fever dreams that scare you sober.

Harlowe D'Angelo · 04-07-2010, 07:53 AM

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I LOVE THIS THREAD ALREADY ASJKFJKSDFJS

Behind him was Phoenix Valley, his siblings, and his home—everything he should have cared about. There was none of that in him; he cared only for his mother, and his sisters only served to bother him, tackling him to play or roping him into conversation when he wanted only to dive further into a book. It was intolerable being around them sometimes, and the six-month-old had taken to finding secluded spots in the Valley packland to hunker down with one of his novels. Today, though, there was something drawing him along this very road, calling him over the wind. He could just barely taste it and he did not know what it was. It was as if something had magnetized beneath his feet and was drawing him along, mechanically and autonomously—Harlowe could almost tune out to his own thoughts as he walked along, and though there was determination and a destination in his step, he could not see that destination in his mind or with his eyes. The creamy-furred youth was not even sure it was truly there.

Up ahead of him there was a strange creature. It appeared to have two heads at first; there was a much taller one up and behind the first one, and the features of this taller one were almost canine. The sun was behind this creature, illuminating the backdrop while obscuring its features, and Harlowe stopped in his tracks, squinting his olive-colored eyes as he peered at this fascinating thing. He sniffed, and the illusion of a single creature was gone—his nose immediately told him that this was wolf and horse. He had seen some of the Valley pack's horses, of course—but never up close. They were so big, and he was so small—even so, there was something that almost compelled the youth to step forward again, approaching at a much slower pace, his head tilted back to stare at the face of the other canine. There was a scar there, pink and puckered tissue just beneath a burning orange-colored eye.

“Hello,” he said calmly—surprising even himself. He had never spoken to anyone but his parents and siblings before; what in the devil had inspired him to speak now and here to this total stranger was utterly baffling, and the confusion showed plainly on the young Valley wolf's face. Whatever had inspired him to speak had given him confidence, and there was no fear or nervousness toward this dark-colored man. Harlowe should have been intimidated—he should have been silent, certainly, but that same thing which had drawn him along this desolate road toward this man had almost certainly made him speak there. Though Harlowe was confused, he was not afraid—he did not think this was a menacing situation, and he had never been in one before, so he had no reason to fear this wolf or this horse before him.

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