434 SSWM
For Gotham, and I apologize if he can't leave the packlands D: I'll change it then.


The thickly growing vegetation, tall spruces still thick with their evergreen needles and bare ceders looking frozen in the cold. The wind blew through these, whistling a chilly tune to the chance listeners. The forest was cold, to be sure, but it was not as bad as open land. Thankfully the wind was hard to feel due to the proximity of the trees. They seemed so tightly packed, as though someone had planted rows of trees, then came and randomly dropped young seedlings in random patterns between the rows. Sometimes if one did not care to go around massive amounts of trees, it was possible to squeeze through a couple in a sort of zigzag manner.


Strelein stuck his head into one of these clusters, seeing a small hole at the base of one the trees. Angling his head, he saw a stash of nuts hiding in the shadows. He reached in and pulled one out and looked at it before he threw it back in the hole and retracted his head. Strel looked up, ears brushing bark gently. The trees were tall, much like back home in Michigan. It smelled quite nice too. The ocean barely seemed to have an effect here for the trees had allowed for a more forested scent on the air. Lungs full of the piney scent, the redhead let the carbon dioxide out with a cloud of moisture hovering before his nostrils briefly.



He took a few steps towards the sound of weak bubbling water. A stream, mostly frozen over, still managed to trickle in the center. It was weak and it would freeze completely soon. Animals that did not hibernate would visit this small flowing brook to take drinks. Perhaps larger herbavores would come for water and Strel could bring it down. Somehow. The food and the hide was so valuable to him, anything to experiment with. He had yet to make his own leather to use in sewing. It would be durable and hardy and that was exactly what he felt members of his pack would need and want. Maybe something for the workers in the pack. Perhaps a thick apron to keep hot things from touching vital regions.


But he was grasping at straws; most big animals had left the area or it was highly likely. The redhead did not knew the migration patterns of the land yet. He tried to find food wherever he could so he would not starve later. Sighing, he cupped his hands together to put water to his lips for a cool drink. It was refreshing and clean. Quite nice.

Nee, dit is goed!
599 words

Gotham left the Crimson Dreams mansion in his optime form, cursing his clumsiness. Walking on two legs was substantially less stable than was walking on four, and the boy found himself stumbling over almost anything, or nothing at all. Uneven ground was a challenge, snow was a challenge, and given enough open space, open space was a challenge. This was, perhaps, one of the reasons he headed straight into the thick forest that neighboured his packlands; the trees, packed so closely, would provide constant support as he moved through them. The youngster, almost nine months old now, had a slingshot and a small bag of pebbles hanging from his elbow. His aunt, who seemed to have a rather large arsenal of assorted weapons, had lent the thing to him. Gotham doubted that his mother would approve, and kept it hidden just in case.

The boy moved through the forest, resting his hands on trees as he passed them to help himself stay upright. He was starting to get the hang of balancing on two fewer legs, and started to walk a bit faster, placing his hand on every other tree instead of each one. This strange form was certainly more dangerous in terms of picking up extraneous objects; his fur was already filled with pine needles and sap. Fortunately, the sound of water caught his ears, and figuring that he would probably be okay with fewer trees to balance with, and certainly pleased that he wouldn't acquire so many tree parts, he headed towards it.

Walking close to where the ice met the land, Gotham spent a few steps finding his legs. He was starting to feel more confident now, though he knew that once he shifted back and forth he would have forgotten most of it, just like had happened last time. It takes practice, he knew, and each time he found himself frustrated he would repeat that phrase like a mantra. With each try he was getting a slight bit better, even though his progress seemed to be at a snail's pace.

Suddenly he found himself to be walking free, without a hand on the trees beside him, and he grinned to himself. Seeing as he seemed to be managing, he thought he would make it a bit more challenging. Pulling the slingshot from around his arm, he took it in his left hand, stumbling a little and swaying to catch his balance but recovering effectively. He held the bag of stones in his mouth as he opened it and extracted some ammunition. Walking a bit more quickly, perhaps due to excitement, he loaded the slingshot. His eyes glanced from the scenery in front of him to the slingshot, trying to find a good target.

The boy spotted a perfect target soon enough - a stone, a relatively large one, with a bright red tinge. Gotham didn't wonder why it was red, and didn't notice that it was moving a little, perhaps because of his intent multitasking. It was rather surprising, then, that he actually hit it. He grinned a little, pleased with himself, and the bag of stones dropped from his mouth. The boy stopped suddenly in response. As he bent down to a crouch, lamenting his clumsiness again, he tipped a little to the side. Unable to regain his balance on folded legs, he fell completely, and, to make his embarrassment ever the stronger, it was at exactly this moment that he looked up and realized for the first time that his target, miraculously hit with the pebble, was another wolf. Gotham could have died of self-loathing.

510 SSWM
I said rapid fire and I give snail's pace /sigh.


There was a distant crunching noise in the bush, muffled by the closeness of the trees around the redhead. He ignored it and thought nothing of it. It could have been something particularly worrisome, but he doubted anything big enough to harm him would have a hard time navigating at him and if it did, then he could have time to slip between trees away from the noise's source. Strelein crouched, then sat on the brook's bank. His legs were stretched out to touch the other side of the water's bank, easily reaching. The visible soil was cold, half frozen, and the grass was dead beneath the layer of frost. He leaned over, examining the ice on the edges. A piece broke off in his hand, fractures running a few inches beyond the small gap. The shard was thin, much like a piece of shale or some flat, overused blade.


The ice fell from his hand as he yelped. Red briefly swarmed his eye sight before being replaced with stars of pain. His hand rubbed at the place where he had felt something strike. Strel held back tears brought on by sudden pain, and pain alone, by wincing as he rubbed. Something had hit him out of nowhere. Were he under attack? He did not know, ducking down further to plunge a hand into the water and bring it out quickly to press against his head. By now the pain was gone and the area only throbbed from the soreness of a budding bruise. The fur that hid it was a blessing indeed, for the color would distract everyone from the ugly purple thing that would form soon enough there.


"Oh who the bloody hell..," he cursed, rising towards the direction of the shot. Strel saw nothing but the form of a rock that had not been there. Whatever had hurt him must have been beyond the strange new stone. Then, senses returning, he growled at the stone that was nothing but a fallen wolf. The beast seemed young, but that was no excuse not to call the guy out for hitting him with whatever it was the kid had used. The kid himself seemed to be under a year old, only half grown really. That meant even Strel, average as he was, could pick up the youth by the scruff in anger. He did so, though it was rather difficult to maintain, holding him at a height where the dark kid could stand on his own but Strel could still grasp him by the nape.


"Now what was that for?" he said, rather pained. The redhead tried to guilt the boy into an apology. One hand on the boy and the other on his head, Strel gave him a light shake. "I didn't do anythin' to you and you go and smack me with something!" His tone was hardly more than accusatory, not reprimanding. He was more shocked by the attack than anything else; he was no wolf to discipline others when he himself needed to be disciplined sometimes.

sometimes snails are speedy! also, i don't mind :3
265 words

The yelp that escaped the other wolf upon contact made Gotham want to sink into the ground and disappear. How foolish he had been, to try to shoot the device while walking. At least he could have stopped and leaned against a tree while he found his target. It was done, though, and though he had bent down to pick up the stones he was now cowering on the ground as the other got nearer. His ears were folded back, his shoulders hunched over, and his eyebrows furrowed in a profound expression of shame. The other was still coming closer, and Gotham leaned his shoulders closer and closer to the ground as the distance between the two wolves shortened.

All of a sudden his feet were dangling above the ground. The boy's ears were still pressed back, and his blue eyes failed to look at the other wolf at all. Instead, his gaze flitted across the ground on either side of him. There was pain in the other's voice, and while he was sad that he hurt him, Gotham was more worried about his own safety at the time being. When the other demanded his explanation, the youngster hesitated for a moment, swallowing, worried to say anything that would upset this male more. "I'm sorry," he whined, eyebrows still pressed together and his eyes now fixed on another of the rocks by the side of the water. "I didn't mean to hit you, I thought you were a rock. I'm really sorry, sir," he continued, feeling the knot of dread within his stomach twist itself tighter.

305 SSWM
/late

Strelein gave an indignate gasp at the guilty boy. He thought the redhead was a rock? Oh, now that stung. Strel was far different from a rock. Quite frankly, how could anyone mistaken him for a lump of dead stone instead of the wonderfully groomed wolf that he was? The indignity of it all. The redhead dropped the boy in his hands to the ground without so much as an apology as he rubbed at his head with one arm, the other in the crook of hand on his bump. He had wanted the drop to seem as intentionally, and he hoped the boy thought it was. But Strelein's arm had gotten too tired to really hold him up so long; he was no Leroy, able to manhandle a fully grown wolf, lanky as the fully grown wolf was.


"It's okay, but... ugh, don't try that again, or I'll be eager to smack you a matching bruise," Strel threatened, trying to sound like he meant it. The redhead was definitely not the threatening type, not with the lack of muscles on his forearms. He was better suited for sitting at home and reading, well, if he was able to read. "What are you doing out here. Aren't you a bit young to be wondering about on your own like this?" he questioned with a sniff, still feeling quite bitter about the bruise to his head. Strelein just noticed how young the boy was, or seemed, and decided that it was best to let the kid off with a warning. Because he could not really have done much more than that. "Surely, you're too young to be out here, right?" Strel eyed the boy, who coward before him. The action bloated his ego a bit, but also unnerved him. Cowering, before him? Ha! What a riot.

284
that is soooo much better suited for you. Jk.Jk.


Strel gave the boy the evil eye, trying his hardest to look impressively mean and vengeful. Let him think that the puny redhead had actually bite to his bark. The youth certainly seemed afraid at what the older male could, though probably would not ever really be able to, do. If he had heard what was passing through Gotham's mind, Strel would have probably laughed at his face and forgiven him at once for letting his ego swell just a bit. He would have clapped the boy on the shoulder and told him that a lesson had been learned, though he would expect some form of compensation for brain cells lost in the process.


"Stop calling me sir. I feel so old with you saying that. I'm barely an adult," he complained, rubbing fingers on his temples to stop the throbbing headache that had been forming there for the past two minutes. Of course he would get a headache after getting clonked on the head by a projectile. Why was the pup still cowering like that? Strel really was not remotely terrifying enough for the boy to still be shrinking himself down like this for so long. He should have realized by now that the redhead was about as threatening as a fallen leaf.


"Shouldn't you still be back home, wherever that is?" he prodded, lowering his head to look at the boy at his level, which was not too much lower than his normal view. There were more reactions when one looked at children at eye level instead of looking down on them. They would consider you an equal and follow instructs even better with that kind of respect. "What's your name, boy?"

sorry for the wait ): smexy kiritar!
315 words

Gotham's guilty nervousness was dying down a little, but that didn't stop him from cowering. At the other's suggestion that he stop using such formalities, the boy merely nodded in promise. Though the other claimed he was barely an adult, the charcoal colored boy felt as if he was in the presence of an authority figure. It was probably a good idea to comply with the slightly larger wolf's proddings and go home, or at least to pretend to. This situation wasn't really one that the boy wanted to stay in, the burden of blame making him feel as if he should disappear completely. But how did Gotham know that this unfortunate target wouldn't launch some sort of attack as soon as the boy turned his back on him to go home? The youngster was more familiar with stories of virtuous knights, but he had heard stories of cowboy stand offs, as well. There were usually cheaters.

When the red-headed wolf bent down just enough to be on eye level, the younger wolf regarded the other's eyes curiously. They were a rather odd shade of purple, one that the Dreamer could vaguely remember adorning the flowers of shrubby little plants. He had been told their name, but being more interested in the insects that floated around, had forgotten it; lavender was such an elusive word.

Before he could even think, the youngster stuttered out the first name that popped into his head: "Peter." His own lumescent blue eyes flickered to the other's momentarily as if to ensure his lying wasn't detected. "P-peter Wolf," he added, as if this would add security to the lie. The name had been gleaned, with slight modification, from Peter and the Wolf, a story about a boy who wasn't scared of wolves at all. Perhaps this name didn't quite suit Gotham at this particular moment, but it was out nonetheless.

414
is no problemo c:. Y I know, isn't Kiri just godly?


Strelein gave a blank look in response to the the pup's name. That was probably the most unimaginative name he had ever heard. And he knew something about imagination; he needed it to try to vie for a job in his pack. Peter Wolf was just a name that showed that either the pup thought he could fool the redhead, or that was really his name, the poor unfortunate creature should that be true. Rising back up, hands on hips like a parent standing over a child receiving reprimanding. Clearly the kid had some good sense not to give out his real name in case the redhead were a threat to his pack. That was laughable. Him a threat? Oh no, better run, the sewing boy has come to steal the puppies and women - rather, men - better run!


"Oh come on now, you can do better than that. Give me a better name," he requested, letting the semblance of a smile return to his facial features. Strelein's anger was ebbing away, and that left him facing a cowering boy that had probably wandered away from his home. Maybe he ought to just return the boy home with a slight talking to. "I thought kids were supposed to be good at making up stories." Or maybe there were always the serious kids already prepped for fighting and their serious lives. Strelein shook his head at the thought of that. It was a sad world, but what could he do? There had to be serious beasts or else life would not function properly without someone to regulate everything.


Clearing his throat and making his voice seem deeper than it was, the redhead added, "Okay, we can do this the hard way, which I'm pretty sure you won't like and I really don't want to have to bother with. Or we can do this the easy way." Eying the kid, the older male moved, pacing slightly from side to side. He was pulling this all out of his ass, having never had to discipline children. "The hard way is I take you back to Cours and have someone there 'talk' to you and identify you and then we take you home to talk with your parents." He did those air quotes on the 'talk' part, rolling his eyes at this option. "Or you can tell me your name and your pack, and I only take you back without a word of this to your parents."

heck yesssss
439 words

His little lie didn't seem to go over all that well. The look the older male gave the boy was skeptical and unapproving, and Gotham squirmed slightly beneath it. The pressure that he was under made his mind feel cramped, and, perhaps, Peter Wolf was the best name he could come up with. When he was with his mother or his father, or in the least someone that was not breathing down his neck like this, the boy spun tales with as much ease as a spider linked nearby branches with strands of silk. Thus, when the other criticized his ability to make up stories, the boy felt as if his pride had been chipped just a little. Furrowing his brow, Gotham stared at the ground intensely, as if concentrating the bit of hurt the other had created, adding a dash of mischief and a pinch of foolhardiness.

Truth be told, Gotham didn't like either of the options that the other had given him. While the latter, on the face of it, was more attractive, the boy felt as if he had something to prove now. He wouldn't give up his name, and he would certainly not provide the other with the name of his pack. Merely for suggesting that the boy was lacking creativity, the other would get a roundabout response. Throwing on a cloak of theatricism, Gotham sighed a little, as if resigned to the other's authority.

"I can't tell you my real name, sir, and I don't have a pack anymore, really." He glanced up to the other as if to check how this phrase had fell, and found himself, in feigned confidence, maintaining this eye contact. "I come from a group of wandering wolves, see, gypsies. I don't know where they are right now, and they would probably tie me up to a tree or somethin' if you took me back." Since this sudden confidence and honesty was probably rather incongruous, Gotham fidgeted a bit and glanced to his feet for a moment. "I stole some sacred bread from the wisewoman and she put a curse on me, and if I or anyone else says my gypsy name out loud, then the monster she cursed me with will know where I am." He rolled the spilled slingshot pebbles around with his feet and continued, "A wolf in the AniWaya tribe gave me a slingshot to protect myself with, but I'm not very good at it yet, that's why I was practicing." As one did when one was attempting an elaborate lie, Gotham blathered on. Looking down bashfully again, he added, "I'm sorry I hit you."

509



Something that was actually very unexpected happened, or rather the redhead thought it was hard to see coming from the boy's point of view at least. A loud clapping noise echoed into the woods. The source was the redhead's palms crashing into one another. Strangely enough his face was alight all of a sudden. He laughed too, which was even more strange considering how angry and bothered he seemed just before the boy launched into his ever so grand tale. It was well done too, that the clothier simply could not help but applaud the effort and weaving Gotham did to create such a fib. How could the redhead fault him for such a thing, when he liked the story told quite a lot? The clapping stopped and the redhead let out a peeling laugh once more, letting it echo in the closeness of the wood, sound waves bouncing off the cold bark with microscopic ease. "Now that's more like it! Why didn't you give me something more interesting like that?" Strel may not have been up to date about the movements of masses of wolves in the area, but he could figure out there were no such gypsies in this area.


Clapping a hand onto the younger boy's shoulder, unaware of how creepy it really was, the Cour des Miracles male grinned at Gotham, trying to seem nicer than he did before. "Apology accepted, now tell me how you can just pop that sort of story out. It was quite good for a kid under pressure." Strel let the hand drop back to his side and then letting them slip into the pockets of his cargo pants.


Kids seemed to be so good at spinning tales, and Strel felt that age slowly made that more difficult to do, unless the skill was maintained over the years. Once upon a time, the redhead was a great liar, telling his parents he had been pushed into the muddy banks of a stream, when in reality, he had been trying to fish out some little water creatures to try and nibble on and the muddy edges had only gotten in the way of his paws. That had been an almost instantaneous story to spill past eager lips. Now it would take him several moments to compose something that was suitable, both dramatic and filled with adventure. Maybe he over thought it, but if something like that did not come forth with ease now, it probably never wood. Gods, what an old man he was starting to sound like.


"But I do want to get you home, since it wouldn't be nice of me to just leave you hanging here. It wouldn't be the right thing to do." Then he realized the younger boy could have been afraid of punishments waiting at home or of the redheaded man hurting him for the shot to the head. Shaking his cranium slightly, Strel rose up to stand at his full height. "I apologize for frightening you. I'm really not as terrible as I look."

so very sorry for the delay ♥ want to end it here? this was fun, thanks for the thread!

341 words

Just when Gotham thought he had subdued the other sufficiently to ensure his own safety, the other's hands were moving and a great sound was produced. The younger boy winced and took a step to the side as if to avoid the other's strike. His precarious balance on two feet almost failed him for a moment, but he managed to regain his footing without much worry. Strangely, though he had heard a smack, he felt no pain at all, and when he identified the source of the nosie he was surprised to see that the other was clapping. The lavender-eyed wolf called out praises, and Gotham was elated with relief. Perhaps his response to the other's clapping answered the question, but the boy voiced it anyway: "I guess I thought it would be safer to start out with a smaller lie!" Though his mother and father encouraged storytelling, he didn't discount the possibility that others might see it solely as lying.

He was feeling rather bashful, but he gave the wolf a wide smile as the mood seemed to change from tense to downright enjoyable. "I dunno, I guess I just practice lots!" He didn't realize that this ability would likely fade with time, but perhaps if he kept making up stories all the time he wouldn't suffer from a weakening creative talent.

Gotham couldn't really disagree with what the other was saying, especially after all that praise. "Okay, I suppose," he replied, and shrugged at his next statement, "No, I'm sorry for hitting you." The boy had all but forgotten the stones that had spilled onto the ground, and bent to collect them. Ember had been kind enough to give them to him, and he had only shot one of them; he couldn't go back to her and ask for more! He would practice with the sling shot some more, but, certainly, in a more controlled environment.

As he stood up, dusting off the bottom of the satchel and orienting himself towards home, he said, "By the way, I'm Gotham."

300+
sure, feel free to close this up if you don't want a reply. Apologies since it wasn't really very interesting of a thread action wise, much like our other thread 8D;;;


Strelein shrugged, not sure how to respond to the kid. They could have done without all the beating about the bush, but the end result was admittedly funny, worth the bruise to the noggin. "Safer shmafer, it would've been more believable if you started with the big one. Or your second one would've been more believable compared to the heifer of a lie." The redhead smiled affably. Strel had no idea if those things would have helped the boy, but they sounded sure in his head even if the words past his tongue seemed only halfhearted. Maybe if Gotham had made the story more of a bombast, then maybe the tone of it would have made it more believable. "Practice makes perfect. Though critiques do too, I guess." The redhead wanted to ask more, like who was there to boost the kid's skills at storytelling, but that seemed pushing it for the moment.


Waving a hand to shake off the apology, even though the feelings of annoyance at it still persisted, the redhead chose to drop it. There was no point in furthering his complaints. Simply none. Though it explained why he did not bend to help pick up the fallen pebbles. No way was he going to pick those up, not when one gave him a splitting headache. Thankfully, Gotham was done with his task quickly and seemed to get himself pointed in the direction of his home, wherever it was. The redhead blinked at the name, wondering briefly if it was a real name or another one that just happened to be on the tip of the boy's tongue at the time. "And I'm Strel, of Cours. Ever need someone to ruin your dreams of being a storyteller, feel free to seek me out." He was not sure why he offered such a thing, since chances were the boy would easily forget the Chevalier and only be reminded of him when embarrassing memories surfaced. "Don't get lost on your way home, boyo."