“Get back here,” Vaken hissed, barreling down the forest with his fur bristling. In front of him, only a few feet away was a small hare. Snapping his teeth, Vaken knew he was wasting his energy. He wasn’t going to catch it, but he was too motivated to stop. He hadn’t hunted anything around pack borders, too afraid to steal the prey from other hungry mouths. It was only when he was a fair distance away that he would hunt. He was hungry and too motivated to slow down his speed, regardless of it being a lost cause. It was only when he saw the form of a black wolf in the distance that he slowed down.
Who was that? He squinted his eyes, walking slowly towards the figure. It seemed vaguely familiar, but Vaken couldn’t be sure. He had met so many dark wolves in his travels around the same build. It was only when Vaken drew closer that he realized this wolf was smaller than he expected. Of course he knew this wolf! The quiet one. He had met him on his journey north. That’s all Vaken could really say about him. He searched his head for a name, but drew a blank. “Fancy meeting you here,” he chirped, his tail raised high. He wasn’t challenging the other wolf, but asserting slight dominance.
His smile was still visible and his tail wagged a little in the air. “You survived the coyotes,” he beamed.
It took a moment for the awe-inspiring spell of the Grove to wear off, but then he heard the footsteps behind him, and knew there was someone there. He wasn't close enough to make out any details, but the scent and patchy blond-and-black coat was definitely familiar. The sneaky male hadn't met any other wolves in the Lore and it was comforting to know that this wolf was, well, not a friend exactly, but someone who probably wouldn't hurt him. If he couldn't tell, the friendly words pouring out of the wolf's mouth would've made it clear to even the most suspicious of wolves. He was smiling and wagging a tail held high in the air, obviously happy to see him. Which wasn't too surprising, given how Ferreiran had left him. He was probably glad to see that he was still alive. They had been attacked by coyotes and the dark male had told him to flee, distracting the pack alone. He remembered the fear as he had raced, lungs burning, narrowly avoiding the coyotes' teeth. They had finally given up on the chase, just before he fell to the ground with exhaustion. It was a terrible day.
It felt good to see someone that Vaken didn’t have to justify his existence to. It was validating to talk to someone that didn’t make everything about himself. This mysterious black wolf was a breath of fresh air in otherwise a very suffocating area, and Vaken appreciated that. “You don’t look too bad at all,” he observed, flashing a toothy grin. The other wolf was surviving well, not starved or injured. Vaken admired that.
Drawing a little closer, Vaken smelt the wolf’s fur. “Haven’t joined a pack yet,” he noted, nodding with approval. “Good on ya!” He took a seat on his skinny romp and relaxed his shoulders. He felt like he was talking to a brick wall, but it was easy to shake off. This wolf had talked to him before, Vaken was sure it could happen again. He didn’t mind the silence, but it definitely helped to share a few words. Puffing his chest out, Vaken twitched his ears and rubbed his paws in the dirt. “We’re a little late with introductions, but I am Vaken Svart. Suppose you’d tell me your name?
He wasn’t being forceful. He was in no position to make demands. It was just a suggestion. He wanted to know the male better, and it seemed like the quickest way to break the ice. He wanted to know the name of the man that had helped him escape coyotes.
He heard the other wolf ask, "We’re a little late with introductions, but I am Vaken Svart. Suppose you’d tell me your name?" The wolf, no, Vaken, twitched his ears and rubbed two paws against the dirt. "Ferreiran," he answered simply.
Vaken lifted his front paw up a few inches from the ground, glancing at it with his golden eyes. “It is special here,” he admitted, turning his attention to the trees. He had been here before, but never acknowledged the beauty fully to another wolf. He dropped his paw back to the ground and gave an encouraging grin. “Ferreiran.” He let the name slip off his tongue. It was an interesting name. “Well Ferreiran, you like it here then? If you keep heading north, you’ll run into a pack.” He looked over his shoulder in their direction. “Not too bad of guys, for a pack.” It wasn’t a complete compliment, but it was something. “North of that is a waterfall. You can get a good swim in there.”
He searched his mind for more navigation, but fell short. That was the farthest north he had gone. Offering a lopsided grin, Vaken gestured towards the trees once more with his muzzle. “Here’s the only place that feels like this though.”
He wasn't going to find a pack, no matter what. It would be smart, since he would need a healer's help if he grew ill, and food while he rested, but he knew he couldn't thrive in a pack, regardless of its members' personalities.
Nothing really felt like home to Vaken. He furrowed his forehead in concentration, trying to remember the last place he felt like home. It was a difficult thing. Maybe with his father? Even then, his brother and mother never felt like home, so did his old pack count? He felt his face contort into a frown, clearly struggling with his own demons.
He tried not to think about it more. Pushing it to the back of his head, Vaken distracted himself with the wolf’s company. “Maybe you’ll start your own pack here,” he prodded, sniffing around the leaves. “Ya know how it is, have some babies,” he gave a boyish grin. “Doesn’t sound so bad, does it?” He wasn’t sure if that was the life for him, but he was saying the words just to say something. He wanted to change the subject from home, and the idea of family gave Vaken some peace.
That’s why he came to relic lore, wasn’t it? He wanted to find family. As unlikely at it was, the small wolf was determined. He wanted a home.
His thoughts were getting the better of him. The longer the wolf stood there, lost in his own head, the more the smell of coyote drifted through the air. It was only until Vaken heard the growls in the distance that he realized: they weren’t alone. Shifting his attention back to Ferrerian, the yearling puffed out his chest and growled back at the emerging vermin.
The coyotes were alarming. There were three, more than enough to drive him away from this perfect land if they so chose. He supposed he could fight them but he thought it was better not to risk it. "Should we do the same?" he asked, already primed to run or fight. His fight or flight response was beginning to kick in, pushing him to go do something! Let's go, he thought, smiling through gritted teeth.