This ride is about to get bumpy
Pack meeting
thinking "speech" "others" He had never dug out his own permanent den, only ever stolen away into caverns and hollowed roots while travelling. He hadn't understood just how grueling the work was, but he was loving the burn in his muscles at the end of a long day of digging, hauling stones out, and packing walls. The heavy rains that had seemed to peter out just as he'd begun helped to loosen the soil enough for him to scoop out sopping clumps of mud near the beginning, and slowly work into the thick loam over the course of the first day. He was thoroughly entrenched in his work when he heard the Warlord's summoning howl, and hauled himself out of the cavernous den he was building near the shore of the sea. There was something about the waves lapping at the distant shore that called to him, and he'd elected to get to work on a small incline just beyond the sands, where the plains' tall grasses transitioned to the hardy tussocks that tended to line shorelines. Drawing in a deep breath, he shook the damp soil from his pelt vigorously. Wiping the worst of the dirt clods from his paws, he set off at a lope towards the last echoes of the Warlord's voice. There was already a sizeable group congregating around the Warlord when he finally arrived. Immediately he recognized a small, horned woman at his side who must have been the Queen they'd been avoiding throughout his first day. He ought to introduce himself once they were done at the meeting. As cerulean eyes trailed over the assembled wolves, he noticed quite a few of them resembled the Warlord quite closely- he had certainly built a large family for himself. The pale coated, orange dappled wolves both caught his attention right away. He wondered if these were the pretty slaves he'd been warned to treat kindly- one of them was leaning against a titanic oak-coated male who looked a lot like the Warlord. Perhaps best to avoid that one, lest he incur the wrath of either male. The young man, however, might warrant further investigation. Dipping his head politely to the Warlord, the phoenix settled himself near the back of the meeting to observe the proceedings. The sodden pelts and supplies at the Warlord's paws didn't look promising, and a bad feeling began to sink into his gut when he saw them. He sensed he had arrived at the very start of something bad, but that only left him with room to succeed in its wake. |
| Art by Monster |
