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[Terrore Elusivo]

An hour ago (though hours were tracked in a wolf’s mind only by the position of the sun and the light it cast and so “an hour ago” was as intangible as the thought of walking on two legs) the sun had been visible high in the sky and the heat had been almost suffocating, the light very nearly blinding. An hour later and clouds had hidden the entirety of the sun from view. An hour later and already there was a torrent of rain pouring from the clouds above. An hour later and the rocks had gone from completely dry to a so-drenched-they-were-almost-black. The rain had come faster than anyone could have imagined it would. But lately it was not so unusual; the weather had been experiencing so many sharp mood swings that perhaps it shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise. (A week later, however, and it was still taking some getting used to; after four years of submitting to the weather’s patterns, the sudden shift wasn’t exactly normal.) He doubted it was Ares who was calling the weather in to do his dirty work; though it might have been a war for the creatures struggling to stay alive with the ever looming threat of rain, it hardly seemed to be his style. Nevertheless, the rabbit he had killed three days ago had been left for Ares, the blood blending with the rain on the ground and running off the mountains together. His pursuit today, however, had been solely for his own benefit. There was no telling what the prey would be doing on any day anymore, considering how varied the reactions to all the commotions the weather was causing might be. Would they flee altogether? Avoid the lands? Would they hide away or would they constantly be out and about, searching? It did not seem the latter was the answer, especially not with all the rain. No matter who they were or how much they understood, not one of them appeared particularly interested in getting soaked. The only creature at all might have been Terrore Elusivo himself, but even he—despite his form and the bright white that made him all the more apparent for it—was difficult to catch more than glimpse of. The rain was falling so heavily that all anyone could see were vague outlines of figures and Terrore really had no hope of catching prey. Nevertheless, he did not shrink bank into his den; this was his territory and he would prove it (all the more because of the crashing of rain—his scent would wash away that much faster and that wouldn’t do). Besides, he’d never minded the deluge. Wet as it might have been, there was a certain vibrancy in each drop. He would not call it the earth being cleansed—not only was that clichéd beyond reason, but it was also impossible. (He knew well enough too many wolves who could never be cleansed; he himself could never be purified. The world would never be clean, but the rain didn’t seem to mind—in fact, as it turned dirt into mud, it seemed to both clean and dirty simultaneously. The dual natures were fitting, he supposed.) He did not flinch from the weather’s onslaught, only traipsed forward as if there were no hindrances at all, as if his senses worked at maximum capacity yet, as if he could not feel a thing. Perhaps he had become more used to it, at that; perhaps his senses had become honed for weather just like this, considering how often his travels had led him to scenes not so distant from this one. He continued stepping forward at an alarming rate—after all, the risk of falling from the slippery rocks of high-up mountains wasn’t exactly a distant, unfamiliar one. But there was such familiarity and confidence in his stride—so devoid of fear was he—that it would have been difficult to experience a violent sense of nervousness. There were much better things to save terror for—the curling of his lips, for instance, to reveal canines. The snarl he emitted as a sharp warning and the threat of attack that would do so much worse. No, his lack of balance was not something for any wolf to threat over, least of all himself. He, too, had better things to worry about. (Like whether his scent remained properly marked and whether anyone would step across his borders.) He raced down the mountain only to slow closer to the foothills, lingering near the edges of his territory. It was on days like these that an Alpha needed to keep track of his territory and be on the lookout for wolves doing their best to take advantage of it. Granted, it would be difficult for anyone who knew so little about to the territory to maneuver through it, particularly when it concerned so many senses stifled, but it was always better to be wary than unaware. Not that he had no one to help him—his Beta, Kiora Aderes, was trustworthy and willing, but that still meant the two of them had much ground to cover. It was a large packland for only two wolves and had been designed for many more. He wouldn’t object to having a larger pack, but he wasn’t willing to sacrifice the comfort he currently experienced, either; if it meant wolves untrustworthy wolves creeping onto his territory in an “attempt to join,” it wasn’t worth it. So as the rain continued in all its punishing wrath, Terrore patrolled, his pawsteps surprisingly graceful for an Alpha of his stature.

[Zada]

Rain pelted the earth, sending rivulets racing each other for the path of least resistance. Their pursuit of happiness was trivial in the world of meaningful occurences, and the onslaught of precipitation did not slow the massive black creature in his approach. Despite his heavy body and his considerable bulk, the alpha male of Mit Recht moved with a brutal dignity that spoke of the divine way in which he invisioned himself. He considered himself a god, a member of the earthbound lords, the Offspring, selective and few. His demeanor showed as such - a gentleman, kind but to the point. Decisive, and not one to be pushed. His temper was hidden beneath a thin layer of translucent wax paper, and it could break through at the simplest torment. But Zada Lukros was not here to cause strife today. He was here to connect his currently empty packs with the others of the area - to form an alliance. His ears were pricked and his orange eyes gleamed from the inexorable darkness of his face and coat. In the gloomy dark created by the thundering rainfall, he could be seen as a mirage to those in the distance; but he knew better. It would be unwise to tread upon the alpha's land, no matter how well he blended into the unimportant scenery. And so his head was lowered, nose inches away from the muddy ground as he searched through the scent of wet wood and mud for the border markings. At length, Zada drew his heavy paws to a halt. He seemed to have finally hit upon some scent or other, and he took a step back. Praying it to be the border, the black male raised his head to its average position and allowed a low howl of greeting to ripple from his stout jaws. Dropping the howl, he made sure of his stature; he was no alpha in these lands. He hung his tail at the stance of what could be taken as a rogue and straightened his head, prepared to meet this wolf.