we prove ourselves

Preybot · 06-13-2012, 01:20 PM

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Date: 02 June (backdated)

Setting: Northern Waste

Time: Afternoon

Character Form: Secui

Nobody wanted Reagan.

His foster father had told him that when he’d dragged him out of the river his biological parents had thrown him in. And he had proved it in other ways, too, until Reagan believed it himself. It was his mantra, his fate, and he used it to justify the females that turned away from his runty, scruffy form. It ceased to make the male sad anymore, and so he’d spent much of his time in Nova Scotia simply wandering and not caring.

However, when the Boreas wolves had come passing through, the wolf had felt a stirring. He wanted to be part of them, and they’d treated him so kindly—one even gave him an extra cross. The wooden crucifix dangled between his forelegs as he trotted the last few yards to the edge of the coyote territory, where he paused and shifted into his secui form. He wasn’t the best fighter out there, but he knew enough to drive off fellow loners when they competed over a kill. And, in this form, he looked normal for a luperci rather than the thin little creature he was.

Tongue swept nervously over his lips, and he bared a chipped fang as he looked at the border stakes at the edge of the land. It was proof of all the group of wolves had preached: these coyote were wolf-killers, and evil. He could only imagine that some of the skulls hanging there were those of women or yearlings too inexperienced to be a threat. His green eyes narrowed to angry slits, and he marched onward.

The tall grasses before him swayed in the afternoon breeze, and he could see a couple of deer grazing in the distance. He paid them no mind, however, instead skulking forward into the territory and keeping an eye peeled for its inhabitants.

Reagan had planned to do this long ago. When he’d asked to stay with the Boreas wolves, wanting so much to be part of something for once, wanting to be wanted, they had politely refused him. However, their lack of interest in recruitment didn’t bother him. He just knew he’d have to prove himself before the militaristic wolves let him in. And what better way to prove himself than to kill a coyote?

Now that they were all gone (it was terrible, terrible, and the coyotes had stolen every shred of possession the wolves had), he supposed it was up to him to avenge them.

Grimacing, he hunkered in the tallest patch of grass he could find. His mottled light russet pelt almost blended in, but he’d done his best to roll in dung before he came, so that his victims wouldn’t see him coming. Unfortunately, the dung reeked more than his wolf scent had, and it was all he could do to crouch quietly while his head was pounding from the strong odor.

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