Call of the Wolf [Any two people]

[Gracie]

OoC: Anyone here is free to join, but only up to the amount of me and two others. Please, read my character before posting. Also, I’ll be writing in first person, and using Sebastian. Links in sig.

EDIT: I've decided it can be three, so there's one more spot, because Ranarath has joined me and Selah will be joining me.

IC:

The radiant semi-circle moon peeked down at me through the trees. I raced through the underbrush, entirely human in form, while letting the slivers of wind slice through my hair. When you were like me—a werewolf, that is—sensation was all that matters. Not sentimentality, not anger…all that mattered was the pleasure that soothed natural instinct.

It wasn’t that our people had forgotten how to feel much emotion. We hadn’t; it was even something our instincts craved much of the time. But our people were ruthless. If we were hungry, and felt like it…just felt like it, we could strangle a human being to death and devour them from the inside out without feeling the slightest hint of remorse. Sure, we knew how we should feel. But what’s it matter if we don’t feel?

Skipping over a dead branch with the utmost grace, I let my mind wander. My mouth slightly opened, and I let my fangs loose. They slowly began to elongate as my feet continually weaved their ways through the forest, as if on autopilot. A razor-sharp tip emerged from my harmless human canines and I pricked my finger against it, giggling blissfully as it leaked a pinpoint of blood. Pain and touch—it was my reality.

I burst into a clearing and willed myself to erupt full-fledged. My knees hit the ground with a thud and my sordid fingers clutched the earth. I could feel it happening—I could feel my ragged, sharp claws protrude in the soil. Jaw extended and hair sprouting like mad, I soon became a hulking mass of matted white fur and piercing emerald eyes. Just like that, I wasn’t human anymore. I never was, I presumed. But when you could be this…so free, so alive, why be human in the first place?

Moonlight pounded down on my back. Out here in the night, it was as bright as the sun to me—my head went up, jaws opened wide, and I howled, howled until the moon could hear me.

And then I was rudely interrupted.

[Ranarath]

OoC: You're looking a little lonely here. ^^ I hope you don't mind me joining with Sora.

BiC:

The half-moon cast a silvery light among the trees, coloring everything with either soft light or deep shadow. And while the lunar orb was enough light for creatures that made their home in the forest, it only made the half-breed more nervous. She had been born and raised in the city where noise and activity abounded and everything was under the neon lights. Sora knew every nook and cranny in her city and had been down almost every, if not all, dark alleyway that might hold some form of maliciousness.

Obviously, a forest at night was completely different. Something crunched under her foot every time she took a step and every noise, even her breathing, sounded like thunder in this silent forest. It was grating on her nerves. If this keeps up much longer, I’m likely to try and attack my own shadow. At least that was one thing she was confident about: if anything tried to attack her, there was a good chance she could send it packing. The key was that she had to notice it before it took her head off her shoulders.

A gleeful howl caught her attention and she pulled her head up with a small gasp. That was the reason she had come out of her element and into the wild. The people who inhabited this area were worried about werewolves and has asked her to take care of them. However, Sora wasn’t just going to charge any werewolf she saw. Last time she did that, she tried to kill someone who turned into a very good friend. Amazing how perception can change given the right circumstances. Perhaps she could reason with these lycanthropes. Of course, if worse came to worse, she would defend herself and the residents if she to.

The half-breed stumbled through the forest in the direction of the howl. Finally, she near tripped into a clearing. Regaining her composure, she froze at the sight of the huge, white werewolf in the middle. What held her feet in place was his emerald eyes that blazed with a wild freedom. Sora tensed for a fight. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to seek out this werewolf at night.

[Selah]

Mencha Cavallero Cascon had lost her way, and there was now nothing but the moon and the howling to guide her.

She had counted first upon the moon, counted upon its light nearly to the point of obsession - this she thought, as she jerked a foot free of a knot of foliage, and felt it catch upon another root. The moon was closer to her now than a brother, for she had been wandering by its light for several hours, praying for a path to reveal itself, for the outskirts of the forest to come skimming up from the darkness. Her prayers had gone unanswered. She feared she was starting to go mad.

Mencha had not counted upon anything else to guide her, in its way, through the wood. Perhaps it was a lack of imagination that drove her to forget this possibility. Perhaps it was the fear: fear of what might have to find her in order to guide her.

But the howling - the creature - perhaps, a wolf? - did not have to find her. She heard the howl only once: long, drawn out like smoke across the sky, painfully close. She heard it, her innards seemed to clot in her mouth, and despite the terror, she remembered.

There were wolves to the south, the lanky boy had told her. Hear the howl, run in the opposite direction. Always in the opposite direction.

Mencha had come upon the lanky boy earlier that day, when the sky burned red with the dying sun, and the shadows fell long among the trees. He had been fishing; he had heard her blundering down to the river. He had spoken to her, asked (with a glance he had dragged from the crown to her head to her waist to her feet and back. She had hated him for the look.) where she was going, why she was out so near dusk. She had given her excuses (on her way to the next village; an ailing uncle, that sort of thing), but she knew he knew she was lying, because he had to ask her to repeat what she had said; her accent was strong and he couldn't place it; it wasn't from this region and why didn't she have a horse to carry her to her ailing uncle? She looked certainly... wealthy enough to own one. (And he looked again at her waist, where she remembered her sword and gun, in all their gilt and overdecoration, hung.)

She had made it clear she wanted to leave, and he had finally let her go, saying, as she scrambled back up the leaf-strewn bank, that if she should hear howls, it was the werewolves in the south, and she should run in the opposite direction. Beyond the obvious reasons for doing so, there was a good chance there was shelter in the opposite direction. Always in the opposite direction. She had nodded at him over her shoulder and crept away, and when she had paused to consider his words, she realized he had probably meant to say "wolves". The "were", she told herself, was no doubt a regional eccentricity.

She now froze, listening to the howl dwindling. She tried to calm her breathing, her suddenly racing heart, for as the howl died, she realized she did not know the direction from which it came.

"Perhaps…" And she glanced over her shoulder. "Maybe from that way? Probably from that way."

And she scurried off in the opposite direction.

She lurched through a thorny bush, yanked at her pant legs and the thorns caught in them. The vegetation seemed to have grown denser. She kept her ears open for any further howls, any further sounds, but she heard nothing. The nothing was more painful than the closeness of the howl, the darkness of the wood, the—

And then there were nothing but leaves beneath her boots, and she was stumbling forward, propelled by a momentum she had no realized she'd gained. She was falling. The clearing—for it was a clearing into which she had tumbled—twisted about her, and in that brief moment, before she fell face first into the leaves, she saw two figures: a woman, tall and tense, and a wolf, a pure white wolf—

So much, something inside her said, for the opposite direction.

[Gracie]

OoC: Nevermind, I’m switching back to third POV. First is going to make the rest of this RP too hard. >_>

BiC:
His emerald eyes snapped to the movement at the edge of the clearing. A female, appearing to barely be out of her teens, stumbled into the clearing from the bushes. Dropping to his front paws, Niveus could feel his mouth start to curl back in hunger. Not yet, he told himself. She looks like an entertaining one to play with.

Just from looking at her, Niveus already knew much about her. He could practically smell the jitters emanating from her; he could tell she was not here by accident. And he could tell she definitely did not want to be doing this. The wolf couldn’t blame her, and if he could have snickered, he would.

Niveus fell into a position where he was about to jump. Yes, he would lead her away from here. He would lead her to someplace…fun. Maybe a waterfall? A cliff? A combination? This forest was plentiful with oddities like this. The perfect place to play with some well-deserved prey. Without hesitation, his legs released like wound up springs and he swiftly flew overtop of the girl’s head; she screamed in fright. His ragged claws grazed the top of her head, catching some of her hair, startling her even more. There was no way she could have foreseen a move look that.

And as he soared, he caught a whiff of another being…another presence, right there with him and the girl. Oh, goodie. This should be interesting, he thought as he landed on the opposite side of the frightened one.

That was when he caught sight of the second young woman. He could make her follow, too. But how?

[Ranarath]

Get a grip! She bit her tongue hard. The half-breed had screamed like a little girl when the wolf jumped over her. And it’s not like werewolves are anything to be that scared of. They’re just overgrown flea-bags. “Okay, you want a piece of me,” she whirled on the shape-shifter but realized his attention was directed elsewhere. Sora scanned the clearing and saw that another person had literally stumbled into this little mess. The hunter glanced back at the wolf and saw him bare his teeth, she could’ve sworn it was a smile, tense up, and then dart in the direction of the other girl.

“Get back here!” she shouted as she took off after him. The other lady looked up and her face went pale when she saw the werewolf barreling down on her. “Move!” Thankfully, the swords-woman rolled out of the way and fluidly unsheathed an ornate sword. However, the white wolf simply ran past her into the woods.

Sora jogged up to the mystery woman. Interesting get-up. She commented mostly on the pistol that hung on the Spanish woman’s hip which seemed to be a couple hundred years behind in the technology department. Oh well. The half-breed offered her hand, “You okay?” At that moment, the werewolf suddenly appeared again. The hunter tensed up but the shape-shifter made no move to attack. Instead, it turned it’s back to the women, peered back for a second, and went into the forest again. Then a short howl was heard only a little distance into the trees. It wants us to follow. Tch. As if I would’ve ran away after being made a fool of.

OoC: Short. >>

[Selah]

Mencha scrambled to her feet. Her skin tingled, and she felt a tremble, like palsy, racing through her limbs and stomach. Her gaze swept her hands as she rose, but she permitted herself no time in which to mark her scratches, the brambles sticking from her palms. She had but room for two thoughts: She was in the same clearing as a wolf. And she was about to get eaten.

Nevermind fear often spoke in absolutes and forgot to allow room for error; in that moment, Mencha did not - could not - doubt her conjecture. Imminent demise was her only reality.

She spun around.

The world was moving too fast; she saw the clearing before her blurred, saw a streak of white streaming in her direction. She heard a voice shouting, as if from far away, "Move!"

There was no time, between the order and her reaction, to think: Mencha automatically flung herself to the side. For a moment, it seemed she was going no where. But then she was rolling on the ground and a rush of air was passing her by; the air was cold and sharp against her face and sensation was returning to her, sensation and the pulse of life, the need to live. Her hand went automatically to the sword at her hip; she drew her blade and stumbled to her feet. The tall woman she had earlier noted was standing at her side.

"You okay?" the woman asked.

Mencha was too dazed to speak. She turned toward the woman, uselessly opening her mouth; she had no idea what she wanted to say, what she wanted to know, for she knew all that really mattered in that moment: she was alive and uneaten.

But where is the wolf? her mind exclaimed. Where is that one?

A sudden crashing through trees and the leaf carpet behind them; the woman tensed. Mencha turned.

The wolf, standing behind them. Watching.

Mencha raised her sword, but the wolf did not approach. It displayed neither fear nor hesitation in its stance, and its gaze was unlike any Mencha had ever seen. She was used to greyhounds and their doe-eyed affection. Not the calculating, human intelligence in the eyes of this creature.

Wolves weren't supposed to look directly at a person, as this one did... were they?

The wolf suddenly turned away and headed back into the forest. The movement startled Mencha.

"What's it doing?" she asked the woman. The woman did not answer, rather seemed to be considering the situation - entertaining a thought.

The wolf had vanished, but then they heard it howl, sharp and clear through the trees. Mencha could almost imagine the wolf calling to them. Beckoning, in its own way.

Asking them to follow it.

Her heart clenched within her. What manner of mad thought was this?

And then the woman beside her stepped forward, as if to follow.

"What are you doing?" Mencha cried.