10-30-2018, 02:34 AM
The den was always quiet when Kristin was away. Thatcher wondered where she went sometimes, when all he had to listen to were the far off sounds of birds chirping and crickets singing among the surrounding swampland. He’d never asked, never pressed her for information; it still made him feel guilty though, as if he weren’t doing enough to help his sister cope.
It was long, drawn out days such as these wherein Thatcher had to force himself to get out and just... roam, explore.
Thatcher had only visited the split meadow a handful of times but was careful to stay upon ‘his’ side of the stream. The last thing he needed, or wanted, was trouble with other wolves. Some were especially territorial, and while he liked to think he had fight and spunk in him, an omega of his stature wouldn’t be a challenge to take on.
Thatcher found himself trotting behind the foliage and into the meadow in question without hesitation. He was small in size, easily able to be identified as an omega — if that wasn’t enough, his scent never failed to give his identity away. Thatcher’s coat was a dark brown hue, the color complemented by his feral golden eyes. His fur was unusually thick, holding a bit of curl to it. He didn’t look like a wolf meant to be in a warm climate, but any issues his pelt may have provided didn’t bother Thatcher.
His steps closer to the stream slowed at the sight of another figure, however. Thatcher tensed and released a quiet snort. He glanced to his left, then to his right, and then ahead once more. The demure wolf carefully moved closer after a few moments. His stance was nowhere close to resembling anything threatening. With his tail held high and confidently, Thatcher approached the other from his side of the stream.
“Hangin’ out? You look bored, buddy.” Thatcher joked gently. There was no harm in being conversational, right? Make friends, not enemies.
Both ears perked as Thatcher stepped up to the edge of the stream. His front paws were nearly touching the water. “You know, I’m an expert at—“ And there was he suddenly cut off. Thatcher clumsily fell forward and splashed in a heap into the water. Had his paws slipped? Had he been too distracted? The omega burst through the surface but a second later. Getting soaked hadn’t been on his to-do list.
“—at not being an expert,” he finished sheepishly.
It was long, drawn out days such as these wherein Thatcher had to force himself to get out and just... roam, explore.
Thatcher had only visited the split meadow a handful of times but was careful to stay upon ‘his’ side of the stream. The last thing he needed, or wanted, was trouble with other wolves. Some were especially territorial, and while he liked to think he had fight and spunk in him, an omega of his stature wouldn’t be a challenge to take on.
Thatcher found himself trotting behind the foliage and into the meadow in question without hesitation. He was small in size, easily able to be identified as an omega — if that wasn’t enough, his scent never failed to give his identity away. Thatcher’s coat was a dark brown hue, the color complemented by his feral golden eyes. His fur was unusually thick, holding a bit of curl to it. He didn’t look like a wolf meant to be in a warm climate, but any issues his pelt may have provided didn’t bother Thatcher.
His steps closer to the stream slowed at the sight of another figure, however. Thatcher tensed and released a quiet snort. He glanced to his left, then to his right, and then ahead once more. The demure wolf carefully moved closer after a few moments. His stance was nowhere close to resembling anything threatening. With his tail held high and confidently, Thatcher approached the other from his side of the stream.
“Hangin’ out? You look bored, buddy.” Thatcher joked gently. There was no harm in being conversational, right? Make friends, not enemies.
Both ears perked as Thatcher stepped up to the edge of the stream. His front paws were nearly touching the water. “You know, I’m an expert at—“ And there was he suddenly cut off. Thatcher clumsily fell forward and splashed in a heap into the water. Had his paws slipped? Had he been too distracted? The omega burst through the surface but a second later. Getting soaked hadn’t been on his to-do list.
“—at not being an expert,” he finished sheepishly.