He wants to beat the stupid out of her but he really doesn't think there's any force in the blazing husk of any of The Creators pawprints to do that. He keens in distress and clamps his teeth around one of her tawny sound-sensors, shaking roughly in a vain attempt to rattle the think-flesh inside the confines of her skull. Why does she not understand?!
What if she had howled and a Guard Patrol had found her first! They would have just seen her as a threat to be eliminated, unlike the Alpha which had been emotionally compromised by the presence of his yipper. She would have been dead before she hit the ground. Or what if they had captured her and kept her as a prisoner? She seemed to think she could outrun any of his 'imagined' dangers with no problems!
None of that matters when she rolls over to display her soft, weak belly and throat the moment someone even twitches in hostility! Fucking inept, naive,
stupid yipper that she is!
And then she fucking tells him to relax!
He releases her and begins to pace with rough, agitated steps. He snarls and snaps at her the whole time.
"You're going to fucking kill yourself, you're going to bound right into the gapping jaws of the Bone-Hoarder with a fucking disgusting amount of glee. And then what's left of your bloody and torn remains will never be found because, oh fuck yes! You never fucking told me where you were going or when you were going to be back!"
Jackdaw feels his wrath pulse through his think-flesh, white hot and painful as it pulses up from the tight fires in his digestive fluids. He's fucking entitled to worry over her fuck-dumb hide because she obviously wont!
And then she's prattling on and excited because she took his earlier huffed statement as agreement to her ridiculous notion of having a 'family' again!
He stares at her jumping form, feeling as though some horrorterror has decided to chew on his skull.
"Shut the fuck up and stop springing around like you've been rolling in meowbeast-grass! I don't think I could eat enough prey in my entire pitiful life-span to compensate for the amount of vomit I want to spew onto you right now."
Without further ado, he turns and digs his fangs into his own foreleg. Holy shit, he just can't deal with any of this and it's all his own retarded fault! Fucking idiot, why does he ever open his noise-maker? It's like an infected wound that puss erupts out of at every opportunity. Useless and disgusting! It leaks out and makes everyone around the wound think 'oh, at least the poison is coming out! It can get better now'. Wrong! The foul puss is just misleading and as everyone thinks the wound is going to close up and get better it just festers and stinks worse than ever. What a great fucking way to describe his life!
He releases his flesh in disgust and begins to pace once more. He can deal with his stupid fucking self at a later date. Right now, he has a dumb littermate to deal with instead.
Alright, he knows Falcon is a social creature. He knows she needs contact. Constantly. But why is she so insisting on this 'family' thing? Does she not understand that there is no 'family', there is only Pack. And why must she search for this 'family' amongst wolves. Jackdaw is so sick of the breed. Can't she go and adopt a horn-beast or something. Horn-beasts don't have claws or fangs or, worst of all,
pride.
But no, it's always wolves.
Shifting that aside for a latter puzzle, really it's just complaining about his littermates weirdness and isn't helping right now, he embraces the chucklevoodoo that has been rattling against his spine ever since Falcon had mentioned the Alpha wanting to meet them.
Join this, Maksims' Pack.
Wolves don't work like that. They don't invite in strangers, Trespassers. The Pack is territory and that territory belongs to the Alpha. Wolves, Alphas' especially, hoard their territory jealously and don't let anyone get close to it.
To invite someone in, the individual must be trusted absolutely. Most Packs are formed by blood-ties and blood calls to blood, helping the wolves to be more tolerant of each other. Jackdaw is entirely sure at this point that wolves are supposed to be solitary animals. All they ever do is scream and bite and kill each other when they're in close quarters.
Jackdaw shakes his head, growling softly as he continues to pace.
He doubts simply stumbling across a lost yipper, even if it is the Alphas' yipper, will grant them that much trust. So, another reason then. His original theory seems the most concrete. If a wolf ever needs to intrude its' presence upon others for prolonged periods of time then it has to prove its' worth for the duration it spends with the others. Perhaps by providing food. Perhaps through. . .other means.
Jackdaw pries himself from his own mind and blinks at Falcon intently. If they go to this Pack, the will either be slaughtered for being Trespassers or will be expected to make themselves useful. Neither prospect endears Jackdaw to the idea.
But he gazes around the unfamiliar territory, feeling caged by the trees that stretch above him, blotting out the now dark sky and concealing the flocks of Stars that have begun their journey across The Creators back. He feels a bitter loathing towards The Forest of Disembowelment. Without rocks under his pads and open skies above his head, he feels more uneasy than ever.
He feels his own hunger, twisting within him like a live thing. If The Plenty exists in this place, he has yet to taste it. Even Flacon, the better hunter out of them, struggles to capture anything big enough to sate their hunger completely.
The Plenty always exists within Pack. Wether it's shared or not is another thing.
His lack of sleep was also weakening him, both in mind and body. Perhaps if he was just one Trespasser, he would be able to live better. But he isn't, he has Falcon to think of. He wont be enough to protect her if the horrorterrors come.
The Pack will kill him. But Falcon, they'll probably keep. A submissive bitch is always more welcomed than an ambitious brute.
And it'll make Falcon happy, at least. He can't bring her happiness like being surrounded once more by yippers will. He feels chucklevoodoos rattle his spine, why is his littermate so very fucking weird.
"Alright."
He barks out, spinning to face the tawny female after long moment. He snaps his teeth at her to keep her noisemaker firmly fucking shut.
"We'll go to this Fenrir damned Pack. A quick pass through. And when I mean quick I mean as fleet as a hop-beast fleeing from your blood-seeking fangs, got it? We are scouting. To make sure this fucking horrible mistake I am making is good enough to bury me after it rips me the fuck apart. And next fucking time you get the grand idea to wander off into the distance, look into your tiny memory-stone and fucking tell me where you are going, shitbreath!"
Jackdaw fucking gives up. Let the horrorterrors come. At least he wont die in this awful fucking Forest of Disembowelment.
(This post was last modified: Jul 26, 2014, 06:23 PM by Jackdaw.)