Lost Lake Running In Place

for @Roland

A warm breeze ruffled his fur. He couldn't remember his first Summer well, but after a long winter, and a still-freezing spring, a little bit of warm weather for a little while could be comforting. Lauraceae paused to enjoy the warmth, to enjoy the humming of the world around him — cicadas, birds, the rustling of everything. There were some moments that he wished could go on forever. Some feelings he wanted to hold onto. Simpler, easy feelings, like enjoying warm breezes. He sniffed and could smell the stale scent of others, which meant that he could comfortably go up for a good, long drink. His tattered ears swiveled, he gave another sniff, and then approached the lake.

He waded in, drooping his head to look at his reflection. Sometimes it was easy to forget how awful he looked — never mind that his ribs shone, or it felt like every inch of him was covered in scars and scrapes. He hated his eyes, he hated how familiar they looked. Laurel picked a paw up and slammed it down on top of his reflection, the water ripping and distorting the image of him. He dipped his head down and drank more than he needed — enough to hopefully trick his stomach into thinking it was full. Sometimes it worked, but mostly it didn't. The boy sighed and lifted his head, water dripping from his chin. He was in no rush — there was nothing to run to, or to run from anymore — and walked alongside the shore, staying in the shallow waters of the Lost Lake.

For once, Roland had hunted for himself rather than visiting one of the caches. It certainly wasn't done out of a desire for autonomy or exercise, but rather a need to experiment with the ways in which small creatures could be disposed of. Chan hadn't done what he was supposed to, hadn't listened to reason and now Roland would have to act or be made a liar. Not just a liar (that was actually a very natural role for him); a runner-up, for both @Moonshadow and @Kajika's affections.

All of it was intolerable, stressing him greatly and fanning those embers of anger so that they were constantly alight, even as he smiled and wagged his tale, wore that stupid friendly mask his pack was so used to. When he was away, it could come out, and it helped greatly with these little tests. His latest subject hung limp from his jaws as he made his way back toward home. Its plush fur was without a single mar; suffocation had been the process this time.

A splash drew both ears and eyes toward the lake, of which he'd been skirting the shore at a distance. A stranger that looked more like a re-animated corpse than a living wolf came into view, half submerged and possessed by a sullenness that was all too familiar. A chord was swiftly struck, and Roland approached.

Dropping the dead hare on the muddy bank, he barked to get the other's attention.

"The hell chewed you up and spit you back out?"

(This post was last modified: Jul 14, 2018, 07:58 AM by Roland.)

His tattered ears swiveled at the sound of approaching pawsteps, so the yearling turned. He was faced with another wolf, larger than him, and with a rabbit. Laurel's face scrunched at the sight, his stomach loudly groaning. He made no move for the rabbit, if only because it was only a matter of time before one of his friends showed up to take it.

@Roland then asked a question that he was tired of hearing. Never a hello or you look hungry, here, have this tasty rabbit I caught. Always they asked how he got hurt, and Laurel was starting to believe they asked out of their own curiosity rather than out of want to help him out. He licked his wet maw and gave the larger yearling a look over and then shrugged, continuing his leisurely stroll in the water.

"Me?" he asked, feigning shock. "Hmm.. must have been that really determined racoon I met last week," his tone went flat, teetering on a growl. He couldn't blame the yearling, though, he would have been curious too, if some wolf had appeared looking as he did. Would he have asked the same?

Probably. Lauraceae never claimed to not be a hypocrite.

Roland could see the hunger on the other boy's face, and in reaction he placed a muddied paw atop the carcass, a clear indicator that it was his. That wasn't to mean it couldn't easily become a bargaining chip, however, depending on how the conversation went and what the mauled yearling might have to offer him.

Then the answer came, none of the tone missed by Roland, and had say, Chan or Tulip thought to speak to him with such sarcasm, he would have reacted with volatility. The boy had nothing against this stranger, however, (yet) and so he was able to take the statement without indignance and as it was: humorous.

His muzzle wrinkled and a few of his canines poked past his steely lips as he began to snicker, not with cruelty but with genuine amusement. A rarity indeed for the runaway Whitebark, and certainly a first since his half-sister's death all those many months ago.

"Well shit, next time I see one of those I'm going to deadass run. Don't think I could work that half-digested look as well as you do."

It was ambiguous as to whether Roland was being good natured or pointed in his teasing.

"Speaking of, you want a meal?" his paw rolled the limp body beneath it, but did not yet lift from it. The invitation wasn't entirely open, not quite yet.