fever dreams that scare you sober.

Larkspur D'Angelo · 04-07-2010, 08:22 AM

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I like Harlowe. :> Larkspur is going to steal him.

Here was a boy in the throws of his youth, gangly and not yet grown into his feet. He showed potential—he showed this well. One day this boy could carry weight behind him, but the D’Angelo did not think thay this would be much. A thin face and sharp lines spoke of a body that would always be lithe. Yet for his size, for his youth and all of his inexperience, there was no fear. The boy came towards him, moving slowly but not hesitating to stare him in the face or speak in a high alto voice, one that was echoed by a frantic whispering of the stone eagle around his neck.

Even then, Larkspur knew that his path had been given to him. Under him the horse shifted, uneasy, but her rider was still and calm. His eyes focused on the boy, a Jack-O-Lantern orange, as if they might pierce his skull and reveal all the answers that he sought. The wind turned, bringing an unfamiliar pack’s scent up, but it was enough to confirm the suspicions that were only made truth by the can tah. It was faint, and it was tainted by muddled and mixed bloodlines, but it was there.

This boy was his kin. “What’s your name?” He asked, sparing no time for greetings. Though his speech had improved, it was still thick with a twang, a sign that he did not belong here. As much as he pretended, Larkspur would never belong anywhere but in those mountains, and with the family that would have burnt him alive if they had been able.

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