@Laike
@Jessie
around 11pm, few clouds
44.6 ° F, 7 ° C
The yearling wasn’t exactly sure what it was that drew him towards rye fields- except maybe a death wish. He wanted to snoop around. He told himself he wasn’t going to come back, wasn’t going to risk bumping into any of the wolves, but he couldn’t help himself. He was a kid in a candy store. He found himself walking in the same direction Ferreiran and him had taken, keeping his head low. He was going at night, when he suspected activity would be minimal. He wouldn’t cross the border this time, he didn’t have a reason to. He was eating fine, but the yearling was persistent and curious. He couldn’t accept his previous defeat. There had to be more to it.
Last time he hadn’t been able to get pass without calling upon the entire pack, sounding invisible alarm bells. It had been a stab in the gut of his ego, the failure of not being able to finesse his way through. Now, he was left with a ton of unanswered questions. Were they always guarding their borders that strongly? Had it just been a fluke? He wouldn’t know if he didn’t try. He inched his way towards their scent markers, but stayed farther from their borders than before, a lot further. Mostly out of fear, uncommitted to the prospect of invading. He could see pack territory, smell pack territory, but not much else. If he ran, he could make it to the borders without losing his breath. He stopped his walking, taking a seat. Was no one around? He squinted, keeping his breathing quiet. He felt the impulse to keep walking, to be reckless, but knew it wasn’t safe. Walking into the territory would be invigorating. A way to say “I win! You lose!” It would be incredibly dangerous. He had gotten away last time by the hair on his paws, and testing his luck (however inviting) was not a smart move.
Still, he didn’t walk away. He wouldn’t. His paws were weighted down by the stubbornness of a skinny, mangy seventeen month old scoundrel. He was considering it. He couldn’t stop considering it. The border was still too far away to see any wolf activity, to tell if anyone was hiding behind the grass, waiting for him to make his move. He was not close enough to be intruding, but not far enough away to have the best intentions- especially at night with his history. He stomped his food angrily. He wanted this so badly- but he couldn't have it. Not if he wanted to live to see the sunrise. He turned around, angrily, but only made it a few steps before stopping again. Could he really give up? He looked over his shoulder wishfully and sighed.