3/19/2026, 4:03 PM
"The Case"
None of this was really His problem.
Rancor sat by. Watched the scenes that played out with mild interest, though there was no attempt to fight them or to ask any questions. What for? It wasn’t he who was involved. The cowards that ran–who not only fled, but right over where their packmate was hiding–recieved little more than tsk’ing and shaking of his head. That was the number one rule. Don’t abandon your pack. You stay and fight and you make-do with it.
Briefly, he considered how his very presence here proved that he might’ve run too.
No, no. That was different. If his father had been under attack, or a sister or just someone he’d scarcely known, he’d come to their aid. He had left because they did not want his help. This man looked like he sure could have used some.
Það er óheppilegt, er það ekki?And it always was. Bringing up a dark paw to brush back his fur, the puffy wolf watched on, disappointed. Gums itched to sink his teeth into that beast dragging him away as he called out, but there was nothing to be done now. It wasn’t real.
"The Coward"
Rather, this was. Mojave was once again nowhere to be seen in the den(at least, he didn’t spot him in the time he’d taken to glance around), and now that ghost guy was back. Head tilting slowly and boredly, he wondered how it was that he understood him.
You speak English?It was more of a command, if only because he didn’t quite get what was being said.
Outside, and he saw it as he followed the apparition out of his snow-hovel, a blizzard unlike and he’d seen had kicked up. It threatened to sink its icy claws into his sides and to hoist him up and away. For safe measure, the black-and-white man remained half in and half out of the burrow. Wind blowing loudly in his ears, a ripple was sent racing down his spine as an otherworldly howling rose on the distant winds. Quirking a brow to now glare at the coward ahead of him, vicious words flowed from his jowls.
Jæja? Segðu mér. Þú ert gagnslaus hér líka.
It wasn’t that he didn’t know. He knew he, and every other wolf being subjected to this stupid-ass dream, were being asked for help. The arrogant man just wanted to hear it, really. But he would not torment the ghost any more than he imagined his reality already did.
The ground thrummed and the air sang as runes were pulled from all around, the distant fissure on the horizon crackling and wailing along in its eerie choir. Feeling his fur bristle, he squared himself against the rest of the opening in the event that something was sent his way.
But instead of it being sent to him, he was being sent somewhere else. Looking up at the towering, magical doors, Rancor sighed. Surveying his options as time lessened and the continent grew more desperate for– something, his broad paws drove him out into the snow for what he hoped was not the last time.
Sure, he could fight. Glancing behind him, unsure of where the desert man had gone, he called out;
I won’t abandon you like THIS guy.Tossing his head pointedly, his expression darkened and he felt the pull of that second door.
I’ll be back for you.
He plunged through like breaking into arctic waters, teeth snapping at nothing preemptively in the event that he had driven right into battle. Thankfully, he had some time to assess the situation first.
The tree. He was protecting the tree, and that flower, and the corpses of those cowards. Rancor supposed that he knew cowardly packmates too, and he vouched for them all the same.
Wolves stormed past him and the arctic man found himself headed closer to the towering plant, head low as he prepared to throw himself at an attacking Wraith.
Þú borðar ekki einu sinni PLÖNTUR!
Ripping, growling, biting down on icy flesh, Rancor fought for the losers who were saving the world.
