Pack of the Drowning Sun

Fog sits heavy in the belly of the valley, its wisp-like fingers curling over the land and dampening everything with its touch. Trees, foliage, and boulders alike are swallowed by the mist, their figures blurred, black things wading through an ocean of wet static. You find yourself among these shapes - your form nothing but a tiny, obscure speck floating among schools other obscurities. Your sense of smell is all that guides you through this world of grey and black, the bulbous thing on the end of your snout twitching to and fro as you sus out something, anything in the dense cloud of vapor.

The sun peaks through the thinner parts of the veil, and your eyes strain to make out the shapes that its warm rays attempt to save from the suffocating fog. Thankfully there doesn't seem to be any other creatures around, and you let out a sigh of relief that you didn't know that you were holding in. It would have been incredibly unpleasant to wander upon a hungry bear or testosterone-fueled bull elk.

Upon further investigation, you find that you're padding upon a well-trodden path, the grass and rubble beneath your paws smoothed down from many moons of use. Curious... and perhaps a bit hopeful, you smile weakly at your paws as you examine the well-used earth beneath them. A tangle of scents curl up from the damp soil beneath your paws, and the thought of it being used by the many and not by a One makes you all the more hopeful. After all, a trail such as this could very well lead you to a resource key to your survival: food, water... shelter. The last is something you find yourself craving to find the most, for the several days of travel and biting cold have left your body creaking and screaming for a proper rest.

It doesn't take you long to make up your mind. You follow the trail through the fog, keeping your head low and your eyes trained both in front of you and beneath you. Now and then you pause to lift your head and take a few huffs of breath, nose keen on any scent that may strike you as something dangerous or ill-boding.

Your paws step lightly on the smoothed path and you can sense that you are climbing upwards, towards the mountain's base and out of the valley. The fog is lighter up here, and you once again breathe another sigh of relief. Above the fog is better than within it, especially when it is as dense as it is. The scents wafting towards you at this level are also much stronger - the mist cannot smother them in its dampness this far above its gray tendrils.

It is at this point that you begin to notice a musky odor permeating from the earth around you, and your eyesight sharpens to flick quick glances at the foliage surrounding you. The smell is incredibly familiar: wolf. Your fur bristles instinctually at the smell, and a sense of unease fills your bones. The steps that you were taking so easily before have now become more cautious, and your body now slinks further on the ground.

A tutting sound causes you to flick your head toward its source, your body freezing mid-step. The foliage within your line of sight shakes, and out steps an earthen-colored wolf, a crooked smile curling his ugly, marred face.

"Well, well," his voice croons, his blue eyes raking your form up and down. It feels as though an imaginary slime is left on your fur, and you bite back the feeling to shake it off. "Look who's wandered into my humble little home. You lost, little one?"

The condescending name makes you flinch in anger. Your reaction seems to please the other wolf, his ugly smile growing wider still. You find yourself hoping to wipe that smile off his face.

"Seems so. So sad, to be out in this big old world, all by your lonesome." The brown wolf begins to slink towards you, circling you ever so obviously. His gaze does not break from yours. "Something could very well... well, eat you right up."

His voice is like venom, and you flinch slightly at his thinly veiled threat. This fills the strange wolf with obvious glee, and he throws back his head and lets out an incredibly hideous laugh. "That's rich! Look at you," he giggles, sneering and using his paw to wipe away fake tears. "Flinching like a little worm caught in a robin's beak." He slinks closer to you, pressuring you and seizing your space. "Maybe that's what I'll call you, hm? Little worm?" 

You are... incredibly uncomfortable. Just who is this wolf? Who on earth does he think he is? A growl rumbles in your chest, though you find that it seems to only be encouraging him more. His smile - that stupid, ugly thing, you think to yourself - almost seems to be cracking his face in two. He moves closer still, and your growl grows louder in return, your teeth now unveiled to show your discomfort.

"How delicious," he whispers, his breath hot on the fur of your face. You snap blindly at him, though your teeth do not find flesh. You see that he has danced away, his toes light on the ground and a giggle tinkling its way out of him as he positions himself a comfortable distance from you.

"I like you," he hums, his gaze once more running you over. His body language conveys that he is somehow... satisfied, and that confuses you further. Your brows furrow and you haughtily ask him what exactly he means, which just earns you a scoff and an incredulous look. "I mean, little worm, that I like you. I'll allow you to be here, with me, with the others. I'll allow you to walk on my land and eat my prey; to drink from my ponds, rivers, streams, and lakes; to piss and shit on my dirt... to do as you please, really. So long as you know to whom you owe yourself, and to whom you will entertain whenever he sees fit with that vibrant attitude of yours."

You find yourself curling your lip at him, a weird emotion curdling in your stomach that you can't quite place. Some of it feels like anger, some of it revulsion. And, somehow you feel somewhat... contented. Safe... if a bit uncomfortable. You purse your lips and squint at this wiry-looking wolf, taking note of his lithe form, his marred face, and those... yellow, crooked teeth in his smile. You squint, then skeptically ask just to whom you do owe your loyalty.

At this, his smile seems to curl into a more genuine one. Then all he utters is a single syllable.

"Raj."