Sierra Hills you double as a paper maker

all welcome, 1-2 others. late morning. ~30.85744, 140.97519
A pile of bones turns up near your cache, but your stores have gone untouched. Who left it there?

Despite never entering the labyrinth of russet hills the tawny youth had created a cache, for both himself and the pack, at the foothills. It was tucked out of sight so good that even Sachiel would almost forget where it was hidden. Fortunately the boy had immaculate photographic memory and was able to retrace his own steps with ease regardless of the cache’s clandestine location. Sachiel had always intended to climb the scarlet hills with his co-pilot at his side but that was a thing of the past. Most of the time the boy was flying solo—usually sulking or attempting to keep himself busy. He hunted often to keep his mind preoccupied as his thoughts often lingered on his greyscale friend. It was not that he wanted to forget her—that would be impossible—it was just that it was too painful to keep thinking about her. Thinking about what he could have, should have, done to keep her around. Thinking about all the signs he had missed. Thinking about everything he had done wrong.

It was too much.

And it made him forget about the colours.

Everything was so much bleaker without her around. The colours had lost their lustre and everything was grey. Brown. Black. Muddled.

His large paws skidded to a halt as he arrived at his hidden cache. What—what was that? Sachiel’s nose wrinkled as he leaned forward, his expression darkening as he studied the pile of bones placed neatly on the ground in front of his cache. But who… no one knew about this cache… not even Pum—who had been here? He sniffed around aggressively, his tail lashing out behind him as he stomped around the dusty foothills. Nothing smelt out of the ordinary… not of wolf or coyote… friend or foe… everything seemed normal. He paused, his bi-coloured gaze locking on the cache once more before he hurried forward. He pawed away the large stone that covered the entrance, expecting the small hole to be ransacked but… how could that be? Nothing was taken.

It did not make any sense.

He flopped to the ground once he replaced the stone, a frown creasing his features as he glanced around, nervously. Who could have left the gift of bones behind? Was it an omen? Was it supposed to be a present?

He just wanted answers.

Wyckoff quietly padded through the hills. He didn't have any specific reasons for being there, but he wanted to test his strength. He had lost the scrap with that yearling, and was still a little salty. He was going to be stronger the next time. And undoubtedly there would be a next time, given how much the Scunthorpe man liked fighting.

His legs were starting to ache. Maybe this wasn't the right idea. He gritted his teeth. You wouldn't be tired if you were strong, he told himself, glaring at nothing. Suddenly the scent of a wolf brushed against his nose. Of course, it was behind him. He started walking back, now following the scent. A tawny boy was laying down with a bewildered expression on his face. "Hello," Wyckoff said softly, a hint of menace creeping into his tone. A demon had to keep up his reputation.

Have you read my player preferences?

The boy had not intended to let his guard down, especially since he was usually always on alert. He remained where he was, sprawled against the ground, staring blankly into the distance. The trek to the base of the hills had not been far but Sachiel was not ready to return to the Edge just yet. He did not mind spending a little time away from home. Sometimes he hoped he would bump into his greyscale friend, or even the mud-kissed girl, but Sachiel was beginning to realize that keeping his hopes up was not ideal. It just led to disappointment and the boy did not know how much more he could handle. He preferred to preform his duties from behind the scenes, being the ghost within the pack. Filling caches, marking borders, going on small scouting trips… anything to keep him busy and out of the eyes of his packmates. He was not interested in conversation—not unless it was with his leaders.

His head snapped around as he heard another approaching. Immediately he scrambled to a sitting position, his ears pinned forward as his mismatched gaze narrowed at the appearance of another. Hello, came the voice, unsettling and unpleasant. Red-black. Deep jade. Black. Not good. His tail twitched. Can I help you? He retorted quickly, a single brow cocked as he studied the peculiar wolf.

ridge is a mature character

aka he curses a lot due to his frustation with his memory loss

x

ridge associates colours with moods/feelings & uses them to describe others

"Not particularly," he replied. Wyckoff seemed to have a knack for getting on other wolves nerves. A few misplaced, or perhaps well placed, depending on how he felt that instant, words and suddenly he was universally recognized as a pain. It didn't help that he liked making other wolves uncomfortable and preferably, terrified.

He sized up his opponent. A young one, maybe a little less than two years old. Pretty strong-looking. And he had the scent of several other wolves on him, a pack. Wyckoff didn't know where all the packs roamed, and he thought it was very possible the pack was close and would very quickly deal with someone hurting one of their own. He would try diplomacy for now.

Have you read my player preferences?

The boy was trying to remain calm and swallow his discomfort for he did not want the stranger to know he was uncomfortable. Sachiel was not at all a fighter—quite the opposite, really—and had no interest in quarrelling with the scarred male before him. Aside from disturbing his solitude, the stranger had done nothing wrong and neither had Sachiel. There was no need for a brawl, or whatever the emerald-eyed loner was plotting. Not particularly, came the response, earning a perplexed expression from the youth as he lifted his hindquarters from the ground. He did not like this one bit. The strange male was bad news, that much was obvious, and Sachiel needed to remove himself from the situation as quickly as possible. Hm, he responded with a soft frown, his chin tilting softly to the side, what brings you to the hills, then? Sachiel was determined to remain on the russet male’s good side even though his legs threatened to spring into action if the older male looked at him in the wrong way. The Edge Lords wouldn’t be pleased with him if he returned battered and bruised—even if it was due to an unprovoked attack. Not like the stranger would last long after Askan and Reyes caught onto his scent. They would not take an attack on a Selwyn very lightly.

ridge is a mature character

aka he curses a lot due to his frustation with his memory loss

x

ridge associates colours with moods/feelings & uses them to describe others

A warren of rabbits is hidden under a nearby tree. +3 Health

The stranger seemed a bit nervous, a bit on edge. It made sense, Wyckoff had tried to scare him at first. But now that little urge inside him to be dangerous had faded, and the Scunthorpe didn't know to reassure him. He clawed four small lines in the ground in frustration. He knew that nobody would ever understand. That they'd never really want to know. He was just a guy with a bad childhood who pretended he was more threatening than he really had a right to be.

"Nothing really," he replied, jerked out of his self-depreciating thoughts.

He couldn't tell this kid the whole sad story of why he had really come. To be honest, he didn't really know it himself. He didn't want to be defeated again, that was a big part. And of course, a chunk of it was wild ambitious to be the strongest wolf in the world. And maybe a little bit was his need to think about things. But putting any of that into words wouldn't work.

Have you read my player preferences?

Sachiel did not do well with forced conversation, or small talk, especially now that Hawthorne was gone. They had been abrasive and fearless together; facing the world (and other wolves) head on. But now the tawny boy had become reserved and uninterested in conversation, or meeting others, and preferred to be on his own. Aside from providing from his pack, by hunting or patrolling, he no longer shared the same interests that he had before his partner-in-crime left. He was not interested in entertaining the strange wolf before him, nor did he feel comfortable being in his presence. But, for now, he was stuck and he needed to make the most of it. Or think of a way to get himself out before the stranger tried to turn him into a snack.

Not really.

Huh. His frown deepened. Well that did not make Sachiel feel any better. Cool, he muttered, lamely, in response. Y’need help finding your way around or anything? Finding your way away from me more specifically, but Sachiel kept that to himself. He did not think that would go over well with this stranger. So, for now, the boy remained where he was, cautious and observant as he waited for another response from the scarred loner.  

(This post was last modified: Dec 08, 2018, 05:26 AM by Sachiel.)

ridge is a mature character

aka he curses a lot due to his frustation with his memory loss

x

ridge associates colours with moods/feelings & uses them to describe others