Walkabout

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Musings of the life of Grr.
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Its been almost a full turn of the moon since The Pack changed its colours. Almost a full turn of the moon since a devoted member laid down his markings and broke ranks. Its been almost a full turn of the moon, so short a time, and yet to one, an eternity. This is no melodramatic posturing, but a struggle between instinct and belief for a being to whom time is measured by the day, the moon and by season. To a being born to two legs or spawed in the heavens, the below or the beyond, this might seem trite, primitive or pitiful, but to one born and bred of four-legs, belonging to family can be a driving need.

Even amongst his own kind, the Lycans of Toxian City, GrrBrool felt the need to remind his cousins in The Pack that they had a sacred bond to each other and all their Kin. Love them or hate them, they were Kin, all the Furred Peoples. He knew it was natural for fighting to occur, it kept the Order of the Pack, those of high station were to be followed or overthrown. He knew that outsiders were to be challenged and driven off. He knew of the Hunt, and the need and rightness of it. To one born to four-legs this was natural and instinctive. Moreover he took the Role of Leader, when it was offered him very seriously, and used it to instruct and guide those under him. Acting as teacher, healer, councilor and guard to those beneath him, and adviser when needed to those above him.

The life and training that governed his past from the time he underwent his First Change influenced his perceptions of all that went on in Toxian City since his arrival so long ago now to him: days, moons, seasons ago. The Pack had been strong, but the House Of Shadows, for as long as he had known was stronger and always at the throats of The Pack. His Family, as they became almost as soon as he arrived, needed marshaling, and due in no small part to their very nature, his cousins and Kin were all too easy to goad into bloody and brutal combat which more often than not left The Pack's position weaker than when it started. Two bloodbaths at The Pit brought back horrific memories to GrrBrool of his years of service in the 7RAR-L and he knew he needed to safeguard his Kin from annihilation.

He had always been an infiltrator and mediator, and put his Scout Leadership to good use in this, forming good relations with the other Factions, the watchers and the leaders. He kept watch in the dark, the very Hours of the Wolf, looked in the hidden places and started loitering in Haven, listening, learning and befriending the Others. Always however, the wellbeing of his Kin and The Pack was foremost in his mind. His credo, from his Army years "Kin, Pack, Blood" was as true in Tox as in the jungles of Timor as in the mountains of Tarjikistan.

Always Family was on his mind and in his heart, from the time he was born in the Zoo, where all he knew was his Dam, his litter mates, the keepers and the public, to the years in the 7RAR-L where it meant the difference between life and death under a hail of artillery shells and opposing claws, to the many moons in the Pack where his Kin were often feral and directionless, Alphaship changing with the phase of the moon at times, GrrBrool always strove to better The Pack, to keep it safe and strong, but above all, true. True to the Wild, true to essence of Natures cycles and true to their beings as creatures blessed as Skin Changers.

He weathered the fighting, from rival Factions, marauding monsters, from within as his Kin succomed to their baser, brutal sides driven by lusts for pain and suffering, and from the scorn of the general populous for his Race as a whole. "Animal", "beast", "mutt", "dog", "wolf", "Lycan", words all, some true and proud, regardless how they were offered, but all hurtful to a thinking being who knows the short distance from word to blood. He defended his Kin, his Pack from these thoughts, setting himself as the example, noble predator, spiritual and thinking, (though few might call him wise) at one and at peace. For a while, it was true. Then one New Moon came, bringing with it the winds of Spring, and change, and all that came crashing down.

His particular Lunar cycle brings with it not the forced change into his between-form, the one he wears almost always in Toxian City, but his Fleshy body. The change is never a comfortable one, shrapnel lodged in his body from the life changing assault he was nearly killed in, in-operable and resistant to his regeneration, and each change rolls muscles over the pieces, and bones shift and flex against them. Each change brings pain, so he never looks forwards to the New Moon, even though it makes for easier travel through regular human society, for the few times he ever needs to, without fear of an accidental change. It is a harsh measure of time, but life can be harsh, and never asks either way.

Yet with this change brought the winds of Spring, and to GrrBrool, a very real sense of need. Dulled somewhat in his Fleshy form, he still felt its pull, but was unsure at first what it was. Until all the couples started appearing, first one or two, the usual in Toxian City, any given night there might be a canoodling couple, that was nothing new, but again and again, beings around him started Coupling. Words and deeds were exchanged before his eyes, over and over the same story presented itself to him. The pain of his return Change hammered it home, it was Spring, and he was un-Mated. He had felt the touches of this twice before, two denizens he had grown fonder and fonder of, and who then vanished before he could make his feelings properly known. All he had was The Pack, and the friends he had made. He needed, longed for, Family, belonging, and he began to realize, a Mate.

Then The Pack turned. More than just a change of leadership, a new agenda by a new warlord calling themselves "Alpha", as Wulf and others had done, but a turning, from what GrrBrool thought of as a natural and right family of his Kin, into the darker side of that. Not content to exist in relative harmony with their neighbors, but to expand aggressively, to hunt beyond need, to Hunt the weak and the solitary for the thrill of the kill and all the other, darker aspects of their natures, seemingly for the sake of it. This was everything that had driven GrrBrool to the lengths he had to escape the 7RAR-L and come to Toxian City in the first place and it horrified him, that seemingly as a whole, his Family, his Pack, would take such a Path.

He knew what he had to do. Without hesitation, GrrBrool found a quiet spot, the Library, of all places, and wrote, he wrote a letter, painfully, with a clumsy hand and a broken heart, but he wrote, and posted his resignation from The Pack. This was the third time he had lost his Family, once from the Zoo, second escaping the 7RAR-L and now this. Topping his longing for a mate, he was now adrift, in exile, but his own choosing perhaps, but again, instinct took over, he treated The Pack with the fear and hesitation any wild outcast would have, fearing his former family's reprisal on an outsider. He avoided the Den, and any Pack member he came across. He took to wandering the streets, not patrolling, as he once did, but aimlessly, out of habit, stopping to soak up the company of any friendly group he came upon.

The Ryders and Omega Institute offered him the most comfort, after his companions at the Haven bar, where the remainder of his time was spent, drowning his sorrows in service to others, even as bartender. Still he was driven to find a Mate, but this seemed even more hopeless now that his ties to The Pack were cut. The majority of his kind in Toxian City were now potential enemies, and he was in his minds eye, a pariah, deserter and outcast.

He watched and listened as the other goings on of the City washed over his life, new conflicts between The Pack and seemingly everyone filled him with hurt, knowing that once he had had a voice that occasionally soothed over the conflicts between his hot-headed Kin and the rest of the city. He stood back whilst beings came to him demanding answers, the only response he could give was that that was the way they were, what they were, and that he was not part of it or them, for that reason.

Long dark times they have been for GrrBrool, a flash in the pan for some, but a day, a moon, a season, time is flexible to a being like him. In that time his eyes were opened to the natures of some of the other inhabitants of the City, and many a fire-side discussion was had in the Library, or over a damp cloth at the Haven bar. Knowledge can also destroy, not all wisdom brings joy. On more than one instance, he was sent running, for fear of his fur, but always he crept back, needing that feel of Family, unable to abandon all those he called friend, willing to bear harsh words and scorn for that sense of belonging.

Two things happened suddenly, that brought new insights to GrrBrool. A Plague was visited upon the Vampire population, supernatural in nature and cunning. GrrBrool feared it would cross species and be visited upon his own Kin, for a time it seemed to be contained, but soon, news came to his ears, and eyes, that something was also afflicting the Furred Peoples of Toxian City too. At times in this period GrrBrool would have welcomed a visit from Death, had it been offered, but the nature of the disease that was now hitting the Furred Peoples was no simple creeping death, but was driving its victims to slathering rages, blinding them with ravenous hungers and crushing their minds. It was the worst possible contagion he could have been presented with. Yet he could again, not abandon his Kin, and donned his MOPS gear, the anti Nuclear, Biological and Chemical suit issued by the 7RAR-L to protect its troopers from just this very kind of weapon, and several times, went out and about, searching for stricken Kin to tend, as best he could.

The second thing that happened, much to his surprise, was to find out that one of his friends from the bar, herself a loner, without Faction or Family, thought that she might feel more for GrrBrool than just as a friendly bartender. Even as he stripped off and got into his MOPS gear, swearing he hadn't thought he would be wearing camouflage again so soon after putting it all away, well before the current dark times, he was looking into her eyes, feeling perhaps for the first time, that this was not just a fun tumble in the making, but something that might run deeper. A feeling not unlike Family, like that which he was beginning to feel for those he shared the fireside with.

Two darknesses had risen, and also two points of light. GrrBrool is still on his walkabout, but now he feels something more than sorrow, loss and the abandonment of a pack-creature without a pack. He feels he has someone at least, to come back for. Its been almost a full turn of the moon, GrrBrool has something to live for. Its been almost a full turn of the moon, who knows what it will bring.