❝ wayward wanderer ❞

[willooowfeather]

WAYWARD WANDERER
updated on sundays



a young wolf, exiled from his tribe, learns the ways of the wild.

997/50,000 words

CONTENT WARNING: This is a story about a wolf in the wild - there will be blood, death, and unfortunate circumstances that befall animal characters. Potential triggers will be put in spoilers. Staff, if I could better tag this thread, please let me know.

table of contents

one - a loner's heart of thrills

[willooowfeather]

ONE
❝ a loner's heart of thrills ❞

Wayward paws found themselves tied to strings that pulled him along, faster, faster, until nearly tripping over them in the brisk light of morning. A long, robust figure in downy feather of sparrow and dove raced along on lean legs built for speed and not much else. Awkward, still in the adolescence that came with a first birthday — patches of fur still rough and unkept, a muzzle not adept at locating more than swift hare and tufts of hide in place of prey, every definition of the phrase that he “wasn’t old enough for this” – a bunch of nonsense, if one paid half a mind to think about it.

Ármann thought otherwise, thank you very much. He was definitely old enough for the task that lay ahead, for his father before him had struck out on his own at his age, and now he was a wise old fart on the edge of the great beyond. The wandering thoughts that had lead him so far from home brought to him the idea that with age came wisdom, but wisdom was for those who cared enough to grow the seed of knowledge and painstakingly fan it until it grew flame. Arrie had neither the care nor the patience, instead taking the skills from his apprenticeship under Mother to go off and have his own adventures. The here, the now, the excitement. No older wolves to tell him what to do or where to go. Mark this, mark that, Ármann don’t you dare touch that, you idiot. Ármann! What in the world would possess you to mess with that?!

So much for ‘long live the king’. Pft, whatever. He tried to slow his gait but it had yet to happen. Must be that fate stuff that dad always went on about. Or not, it really didn’t bother him if he never knew. On he ran, waiting in almost a certain level of boredom for his paws to come to terms with tiredness.

Lazy sun rays still a-yawn in their awakening painted a glow around his form, running through golden light and being just as quickly hidden in the deepest night that still lingered through this forest. Scent washed over his young nose, licking his lips with the scent of elk. The yearling’s stomach rumbled pitifully, legs finally ceasing their running to find pause in his surroundings. Light. Light everywhere, trees painting black bars against the sunrise and stark light echoing through the void they left in the daylight. Heat, the smell of heat and the deep braying of a bull elk in the distance. Fur, the tearing and chewing of grass in quick motion. A mouth that watered, unaware of the date of his last proper meal. Soft-hue fur swayed eversoft in a whisper of a breeze, the large deer capturing his attention fully. Dad had taught him how to survive, right? That’s what a pack did. Golden eyes looked over his shoulder. Alone. The wind on his pelt felt right, after all, so why did it seem like it was almost too big of a find to share?

Not like you’re much for sharing. True! He’d be fine, he thought with a exhaled chuckle. What harm could one measly little deer do? A flick of his ear as the wind shifted suddenly. Oh, to be as free of the ground as a crow in the sky, to work with it and not be bound to its cruel temper. Arrie couldn’t smell the herd anymore, and he hadn’t taken the scent to memory and started walking again. Aw, that’s ridiculous — he heaved a grumbled sigh. But then… nah, nothing happened. How… uneventful. What a useful set of circumstances.

Hungry and disheartened, the downy wolf turned southeast to continue his trek at a more moderate pace. To his great disappointment, no food came to him. Which was absolutely stupid, and frankly, unnecessary. He was Arrie, after all! Greatest mystic of all time, he definitely could use that big ol’ elk herd. Frankly, it was absolutely appalling that he didn’t track it down while he had the chance. Surely, though, his services could be useful… elsewhere.

On he trotted on stilt-snow legs, an air of irritation confounded within him growing as he waited for a sign that this wasn’t a massive mistake; preferably, in the form of something extremely tasty to eat. Like a rich salmon or a fat, dead elk that some creature larger than he had felled and left fresh moments before he came along. Oh, how the tables had turned, he thought with an angry sort of voice. For now, he was on his own, and did not have the soft pelts of mother and dad to keep him warm. No, he didn’t need them, or their strength, or whatever wisdom his mom had instilled within him. He was Arrie! And he was going to show this horror show of a world that no matter what life threw at him, he would meet it with the enthusiasm of an excited bear cub, despite looking nothing like a bear, being bigger than a cub, and having no lumbering, doting predator to protect him.

This suuuucks — he thought as his stomach pained his dove-colored belly. A growing wolf needed more than a mere rabbit or two, and that was the abandoned scrap that a hawk or some far-off creature had decided wasn’t worth going on the ground a second time for. Left for whatever lowly animal happened upon it. But then, and just then, his nose caught wind of something much tastier than someone else’s leftovers. It twitched excitedly as his wishes were made to the great sun and down he happened upon the ripe taste of elk once more on the breeze, tantalizingly close. How perfect, he thought. But with it came danger he’d only heard in denmother tales, the sorts that a pup was told to keep them from straying far from the safety a den provided.

Bear.