The Mud Queen

Hoooo, ye gods, it was hot. And to a wolf with fur as black as his own? It was even hotter. Maelstrom had spent the better part of his time upon this continent sniffing around, giving the lands upon it a brief exploration, though not enough to do more than give him a passing knowledge of the terrain. He’d bumped into a few loners from time to time, though none had stayed to be a traveling companion, and by now, he was beginning to feel the pull of loneliness.

He’d run across this place earlier in the day, and had set about exploring, unaware that it had once belonged to a powerful pack. There were signs, however that it had been settled, both by the Old Ones – legends, creatures long since gone that had once ruled the lands – and by a pack. Some scents still lingered, and he gave them a wide berth, moving instead to walk along the river. He could smell the borders of a pack nearby, and took care to skirt it; a pack had taken the riverland, it seemed.

Finally, however, a newer, fresher scent caught his nose, and he paused, something niggling at the back of his mind as he bent to better sniff at it. A wolf had crossed to this shore, and not long past; the ground was still damp, and her paws had left a few clear tracks in the mud before she’d reached drier ground. That scent was familiar, though it had gained something distinctive… Hm.

He turned, decisively following her trail, relying on his nose when visible traces of her passage grew too faint to distinguish, until he at last found the female. He grinned as a name finally came to him, and he called out, rich, deep voice full of welcome. “Faite!”

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think