Sunset Valley stepstones

maybe one of the pack wolves (official, forming, doesn't matter!) in the area?

The clouds were drawn long across the sky today. He slunk through the valley with grey lighting as his guide, no sun to warm his bones. Truthfully that was not so terrible a thing he had discovered. It was easier to travel when the air was still cool.

At once, he turned a quick course after a small sound that cut through the foliage.

Some mixture of boredom and hunger drove him to give chase. If he did not catch it, he was out of energy and only strengthened the hunger that brewed in his empty stomach. What if he caught it? How sweeter any tiny beast might taste when he finally had a meal again.

Only there was a chance that whatever sound he had taken off after was not a meal at all.

She could feel the pups stirring inside her as she loped east from the peak. Perhaps most mothers enjoyed this stage of pregnancy, though Masquerade just found it strange and mildly unsettling. She was glad they were so lively, she supposed, but sometimes those little kicks hurt. Besides that, she still suffered from frequent cramping and her sides were so swollen, every movement was ungainly.

Despite this, she wanted to stretch her legs today. Masque licked her lips as she reached the fringes of Sunset Valley and dropped her nose to comb for scents. There was many a rabbit warren around here, she knew. They were far too quick for her, especially without a partner, and she knew she was in no state to hunt. Perhaps she might get lucky though.

Her yellow eyes caught something in the distance. She waddled to a halt, squinting at the figure of a wolf painted in earthen hues. There was something furtive about his movements. That made sense to Masque, as she figured he was out here hunting too. Her tongue ran over her lips again as she pondered the faraway figure and whether the risk (of approaching a stranger in this condition) might be worth the reward (of finding an impromptu hunting partner).

It must have been prey.

As he kept his pressure on it, it seemed to continue to move. He was at a disadvantage while it whipped through roots or ferns — this was its home. He was a drifter who meant to only cut through the lands like a knife in the way he ripped after it.

Only as he pressed on through this path that he had suddenly forged, he had not yet realized that the rabbit he chased was being sent towards another. Instead he only pushed and pushed, a stumble here and there as the overgrowth thickened around his paws. He worried that it might have been nearing a warren entrance to escape. Somehow that did not dishearten him.

Yet if he had known the risk of losing his chase to another increased, he might have ceased such an aggressive pace.

He began moving toward her. Masquerade instinctively crouched among some tall grasses, her marigold gaze never leaving him. If he’d spotted her, he made no indication. The stranger appeared to be focused on something else entirely. I was right, he’s hunting, she thought, unable to do anything about the saliva that pooled in her mouth.

Suddenly, she heard scurrying sounds in the surrounding grass. Masquerade rapidly turned her head this way, then that way, her nose working as she tried to pinpoint the source. When she leapt, she did so blindly, though she was rewarded with a squeal as her weight landed on a rabbit trying to take cover in the sedge.

The sound would draw the hunter’s attention, though Masque barely gave it a thought as she properly pinned the prey. She swiftly crushed its skull with her jaws. Blood and grass clung to her tongue as she straightened, immediately wary of the other wolf and his reaction to her poaching.

The squeal should have delighted him and should have flagged some sense of relief to his hunger, even if only momentary.

Instead it squealed because someone else had brought an end to it. A woman who seemed plump had crushed its skull in a display that offered saliva to his own mouth. Yet it had so suddenly not become his own meal. She had tasted its blood, she had struck the killing blow to it.

His halt was an unbecoming sight. Paws wedged into the earth enough that his limbs tightened to a painful point. His body language flipped through nerves and uncertainty. He hunkered himself down some, uncertain if he truly wanted to fight her for the rabbit.

There was no use in sharing it — but if she could maintain such a figure (if she could support life with her life) then maybe she knew a place that had more than just rabbits.

For now, he could take a metaphorical knee to her upper hand.

She watched warily as myriad expressions flickered across his face. She saw the moment when any thought of fighting her for the kill fled him. Masquerade let out a breath of relief.

How about I take all the organs and you can have the rest? she proposed after a moment’s deliberation, aware that she never would’ve caught a meal if not for his unwitting assistance.

While she waited his response, she openly studied him. He looked to be her own age, with a build similar to her own (when she wasn’t very pregnant, that was). Masque noted some old wounds, most notably a split lip. She wondered if he was a scrapper. Then she wondered about his name and whether he might be in search of a place to call home.

Why?

The word did not break free from his thoughts, but it hovered there in a curious look on his features. If this was an act of kindness, he did not fully understand it. She could have devoured it fully while he would only look on in a hungry acceptance.

It was that hunger that urged him to take this act whether it was kindness or something else.

He nodded a bit stiffly and then motioned for her to work first upon the small carcass. He would take whatever state it was in after she had rooted out the nutrients from within.

Hesitantly, he lowered himself even closer to the earth, near resting but not. As if he still held some nerves that she might change her mind on this. He was prepared to bolt the moment teeth might turn from rabbit flesh to his own flesh.

The inquisition could wait until after they’d fed. Taking the stranger’s prostration as assent, she bent to tear the rabbit’s crushed head from its body. She set this aside, then ripped open its belly. Masque nosed the offal onto the waiting grass, then took the emptied torso and flung it gingerly toward the other wolf’s outstretched legs.

She watched him a moment, then made quick work of the organs she’d reaped. After polishing off those, she moved to the caved-in head, cracking open the skull more fully to access the sweet meat inside it. Within the space of five minutes, there was nothing left aside from scattered bone fragments and smears of blood in the grass.

Her attention quickly cut back to the stranger, finally asking, What is your name? I’m… She paused, lip curling in amusement. You can call me Raider.

When what was left was tossed to him, he focused his efforts upon it.

Picked around some bones, nearly cracked open others. It would not take him long at all to work away anything edible from what still clung to it. There was an undeniable mess from the ordeal but he would enjoy cleaning that away too.

After he answered her.

Raider was a name that had him look upon her favorably. He recalled rough days with gangs and the way that raids had kept them alive. In a way, she did this too.

Dagur, He dragged the name in a rugged, stony way across his tongue and teeth. It sounded like it should have come forth from a more impressive frame than his own.

The curious look came back over him again as he looked at her masked features. The unspoken question of why once again bounced around his mind.

Are you with a pack, Dagur? came her next question, golden eyes inquisitive.

They flickered slightly when one of her unborn pups suddenly kicked her in her so recently filled stomach. Masque let out a wounded noise and found herself suddenly struggling to catch her breath.

Feeling extremely vulnerable all of a sudden, she backpedaled to put some space between herself and Dagur. He seemed like a nice fellow so far, though the mother-to-be wanted to play it safe.

She had the presence of mind to shoot him an apologetic glance and flap her paw as if to say, You’ll have to excuse me a minute.

Maybe Raider was a raider.

A chance had opened up before him and it would be awfully stupid of him to pass it up. His mouth opened only to be clipped shut again when he heard her sound.

Something was wrong — or right? His knowledge of pregnancy was truly none. Respectfully he too stepped back even she had already initiated distance. Maybe for his own safety more than hers.

Patiently he sat himself off to the side. The silent way of saying take your time. Although he had not verbally answered her question yet perhaps his continued presence despite their shared meal being over might give her a hint.

Perhaps spooked by her own retreat, Dagur also moved back so that a sizable gap opened between them. Masque winced through a second, weaker round of kicks before the pup settled and her breathing returned to normal.

When she could speak, she explained, Nobody ever told me how strange it would feel when they kicked. They never warned me that it would hurt. I guess I should’ve known, all things considered, she posited, lips pursing a little.

She noticed the way Dagur sat patiently, obviously cautious about her fit but not frightened enough to flee. Her tail gave an appreciative twitch as she assessed him again, deciding he was definitely worth vetting as a potential recruit for Dragonspine.

So, do you? she prompted gently, well aware that her phrenospasm had waylaid the conversation. Belong to a pack?

They kicked?

He blinked in a way that showed it was obviously news to him as well. It made him wonder how hard he had kicked his mother. Did other ones kick her now to make room for their life within hers? He had not thought about her in... he did not know how long.

She was a concept more than a face these days.

He appreciated that her state had not swept away her curiosity. For his own still sat heightened. Very interested in being aligned with those who could catch meals and carried titles for names.

No. He had no sadness in this, though. The wilds had trimmed him into an athletic figure that fought for survival day in and day out. He did not miss what he had hardly ever had.

Do you?

He bounced the question back to her and Masque replied, I do. My mate and I claim that mountain, as a matter of fact. She turned her head slightly to motion at Nova Peak due west of their position. We call it Dragonspine. It’s just the two of us, soon to be… well, I don’t know how many are in here. She splayed an ear, as if to point at her swollen belly. I won’t beat around the bush: we could use another adult to give us a hand. We’d provide you with companionship and a home, as well as your fair share of any game we hunt.

Had she ever recruited anyone? Masquerade couldn’t recall. Even if she’d welcomed someone into the rise’s ranks, this was different. This was her pack (alongside Riley, of course), built from the ground up. She found her heart beating a little harder as she awaited Dagur’s reaction to the proposition. Just because he was on his own didn’t necessarily mean he would be interested.

He allowed his eyes to follow where she pointed. It seemed logical to think he might have found them on his way out of the valley. While he did not believe in fate, he did see that perhaps the rabbit had been why they settled so near. Hardly was there ever just one rabbit in a valley or forest.

Soon she would be waylaid by her little kickers and her mate must provide. Who would Dagur provide for if he went by himself? He could hardly keep himself afloat most days even if he did not admit it.

For the first time, it did seem like truly everyone could win here.

His tail had begun an heavy rhythm behind him that betrayed any look of stoicism still plastered on his face.

Deal.

He would align himself strongly now to those there in and soon-to-be there in of Dragonspine. As long as his share remained provided, he would have no need to drift as far as he had the last year.

Now he gestured back towards the peak that she had before — Show me?

In a single word, he accepted. Masquerade’s mouth fell open a little, surprised at her own success. Should she have interrogated him a bit further, she wondered? But she could not bring herself to feel anything but gladness and relief. At long last, they had their first recruit!

Of course, she replied, the slightly higher pitch of her voice betraying her giddiness at this turn of events. I’ll take you to the mountain, where you can make yourself at home. I’ll let @Riley know you’re there, so you two can meet up at the earliest opportunity.

Her eyes glowed brightly. Her over-long tail swayed upward, a banner over her hips. Masque tentatively moved nearer to Dagur, sniffing toward his nose. She hoped to properly exchange scents, particularly now that they were pack mates!

Riley and Raider.

While he would not say he felt envy or even left out, he wondered if an R name would be thrust upon him. Upon the children that kicked at her? It was not often he had humorous thoughts but this one had lodged its way into his mind.

Her tail raised and he was mindful enough to keep himself postured lower than her as they approached one another. Prepared to allow her to freely assess him up close now that he had aligned himself to her Dragonspine. Tentatively his tail wiggled low behind him.

He was prepared to follow her back as soon as they finished their little exchange here.

feel free to fade here or in a reply! thanks for scooping him up :)

It’s a joy writing with you again! Feel free to tag me for another thread anytime.

How long had it been since someone had deferred so willingly to her? It made her want to raise her tail higher, to truly establish the dynamic and her fledgling role as an Alpha female. But that seemed like behavior that belonged to Redtail Rise.

She did exude happy confidence as they sniffed noses, her tail still sweeping back and forth in an arch over her back. But Masque didn’t bother posturing further than that. She didn’t enforce the hierarchy by raising her head or mouthing at his muzzle. Instead, she nipped amiably at his whiskers, a gesture of welcome.

She then flicked her head and rolled her shoulder as she carefully pivoted toward the distant mountain. Masque broke into a slightly unsteady trot, exchanging a glance and a smile with Dagur every so often as they made their way home to Dragonspine.