The Start of Something New

Spring was an exciting time to be a wolf. With the world beginning to thaw, the hazards of the lean winter were over, and a new bounty would begin. Elk and deer would venture out with their vulnerable young to eat the fresh grasses of the fields and hillsides, and in some packs, the arrival of cubs would be heralded with packwide celebration.

In the Guild, spring meant it was time to move on to new adventure. The winter had been forded in the territory of the Azalea pack, most of whose members seemed eager to see the wolves off. Sure, some of the Guildwolves were still thought of highly, such as Claudius, but many of the males thought that the womanizing ways of Agro were best left to other packs in other lands (particularly because, surprisingly enough, females seemed pretty responsive to the aging, brutish stranger).

And then of course, for this wolf called Agro, spring meant that he could sleep out of doors rather than in the cramped den. As the months passed the den grew less crowded as hungry or sullen guildwolves snuck away to join the stationary pack, or to find adventure in the snow, but Agro hardly noticed it. Spring would mean the arrival of new wolves, young and bright with fire in their veins and silly ideas in their heads, who dreamed of being maurauders and heroes like the Blacktalon wolves, and many of whom would run home to their mamas in a matter of months. It was the cycle of Blacktalon life.

Not that it concerned Agro at all right now. In his youth he must have been a handsome youth, vivacious and cunning, but at six seasons his age was becoming more apparant. He did little to flatter himself now, as he slept near the camp den, flat on his back with his legs skyward, snoring loudly. Every so often those legs of his would twitch, and he would mutter to himself, perhaps chasing prey or schmoozing with females, but either way in a happy place.

With a snort and a cough he seemed to wake suddenly, uttering something about rabbits under his breath. Rolling to his side, he yawned, and blunk his one good eye. "Hey!" He called into the den and around, to any who would listen. "Anyone going hunting later? I'm dying of hunger here!" Looking at him, you would never assume starvation to be the case, since Agro was, against all odds and nature, a little on the heavier side, and perhaps by the standards of the wild, a little fat. Agro was notorious for being a little cranky when he was hungry, but as soon as he got some meat in his belly he'd be singing and fooling about per usual.