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 Posted: Sun Feb 06, 2005 10:49 pm
 -- For now, the only rule is PLEASE DON'T POST HERE! There's no real room for outside RP yet.
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Posted: Sun Feb 06, 2005 10:50 pm
Profile:Name: Sandor (derivative of 'Alexandor', meaning 'defender of men'). Age: Active cub Pack: None Rank: Cub Parents: Deceased Siblings: Deceased Cub Theme: "Heart's Own" by M. Lackey and DF Sanders Adolescent Theme: "Strangers Like Me" by Phil Collins
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Posted: Sun Feb 06, 2005 10:51 pm
Cub Stage: Adolescent Stage (current):
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Posted: Sun Feb 06, 2005 10:52 pm
2/4/05 - Born 2/6/05 - Mother killed; adopted by houndsman Raul Vega Gonzalo 3/28/05 - Meets his first wild wolf - Winter 8/02/05 - Meets Tatiana; causes a cattle stampede near the settlement
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Posted: Sun Feb 06, 2005 10:53 pm
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Posted: Sun Feb 06, 2005 10:54 pm
Winter: Sandor's encounter with this white female was brief, but left a definite impression upon the young pup. Winter was the first full-blooded wolf Sandor ever met, and it was not under the best of circumstances. The wandering cub's chewed tether had caught in underbrush, leaving him panicked, and the appearance of a stranger did nothing to calm him down. The mute pup began to relax once she'd chewed him free...and then misread her intention to pick him up as an attempt to eat him. The experience has left Sandor rather sour on the idea of strangers.
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Posted: Sun Feb 06, 2005 10:55 pm
Just in case I think of something...
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Posted: Sun Feb 06, 2005 10:56 pm
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Posted: Sun Feb 06, 2005 10:57 pm
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Posted: Sun Feb 06, 2005 11:01 pm
((I'll be mostly posting from Raul's POV until Sandor is old enough to be up on his feet and getting into things))
Raul Vega Gonzalo was accustomed to waking before first light. This morning the soft growling of his dogs woke him earlier still. Rather, the growling of one awoke him. The piebald b***h remained curled listlessly in the hollow she'd scratched out between his bedding and the firepit, nuzzling listlessly at the little bodies lying still at her full dugs. The houndsman dressed quickly, layering himself in wool and furs to ward against the cold of the damnably harsh winters in these new lands. His other lurcher, a rangy yellow b***h with the black-bordered cape of grey running from stop to tailtip, remained at the tightly laced flap of the houndsman's wattle and daub home. Her growling rose and fell, barely heard above the wind. Her head and tail were up, her ears pressed forward and she quivered with eagerness to be after whatever had roused her. But she was faithful to her wilder blood and to her training -- she didn't bark.
It wasn't until after he'd pulled on his mantle that Raul noticed that the piebald's pups had succumbed to the cold. He swore softly, dropping briefly to one knee to caress the mournful dog's head and neck even as he gently gathered the stiffening bodies into one hand, slipping them into the game pouch at his side. It was a sore disappointment for certain; these pups had been his hope to replenish his pack. The journey here had been infinitely kinder to the falconer's small hounds and hawks than to Raul's lurchers. Accident and sickness had killed four of his pack, but there had been some solace knowing that there would be pups. Gonzalo had been hunting hounds of this line since he was boy. In time, there would be others coming to the settlement from the king's land and they would bring sighthounds with them...by they would not be the Gonzalo line, not these swift, wild-blooded and canny beasts who could sense a man's mood before he knew it himself.
Raul sighed and rose to his feet, fastening the pouch's clasp shut and turning to the yellow b***h. Disappointment or not, bellies were pinched in the cold season. Once whatever had drawn the dog's attention was seen to, the pups would go to the communal pot in the longhouse. Meat was meat, and meat this young would not be so rank as to be only fit for dog feed. He swung his flintlock onto one shoulder, unlaced the windbreak, and turned to quivering female.
"Aletta, find."
The fleet-footed b***h had earned her name many times over. In a minute, the two of them were beyond the settlement's palisade. Long-limbed, deep-chested, unshaven and shaggy-haired, dark Raul resembled his hounds to a startling degree and it was never more apparent when he appeared to so effortlessly keep pace with them. Aletta kept a full stride ahead of her master, hackles bristling as she lead the way to an area newly cleared for grazing. Raul was half-surprised to hear a frantic bleating over the wind; the sheep had been herded to their pen inside the settlement walls. Aletta had stopped running and was investigating trampled, bloodstained snow. Raul left her to it, following the tracks himself until he came upon the bleating sheep, a straggler ewe. She was torn at one foreleg and the opposite shoulder, but did not seem fatally wounded. Furrows and pawprints in the snow revealed that the true object of the attack had been a much smaller and more helpless creature, the ewe's out-of-season lamb. Raul crouched over the tracks, gauging the size of their owner while keeping a half-eye on Aletta. He knew the limits of his dogs, and would not have fully trusted one among sheep even without the added excitement of spilled blood.
The tracks were those of a wolf, there was no mistaking that, but even bearing the weight of a kill, they were not as large or as deep as he would have expected. A runty creature, or perhaps not even full grown. Not a match for an armed man and a large dog in good condition. And the wildlife could not be allowed to make raids on the settlement's stock with impunity. Once they learned that there were easy kills to be found here, the predators would make deadly pests of themselves.
A soft whistle and a hand-signal let the yellow b***h know that it was time to track, to hunt and kill, and she bristled with eagerness only given a sharper edge by the scent of living blood in the cold. Growling under her breath again, she lowered her nose to the ground, then lifted it to the wind. The moist black tip worked furiously for a moment, and then she was off into the woods.
The pale, naked limbs of the trees rose against the dark sky like skeletal fingers, casting shadows in the waning moonlight as if they would hide the trail from the houndsman's eyes, but that was to no avail against the hound herself. They came upon the wolf at moonset, a beast indeed but half-grown, and thin enough that the hips jutted out like sharp blades. The hunter almost felt pity for the she-wolf and for the cubs that the empty, wrinkled dugs swaying from that concave belly attested to. This beast was a desperate mother, desperate enough that she did not even drop the lamb in her jaws as she turned to snarl a futile warning at her pursuers. A desperate beast, Raul thought as he brought his rifle to his shoulder, would attack a child as easily as a lamb.
The rifle crack echoed in the frozen air, and the she-wolf screamed in pain, turning to snap at the bloody hole in her own flank. Her throat was exposed for an instant. The hound was on her in a moment, powerful jaws closing over the windpipe and pulse hidden beneath thick winter fur and thin skin. The bullet had been the wolf's death; the hound's teeth only hastened the end. Raul let her worry the throat for a few minutes, until the death throes had ceased, then called her off to examine the carcass. The lamb was dead, but uneaten. The wool, what little there was on such a small creature, was perhaps a loss, but the flesh could be salvaged. The wolf was fit only as meat for the dogs, but the pelt would keep someone warm through the rest of the cold season.
That should have been the end of the hunt, but his eyes were drawn again to those withered dugs and the tracks in the snow.
----------------------------------
It was sunrise by the time hunter and hound returned to the settlement, and the sheep were out on their small pasture, browsing as best they could through the snow. The carcasses of the wolf and the lamb were over his shoulders like a yoke of flesh and fur, but he headed for his own home first instead of to butcher.
The spotted b***h turned her eyes to her master and returning packmate as they entered, but offered no other greeting save for a whimper before curling into herself again, covering her long, elegant nose despondently with her bushy tail.
"Belita. Come and see, Belita." It took another soft, coaxing call before the mournful female would even lift her head. However, when Raul reached into the gamebag tucked under his fur mantle to withdraw a squeaking, shivering bundle of fluff and bone, the air of despondency fell away with a widening of eyes and pricking of ears. She bounded out of her nest, shoving her nose against the tiny newcomer so eagerly that the tiny wolf was very nearly pushed out of the cradle of the houndsman's long-fingered hands. Belita smelled the scent of her master and her own puppies upon the new baby and that was more than enough for instinct to take over.
Raul watched with some satisfaction as Belita snatched the cub in her jaws and was back in her nest in a heartbeat, nuzzling the light-coated, banded little thing to her full, warm teats and giving both the man and the other hound a wary glance. It was likely that she would not have attacked her own master had he attempted to take the cub...but, at the same token, it would have been folly to test the strength of training against that of motherlove without good reason. This was a promising start, at least. It would take some time, years perhaps, to get any benefit from this experiment if there was even benefit to be had, but it was certainly more palatable an idea than mating a Gonzalo lurcher to a falconer's knee-high pocket hound. Now he would just have to hope that he could bring the rest of the community to think the same way.
Raul brought Aletta to his side with another whistle, leaving the pup to nurse at the spotted b***h's dugs while he went to go skin its mother.
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Posted: Sun Feb 13, 2005 4:23 pm
The low, banked fire in the pit flared as it swarmed over a pitch-filled knot, popping loudly as it bathing the interior of the small, hide-insulated hut in smoky yellow light. All four beings settled around to soak up its heat raised their heads. The yellow b***h at the foot of her master's bedding lowered her head almost at once, but not before indulging in a wide yawn that showed everything from smallteeth to molars. Her lighter-boned, speckled packmate was not so quick to relax -- motherhood kept her on her guard and it was several long moments before she decided there was no new threat hiding in the flame. The shaggy, unshorn human sitting cross-legged on his bedding dropped his gaze from the flames to the last of their group. The wolf pup curled against his adopted mother's spotted side did not have his eyes open yet, and his ears were little more than flaps against the sides of his blunt, fuzz-covered skull, but he had responded to the tension in his adopted mother by lifting his head and making several squealing grunts in protest.
Raul sighed, setting aside his nearly empty bowl of pottage, then lifted a steaming mug of unsweetened barley water to his lips for a deep draught. He'd thought, at first, to say nothing about the cub. Let everyone think that the little wolf was Belita's own. It was common knowledge that the Gonzalos bred their dogs back to wolven stock; let them think that the wild blood simply showed through more strongly in this one. That coat, though, that made things more difficult. He'd thought that the newborn's coat had just seemed light-hued with what was perhaps a brown saddle and signs of brindling. It was more obvious now, that the lightness was deepening to the color of blooming lavender, and the markings were more wine-hued than brown. The houndsman cast a dark glance at the bundled scarlet on violet hide of the cub's mother. None of the settlers had ever seen wolves with such unnatural pelts before coming to this land; it made them inclined to think that they were more than animals, that perhaps they were the mortal cloaks of imps or demons. It wouldn't do any good to pretend that this little one was the blood of the wolves from the kingsland.
The pup tucked his head against Belita's dugs again, settling down to nurse with a series of contented grunts as the piebald b***h ducked her head to groom her foundling. Raul finished his breakfast with a grimace. He did not like to ask permission for things that concerned his hounds, but it was no small thing to rear a wolf for breeding. His father had told him that you can be a god to your dogs, but you must prove your worth to a wolf. A wolf you raise will only see men as other wolves, and a wolf will lose respect for and challenge anyone who is weak in his eyes. That wolfen eyes so easily see weakness in men only makes it harder to keep one. Raul's father had waited until his son was almost a man before he'd dared to raise a wolf for stud, to be sure that Raul would have proper respect for the animal. The pup was small and helpless now, but it would not be long before he was big enough make the others in the encampment feel he was a threat to themselves, to their stock, or to their children. If the wolf was going to have the chance to grow old enough to be any use to him, it was going to need an ally that the settlers trusted more than they did him.
Raul got to his feet, tucked the she-wolf's pelt beneath one arm, and set out into cold morning and following the furrow he'd already pushed through last night's snowfall to the street. The only light came from the stars and a hopeful glow on the horizon, but the winds of the night before had died down enough that he could hear the lowing of cattle and the bleating of the sheep in their pens over it. The footing was more treacherous on the street, though, truly, calling the path that ran through the center of the fledgling town from the longhouse to the double gates set into the towering palisade a "street" was overkind. It was unpaved, a narrow stretch of bare ground churned by feet and hooves, mud and dung turned to mire by footfalls and melted snow. It would freeze hard overnight, be trod back into slop over the course of the day, then freeze again come night. No matter the time of day, you had to set your feet down firmly, or wind up on your sitting end in the slop. Leaning into the icy wind, Raul opted to walk the edge of the path rather than the center, where the footing was surer.
The longhouse door swung open with a pop of ice in the hinges. Raul stepped inside, shutting the door to keep too much warmth from escaping, taking in the scene with a glance. Despite the early hour, most were already up and awake, either washing down the morning meal of pottage with water or milk, spinning wool or working hides at the greathearth, or dressing in preparation to search out browse for the stock or relieve whichever poor bastards had pulled the night duty on the watch platforms. While the longhouse was large enough to hold every one of the settlement's eighty-odd inhabitants, it was not quite so large as to house them. The families lived there, a corner was given over for care of the infirm, and the seed and hides and communal supplies were stored there. Ovidio hev Macian, the settlement's hurafe, also lived there. Most others had to make do with wattle and daub until spring thaw at least, when more trees could be felled for sturdier homes.
Raul caught sight of brown-haired, thick-waisted Ovidio still at his meal and headed for him. So far, Ovidio seemed a good hurafe, and if his goal was to make this poor place as grand as the golden city of Pizarro someday, well, Raul could not fault him for that. They were not so far from home for pleasure's sake, after all. But for all that, Raul could not bring himself to do more than grudgingly respect Ovidio; the man had the heart of a politician and a fear of dogs -- even Adelio's little pocket-hounds made him nervous. Ovidio looked up as Raul set the wolf pelt on the long table.
"Ah, Gonzalo." He gestured for Raul to have a seat on the bench to his left, even as he turned his bright, brown eyes to the pelt, reaching out to stroke the short, fine fur along the empty head. "This is what is left of the wolf that attacked our flock, then? Your fierce hunters had no problem with it, I am sure."
Despite himself, a slight smile tugged at the corner of Raul's mouth. Yes, certainly the heart of a politician -- even if he found a houndsman's charges personally unsettling, the hurafe knew better than to squander goodwill by speaking anything but good of them in the presence of their master.
"The wolf was half-grown and starving," Raul said simply. "Inexperienced. It did not have a chance."
"You see, that is why I like you. You are an honest man, Gonzalo. No embellishments, no braggadocio. Anyone else would have told me how fierce the beast was and all the harm they risked in the killing of it." Ovidio paused for a drink of milk and when he spoke again, it was in a much lower tone. No use frightening women and children by speaking overloudly of wolves in their presence. "Is there any other danger, do you think? I do not like the idea of sending the sheep, let alone the men, out where a pack of starving wolves may be waiting."
"There was no pack, just this one." Raul hesitated only a moment before he spoke again. There was no use in dancing around the topic. "If there had been a pack, a nursing mother would never have been forced to the hunt."
The hereof paused, then lowered his spoon back into his bowl. His eyes flicked back to the pelt. "There were cubs, you say?" It was not that hev Macian had misheard, but he was considering why the usually taciturn houndsman would bother bringing the matter up if the cubs had been left to die or otherwise disposed of. Gonzalo was, after all, very thorough, and had come highly recommended for this sort of expedition. Well, he might as well ask. "What happened to them?"
"There was only one, or there were others and they died. I brought it back to nurse on Belita since her litter is dead."
"I am afraid I do not see the wisdom in your actions." Ovidio spoke carefully, so as not to give offense. "I know you have suffered losses among your hounds. And yes, I have heard that the Gonzalo's like to mix wolf blood into their hounds, but to bring a wolf into this settlement? That can only be trouble."
"I think it will be more trouble if all we are left with for hunting and guarding are Adelio's beagles," Raul said softly. "Adelio has good dogs, but the whole pack of them would be a mouthful for the likes of a wolf or a panther. The livestock is doing well, but predators always learn that a fat sheep is less trouble to hunt than a swift deer. And then there are the savages...we have not encountered them yet, but we have seen signs of them in our scouting. Sooner or later, there is always trouble with the savages, and dogs are needed then. Do you remember Arenroja? The savages there were more afraid of the dogs than the guns. Dogs are not fooled by cover or camouflage, do not miss when they attack, and guns do not leave your innards dragging in the sands.
"I have two hounds, both of them female. That is not a proper pack for hunting or guarding against any measurable threat. And all it will take is one accident in hunting or an illness, and I will have no pack at all. Putting the wolf into a litter of pups will give us dogs of size, strength, and cunning. A wolf protects his territory as he would protect himself, and the dogs this cub could sire will protect this place in the same way." Raul tried to sound confident in his ability to handle a pack of first generation half-blooded and three-quarter blooded wolfdogs. The truth of the matter was, he was used to second generation half-bloods and quarter-bloods that had been selectively bred for the physical strength of their wild blood with a heart more like a hounds. Still, it had to be started somewhere. He also noted that Ovidio was looking a bit uncomfortable. Perhaps it would have been better not to remind him what the jaws of a strong dog could do to human flesh.
Ovidio sighed, tugging lightly at his beard at he turned the matter over in his mind. "There is merit in what you say...I remember Arenroja. But these are not normal wolves. No, I do not believe that they are demons. I cannot see a demon suffering itself to be killed by dogs and mortal lead. But still...they are strange. You may keep the cub and I will use your words and my own conclusions to reassure the people, but I need your word, Gonzola, that the first harm this wolf offers to one of our people will be its last."
Raul frowned a bit. "And to the stock?"
Ovidio waved his free hand slightly, as if brushing off the suggestion. "Even dogs will chase chickens, won't they? It is allowed a mistake of that kind, so long as it is taught better. A second mistake will not be allowed, of course. We are not raising sheep for wolves. How long do you expect you will need this wolf? How long will it take to get a litter from it?"
Not liking the turn this conversation had taken, but also aware that he was not in the strongest position to bargain, Raul considered the question. "I would like a litter from each b***h, so that the blood need not be mixed too closely, and wolves do not grow as fast as dogs. A year at earliest, I think. More likely a year and a half, perhaps as long as two. No longer than that."
"If the wolf lives that long, then we will talk about it again." Ovidio went back to his meal. "My thanks for the pelt. It will go to the trading post upriver when whe have a clear day."
Raul only nodded and stood. This was a better outcome than he'd expected. The floorboards creaked under his boots as he headed back toward the door. The dogs needed feeding, and then it would be his own turn at watch.
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Posted: Sun Feb 20, 2005 5:28 pm
A high-pitched, raspy little snarl rose above the day-to-day sounds of the settlement. The noise preceded the bundle of wine-slashed purple bounding over the snow. The wolf pup, the recently named Sandor, was having to plow his way through snow that reached halfway up the length of his fuzzy ears, resorting to huge bunny hops just to get clear. He was already breathing hard, but his needle-sharp teeth remained clenched around the scrap of rabbit hide in his jaws as if it were a matter of a life and death that it be kept out of the jaws of his enemy.
Said enemy, the heavy-boned, long-legged b***h trotting behind, didn't seem to feel there was any urgency in the moment. It wasn't difficult to keep up with the fuzzy little mite. She paused now and again to chew packed snow out from between her toes and still didn't lose much ground. Aletta had taken to the role of aunt and part-time baby-sitter to her half-sister's foundling with swiftness and dedication that did credit to her wolf blood. Besides, in the big yellow female's view of the world, her quieter, higher-strung packmate was good for nurturing, not so much so for teaching pups things they should know. Not that she could have spoken from experience in motherhood, but she'd helped bring up other litters when the pack had been larger.
The pup kept up his snail's-pace flight for another few seconds, stopping to occasionally give the scrap of fur a hard shake before he finally paused, sides heaving and breath steaming in the cold air, to make his stand. He scuffed the snow, snarled, and gave his prize another vicious shake.
Aletta looked down at him for a moment, her head cocked to one side. After a moment's contemplation of this defiance, she bounced into the air a short way, bringing her stiff front legs down with all of her weight behind them. She'd used this method to squish small animals for snacks, and it seemed appropriate for the pup.
Despite the fact that Aletta's feet thudded down a good six inches away from any part of the pup, Sandor immediately decided that he was getting the worst of this fight and lit out for the master's den, yipping and yowling as if he and all of his past incarnations were being murdered at once. The noise brought Belita tearing out of the hut. Regardless of the ridiculous spectacle that Sandor and Aletta made -- one hopping through the churned snow like a rabbit having fits and the other stomping along gamely behind him -- the spotted b***h took it seriously enough to charge her packmate, bowling the bigger dog over and leaving the pup free to dash inside to the nest. And so, despite herself, Aletta had indeed taught the pup something: if you're going to pick a fight with someone bigger than you, make certain you have someone to back you up.
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Posted: Sun Mar 13, 2005 8:48 pm
Sandor let out a sigh of soul-deep contentment and snuggled a bit closer to the young woman whose lap he was currently draped across. Pup though he was, he was wolf also and not inclined to be demonstrative with those outside of his one-man, two-dog pack, but this was an exception. First, this particular human was one of the few outsiders that he liked. She had gentle hands and a pleasant voice, she always smelled of herbs, tallow, and other interesting things, and...
"Verdiya, what are you doing? That's a wolf!"
...and she never spoke in that tone. Sandor didn't understand human speech well -- it was a very good day if he managed to catch two in twenty words -- but he understood tone of voice and stance well enough to know that most of the humans here didn't like him very much, if at all. They were constantly scared of him for reasons he couldn't fathom, and while their fear didn't disturb him overmuch, the handfuls of snow or rocks that they sent after him if he didn't move away fast enough were another thing entirely.
Nothing of the sort seemed to be forthcoming this time. Verdiya flipped her dark hair over one shoulder as she turned to answer the old woman. "I know it is a wolf, mayma. I also see it is a very tiny wolf." She scratched Sandor's chest as she spoke, and the cub let out another 'whuff' of a sigh, squeezed his eyes shut, and cuddled closer in defiance of the older human's wishes.
"Even tiny wolves know how to bite."
Verdiya didn't look up at the long shadow that fell over them. Neither did Sandor. She seemed to be suddenly demure, the cub on her lap continued his selective oblivion. He knew the scent of his master and had no real desire to move from his comfortable huddle of fur and skirts.
"I suppose you would know more about that than I," she said, glancing up and smiling at Raul Gonzalo, "but somehow, I don't think I will need defending from this one. He's never offered to bite anyone, and I can think of several who have deserved it." She scratched Sandor beneath the chin as she spoke. "He's a credit to his master."
Raul snorted softly as the shameless waif he'd taken in groaned in pleasure and all but hid himself beneath the young woman's skirts. It took no little willpower to keep himself from reaching over and hauling the striped shirker out by his tail. "The dogs have been teaching him not to fight unless he can stand his ground. The last time he tried to growl at Aletta over anything, he was lucky to get off with only a shaking." Verdiya laughed at that, then pushed Sandor out into daylight as the houndsman went on. "But I'm afraid I must interrupt this quest to make a pet of my wolf. He has lessons to attend in the woods today."
"Yes?" Verdiya reached over to ruffle Sandor's ears once more as she rose to her feet. "Well, I wish you both luck in them."
Sandor groaned again. Even though he didn't understand the words, he did know that the nice one was leaving. He didn't whimper, but did heave a huffing sigh as she walked off...then started a bit as his alpha went down on one knee and offered to stroke the cub's fuzzy head.
"Well, you may be a shirker, but at least you have good taste. Now we have work to do. Sandor, follow!" Raul rose to his feet and walked in the opposite direction. After a moment, the pup trotted after him, noting the pack on his alpha's back and the patiently-waiting forms of his packmates at the gate. This promised to be an interesting afternoon.
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Posted: Sat Apr 02, 2005 5:21 pm
A scene with: The sky was clear and flawless, with hardly even a wisp of cloud to break the blue stretch of the horizon. There was little enough shade to block the sun this fine noontime, as the trees were still mostly bare from their winter nap. Here and there, buds were in evidence, but the chill in the air and the marshy quality of the ground were reminders of how new the spring season actually was. A low, self-pitying whimper floated through the wakening woods. After a few moments, it escalated into puppyish snarling, only to jerk abruptly short and sink into whimpers again. An ivory figure roamed through the woodland, silence was held all except for the muffled strokes of her paws against the soft, earthy terrain. Ears cocked at the random noises the critters through the trees and ground emitted, though no response was given to any. Although...there was that petty little whining and whimpering in the background of it all... Now where was that coming from? A brow arched as light cerulean eyes briefly glanced about, looking between the trees while she passed for any clues of the origin of the pitiful cries. However, failing miserably at the pathetic way of tracking she was using, a light bark was emitted and abruptly Winter halted, silencing the shuffling of her paws against the ground while she waited for any possibility of a reply. The whimpering cut off at once, as if in shock...or perhaps fear. Several heartbeats of silence passed, broken only by the everyday sounds of the forest life going on about their business. Finally, a quavering, unpracticed cub-howl started haltingly from a northward direction. Following the rather lame sounding howl, Winter finally came within a distance to which she could actually *see* this pathetic cub, a brow arching in half confusion and half curiosity as she approached, a brow quirking. "Who're you?" She questioned rudely, her tail flicking lightly back and forth. The young one was indeed a sight; he was drenched and so covered with mud that it was impossible to make out his color or markings. Bright orange eyes widened in shock as she spoke and the cub attempted flight a moment later...only to be brought up short by the length of corded leather wrapped around his neck. The other end of it trailed off into the underbrush, where it appeared anchored to something. Finding that escape was still impossible, the cub tried snarling. The raspy little sound and the sight of tiny milk-fangs were about as impressive as the howl had been. A loud laugh was stifled with a grin and several little 'laughy' sort of noises as she attempted to hold back what she would so much desire to do. However after several moments of watching the cub attempt to snarl and snap, Winter couldn't hold back any longer. The sounds were just to hilarious. With a sudden outburst, the ivory female began to giggle at the appearance of this pup, nearly falling over while doing so. "Lookit a little pip-squeak stuck to a tree!" She giggled gleefully, eyes sparkling with amusement as she made silly faces at the cub, knowing he couldn't do anything about it. "How the heck did THAT happen?" The female grinned, poking him with a paw. The cub snapped at the paw, shrinking back into the underbrush. If his fur hadn't been so completely plastered down, his hackles probably would have been up as well. Up close, it was easy to see that, lost or not, this cub was well fed and beginning to show some muscle under that baby fat and fuzz. Even through the mud, odd scents clung to the small body...some unfamiliar and acrid, some appetizing, and something almost like wolfscent but...milder, somehow. Amidst the giggling, Winter silently wondered if she should let him sit there snarling, or if she should...chew closer to that cord so he'd be free and *not* get tangled up in anything else. However half of her would rather him sit there so he didn't go off and do something stupid like try to attack her. However, after much consideration, her front limb set itself roughly down across the cubs back, hopefully confining him to the ground beneath it so he couldn't bit her. Taking the cord in her jaw, she attempted to chew on it... blech.. what *was*/ this stuff? It tasted disgusting. With a grumble, the female was eventually able to penetrate it. Whether the cub would try to bite her or not was up to him. The cub yelped when he was first pinned, but when no harm seemed to be forthcoming, he quieted down, watching Winter's every move with suspicious eyes. As soon as he was free, he wriggled away, leaving a muddy patch on her foreleg and the clumped hair along his spine standing up every which way. He edged closer to the chewed cord, sniffing it, then looked up again and tilted his head at Winter. He said nothing, but his expression plainly asked, 'Well, what in the world are you?' "Ew you're so disgusting..." Winter grunted, the fun in the situation clearly passed over by now. Sticking out her tongue and wrinkling up her nose, Winter slowly rose to all fours once again, peering at her legs underside with disgust. "Look...you ruined my fur... eeeeeeeew..." She moaned, looking around for the nearest stream. AH! With a short grin, Winter attempted to pick up the dirty little rat cub by the scruff of his neck. That was more than enough to convince the strange pup that this strange not-pack creature only meant him harm. He hadn't been rescued; this creature meant to *eat* him! He twisted around and snapped again. He didn't know if he'd hit more flesh than fur, but he was dropped, and that was good enough for him! He tore off into the underbrush without a sound, all of his breath put towards getting distance between himself and that white cannibal!
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Posted: Sat Sep 03, 2005 12:01 am
((reserved for backstory))
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