it is best to avoid the beginnings of evil

Larkspur D'Angelo · 04-23-2010, 09:02 AM

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300+. For Harlowe, WHO WOULD OBVIOUSLY APPRECIATE THE THOREAU TITLE.

Two things had become apparent to Larkspur D’Angelo.

The first, and maybe the most important, was that he had found his task. The boy was not stupid like he was, and the boy was eager. Both of these were useful, but whether or not his nephew was suited for the task was another matter. Misery had been right about their frail and fading bloodline here—Addison was entirely useless, and unworthy of her name. Though he had not yet met Naniko, he did not believe she would prove any better. The boy, on the other hand, had not been sought out. He had simply been there. Further still, he had her eyes. The green-yellow was an unmistakable mix. Despite the lack of fever-bright madness, the boy had Misery’s eyes, and this was enough for Larkspur.

The second, and maybe what should have been the most important, was that Larkspur was starting to go mad. Of course, this is not to say he had not been mad before. Most certainly, four years of abuse in the worst ways possible had taken their toll on him. His sanity might have left when they had tried to drag him to the fire, or even after them, when a burnt and bleeding man fell before the prophet and wept. In some way, Misery had managed to pull him together. She had used magic or perhaps her own madness to do this, stitching the man up like a ragdoll. Her absence had begun to unravel this. It was the thing around his neck, the can tah, the little god, that held him together. Through it the voice of Tak and the ini echoed. There had been more dreams since he had seen the boy. More dreams of that vile place and the beast that lived within. Larkspur took this as proof certain that the boy had been chosen. If this was wrong, he would learn soon enough.

Larkspur had come to the forest without the horse, in the depths of the night. He had been four legged then, hunting to fill his belly. Now, in the early part of the afternoon, he was two legged and full. The dark man sat at the edge of the lake, staring into its depths. Around his neck, the stone eagle whispered. A spider crawled over his white foot, and Lark’s orange eyes turned to it, but it crawled into the grass and out of sight just as quickly. Shutting his eyes, the wolf focused inward, and let himself be caught up in the nothing where the voice of Tak and the ini spoke loudest.

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