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The boy had shown potential, but there was still much to do. Larkspur had to return to the forest because it was where he had found it. It was not a true ini, but there was power there none the less. It radiated up from the blue-green water and called to him through the can tah, which whispered and often spoke through his dreams. Somewhere between the storms and the nightmares he had lost the dreamcatcher. Supplies would need to be gathered, and he had been doing so gradually. Animal bones and sinew, willow branches and feathers—all of these would be needed.
But his need to create was split between the need of the can tah. Nearly every day, he came to this lake. Today was no different, though he was still more then a mile away. Larkspur walked two-legged, as was becoming the standard for him, long hair semi-pulled back and messy. It was always messy. He looked as if he might have gotten into a tumble, or been trying for dreadlocks and failed, but his hair was starting to look as wild as he felt. Black as it was, the tell tale signs of bleach and age showed. It was streaked with gold and white, just as his face was turning. Misery had not led him astray, and neither had Tak. If the way to enlightenment was through the being of darkness, so be it.
A scent, one that came slowly at first, drew his attention. There was a woman walking on the same path, not that far from him. Her coat aside, there was a pungent scent that clung to her—one that he recognized almost instantly. Orange eyes flashed, pupils shrinking to pin-pricks, and he sucked in the air greedily. Oh yes, he knew that scent. It was not her’s, but of a man who believed he was a devil. Perhaps he was. Larkspur believed that these things were far more real then most. The proof was carved into his arms and burnt into his eyes. The dark man did not slow his pace, and did not speak. He trailed the girl, white feet stained the no-color of dust and rain, waiting.
Larkspur D’Angelo was patient, above all else.
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