect the stranger. Her features were delicate, but strong, and clearly effeminate. Deadgrass colored hairs intermingled with their charcoal and white neighbors, creating a unique color palette — especially in the setting sun. Tuwawi's dark nostrils flared and took in her scent, scanning for signs of injury or disease. Neither blood nor smell of sickness clung to the youth's fur. They stood a few feet apart as Tuwawi's weight leaned forward to receive the vagrant's words.
Nunavut. Tartok. "Tartok?" she parroted, interest piqued as her ears pricked to attention. "By blood or by..." her voice drifted off, not recognizing the name Nunavut. She had known this female's father, Illuliaq (admittedly, not that well), but any connection drawn between them was weak at best. As it was with Tonravik, Tuwawi did not know the other half of their pedigrees, and so there was no spark of recognition within her stormy eyes. It was always a possibility that this wolf was like herself: brought in by Siku to take up the mantle of the surname Tartok. Even so, the dark family's claim was already far-reaching, perhaps even more so than Tuwawi was aware.
Siku's panik, Nunavut responded, clearly anticipating the necessity to have an explanation. So, she knew Siku... but what did panik mean? It was a word she wouldn't admit she didn't know. Her own Inuit name, Tuwawi, had been gifted by the Issumatar, but did not offer any insight into the foreign language many of the Tartokians knew. A twang of inner jealousy and embarrassment struck a chord, reminding Tuwawi that she was not bound to Tartok by birth, like some; and it made her recall a time when she was once Proudheart. Regardless, her expression did not reveal the inner workings of her mind and heart, but rather, maintained a look of indifference.
Was panik a word of significance? Was it supposed to answer why she was here? Tuwawi's muzzle became tight lipped. "Siku is not here," she said, "her daughter, Tonravik, leads in her stead." Tartok was always a pack of secrets, providing little information of their inner workings to the outside world. However, this was an exception. All should know who dominated this territory.
Nunavut. Tartok. "Tartok?" she parroted, interest piqued as her ears pricked to attention. "By blood or by..." her voice drifted off, not recognizing the name Nunavut. She had known this female's father, Illuliaq (admittedly, not that well), but any connection drawn between them was weak at best. As it was with Tonravik, Tuwawi did not know the other half of their pedigrees, and so there was no spark of recognition within her stormy eyes. It was always a possibility that this wolf was like herself: brought in by Siku to take up the mantle of the surname Tartok. Even so, the dark family's claim was already far-reaching, perhaps even more so than Tuwawi was aware.
Siku's panik, Nunavut responded, clearly anticipating the necessity to have an explanation. So, she knew Siku... but what did panik mean? It was a word she wouldn't admit she didn't know. Her own Inuit name, Tuwawi, had been gifted by the Issumatar, but did not offer any insight into the foreign language many of the Tartokians knew. A twang of inner jealousy and embarrassment struck a chord, reminding Tuwawi that she was not bound to Tartok by birth, like some; and it made her recall a time when she was once Proudheart. Regardless, her expression did not reveal the inner workings of her mind and heart, but rather, maintained a look of indifference.
Was panik a word of significance? Was it supposed to answer why she was here? Tuwawi's muzzle became tight lipped. "Siku is not here," she said, "her daughter, Tonravik, leads in her stead." Tartok was always a pack of secrets, providing little information of their inner workings to the outside world. However, this was an exception. All should know who dominated this territory.
currently sports a radio collar around her neck.
<font style="font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; letter-spacing: 1.5px; font-family: cambria; color: #000; line-height: 6px; text-transform: lowercase; opacity: 0.6;">
if you are afraid, change your way,</font>
if you are afraid, change your way,</font>
4 Posts
Ooc — Jeanelle
Offline
September 26, 2013, 07:40 AM
"Panik is daughter," she translated calmly from Inuktitut to improper English, at least to her own knowledge as Inuktitut was her primary means of communicating and English was more of like a second language. In fact, it was the only way of communication Nunavut preferred. Obviously, she was not upset that Tuwawi did not know the language of the Inuit, in fact, Iluliaq had warned her and her older brothers that not everyone in Tartok (aside from a select few) knew the language of their ancestors.
She stood there in front of the russet colored canid, facing the Silvertip Mountain, but not threading too close until Nunavut was permitted to do so. As the aging pup, stood there, her eyes began to denote a primal respectful gaze toward the other canid, but not directly at her. "Atâtak," she paused, realizing that a Inuktitut word had slipped out of her mouth by accident. Quickly, Nunavut shook her head, confirming her mistake that the other she-wolf didn't understand the language. "My father, Iluliaq. He is Tartok. We aren't blood," she exclaimed coolly. Hopefully, Nunavut did not have to explain herself to Tuwawi anymore than that.
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