Turtleback Lake born and raised.

The lake was pretty nice. For a lake. It was nothing like Ritter’s Ridge – frankly, Coleus wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. He might feel a little poorly for his mother (a little), but she was better off without him lurking around like the failing son he often felt he was. As poorly as he felt, it would be easily one hundred times worse if he actually took over the Ritter pack like he was supposed to. Well, like his brother was supposed to, but if he hadn’t—

Nope.

Nope, nope, nope.

Coleus gave himself an extra vigorous hake before leaning down to get a drink of the cold, clean water. He didn’t leave the ridge just to think about it all the time! He left the Ridge to find his place in the world, outside of the little bubble he’d grown up in. That meant new wolves and new packs – and hopefully a new home. And, if he was really lucky, he would run into his cousin, Juniper, as well. (And not his dad. And not any other Ritter that had dispersed – well, that wasn’t to say he wasn’t curious about what little he could remember of his father, but, no…)

“You’re thinking too much,” he told his reflection, and held back on the desire to plunge his face right in.

He crossed the borders of Hearthwood River with only a little hesitation. It took a little mental shake to send his dark paws across that invisible line and out toward the distant lake. After all, Mace was sort of famous for crossing the threshold and never coming back. It's not like that anymore, he told himself, and wasn't sure that he believed it. Once a vagabond, always a vagabond, right?

He was determined to prove himself wrong, for Mace was the only wolf who seemed to doubt himself in this way. He left the pack territory in an effort to shed his doubts and return renewed of confidence and certainty. It was almost laughable. Mace hadn't had an abundance of either of those things since he was a young child and didn't know the first thing about boosting them, especially in relation to himself. Boosting the confidence of others was one thing, but to believe in oneself was another entirely, and the Attaya didn't have many reasons to trust himself.

Nevertheless, his mind felt clearer as he broke from the trees on the edge of the lake just in time to catch a voice floating up from the water. The Attaya paused with one paw aloft and frowned, half-convinced he was hearing things, but then he spotted the pale figure against the darker backdrop of the water. Coleus was poised precariously near the water's edge, a fact that made Mace's heart leap into his throat. He didn't mind water when it was still and calm like this, but he was nonetheless frightened of falling into it and was convinced that was exactly what Coleus was about to do. It wasn't hard for his imagination to conjure the memory of rushing rapids and foaming crests, and that only made him panic.

Look out! he shouted, picking his way as swiftly as he could toward the Ritter male, as if he intended to grab the man and throw him away from the yawning abyss of the lake.

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As he studied his rippling reflection, the little gray wolf had no idea that he was no longer alone. Such carelessness was liable to get him killed, surely. His mother had tried to offer him that much as he grey. (Truly, he was certain that Sorrel did her very best, despite what happened with… Well, despite what happened back in Ritter’s Ridge.) The boy was about to lean down and take a drink (and maybe dunk his head, he was still quite tempted) when a deep voice boomed across his lake. His heart leapt into his throat and Coleus fell forward, knees buckling as every nerve lit up in panic.

For the briefest of moments, he feared his father had found him.

But the black blur couldn’t be Larkspur – as young as the boy had been when his father had left the pack, he remembered a much paler wolf. That was all he had time to note as he splashed around, snorted violently as he tried to clear his nose and scramble to his feet. What was he even supposed to be looking out for? Why was that man yelling? And why oh why had his legs chosen now to act like noodles, barely able to support his own wait?

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Thoughts surged through his head in a great rush that mimicked his memories of overflowing rapids. In his panicked stupor, he mistook Coleus for a darker wolf, one of his family perhaps, someone he might have been able to save from the curse of their name if only he'd been older and stronger when it happened. Would he be more stable then? Would he have been able to keep his siblings together? His parents? Much as Mace blamed himself for his wayward ways, he also blamed the flood. It had taken something from him, something from all of them, and left each of them bereft.

He watched the sway and buckle of the youth's legs, the illusion fading from his mind, and lurched into a lumbering run. He hadn't been able to save his family from what surely haunted them all to this day, but Mace could save this young fellow. The shore was unsteady and he felt his ankle roll uncomfortably as he stumbled through a rut, but it hardly stopped his charge. By the time he even noticed the pain, he was already at Coleus' backside.

By now, Mace could tell that the lake was not the rapids or the swelling Hearthwood River, but his alarm was no less as he lunged for the yearling's scruff, hoping he had made it, yearning to feel the tug of skin between his teeth that told him he had somehow saved this boy from falling into the perfectly still shallows. As if it was dangerous in any way.

(This post was last modified: Jun 11, 2017, 05:33 AM by Mace.)

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Would it have been better if he wasn’t such a coward? If he had any semblance of spine? Surely Roheo would not have had the same reaction. But then again, if his brother hadn’t have been slain, perhaps Coleus wouldn’t be like this either. Or maybe he would. That what-ifs were never ending, even as he splashed around like a fish out of water. But he had no time to bellache about it, because the water was making him cough, and his legs finally decided to act like solid objects again. The loner was just about to hoist himself upwards when something grabbed onto his ruff and yanked him backwards. Coleus gave a mighty cry, utterly alarmed having totally forgotten about Mace in his brief moments in the water.

As soon as his paws touched dry ground, the young boy hit reverse, wrenching himself free from the large adult (even at the cost of his own fur). He looked absolutely ridiculous as he was, legs wet, torso still fluffy – but he couldn’t actually bring himself to be embarrassed as he gave the half-crazed man a wary look. He might not be Larkspur, but he was evidently a piece of work. “What the heck?” he panted, glancing back towards the water. “What did you see?”

He got a grasp on the younger wolf's scruff and moved to wrench him back to shore, but Coleus found his legs before either of them were fully stabilised. The pale wolf shoved himself away, jerking Mace's jaw painfully in the process, and rounded on him with a look he recognised instantly. It was akin to the glare he'd fixed Ice with when the old grizzled wolf pulled him out of the marsh. He could understand the man's indignation better now with Coleus glowering at him in the same way.

But unlike Ice, Mace didn't have a real explanation for his approach. It wouldn't do to admit to the youth that a recent flood in his pack territory had set him so on edge that he was seeing things, but Mace wasn't the type of wolf to lie without cause. The Attaya was, in spite of all his experiences, still lawful at his core. He frowned thoughtfully at the younger man, but for a long beat, didn't say anything. He simply considered the wolf in front of him, with sodden legs and indignant scowl, and the lake beyond, and wondered how his sanity had been so easily unseated.

At length, he rolled his left shoulder, heaved a sigh, and vaguely offered, just didn't want to see you fall in.

(This post was last modified: Jun 11, 2017, 05:36 AM by Mace.)

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Something in Coleus said ‘you should probably move a little further away’ – for once, the wolf actually to the little voice in his head. Maybe, if he listened to it more often, he wouldn’t get into predicaments like this, but at the very least, he’d try not to get in any deeper. As the water dripped off his skinny legs, he watched the older wolf. Ears slowly fell backwards before he shook himself out…not actually feeling all that bad for potentially splashing the stranger. He wouldn’t have fallen in if that guy hadn’t starting shouting.

For no bleeding reason, apparently. He just…didn’t want Cole to fall? In what, ankle-deep water? It was shin deep, at best – he was thinking about a drink. He wasn’t in any danger! The more the young loner actually thought about it, the more irritated he started to grow.

“It wasn’t that deep, you know,” he finally offered, wondering what the heck was wrong with this guy to trigger such a response. (‘Be careful,’ his better senses warned him, because heck knew what else could set him off if a little water did the trick.) “I, uhm. I’m fine. But maybe you shouldn’t yell at people? Like…what if I was a jerk?”

Like my dad?

Shallow water has trapped several fish in a small pond. Hunt Opportunity