Bumblerumpus 📜

Born in the Spring on 10/19/20.

Half-heir to the throne, she grew up knowing she would never become queen, though she possessed all the qualities that would have entitled her to lead her mother’s people.

For a while, she strayed far from the main pack on the hunt, for as soon as she was old enough to leave the safety of the learner’s circle, she knew she had to go, to keep going, and to not look back.  In her blood sang something a bit different than in that of the other puppies, a call to move, and to do, in places far distant.

When she summed up the courage to finally tell someone, it was not to her mother that she ran, but to Paws in the River, whose children bore the same marks as her own on their coats.  River told Puppymeat of her father, a wolf that was known throughout the land, a sire of many pups, including some of her own.  

“One day you may meet him,” she said.  “Or perhaps not, he would be very old now.  But if you do, he would be pleased to know the scout line is strong in you.  Do you not realize, this is your calling?”

Puppymeat was surprised to hear this, but felt validated now.  So she did the only thing a daughter of Scoutmeat would be known for, she became a scout herself, and vowed to become one of the greatest scouts.

Journeying through the wilds were hard for a young wolf.  She was barely a hunter, but her stalking skills sustained her and she ate small things, always questing, searching, hunting for the one that had sired her.  She had so many questions for him, and she wanted to know what sort of wolf he was.

Word reached her in her second summer that Scoutmeat was dead.  She didn’t quite believe it.  Among the scouts she met he was a legend, one of the best, and through long-howls she often listened to hear if the wolf she heard was him, but now she knew it would never be their paw prints crossing on the damp stream mud, or tufts of his fur she would sniff on branches.  For a time, she wandered, unable to decide what she wanted, now that her quest would never have an end.

It was in the autumn of her first true year alone that she realized she already had her answers.  Whoever her sire had been, he was no longer of flesh and blood and bone. But she was, and in her blood ran his blood still, scouting as it had from the very beginning.  And she knew him then, deep in her bones.  He was her, she was him, and they would always be running.  That was what they were, scouts, there was nothing more to know.

Life Events:

Got mange 12/6/20