i am a strange loop

Ralla · 11-21-2010, 12:59 AM

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Hiya :3

The peaceful days of tribe life were just that. A sense of normalcy had befallen Ralla; impenatrable for what spring may bring when she and Kemo journeyed south again. She could only wonder when that wall of solace crumbled, and even then that urge to wonder was placated and cooled by the swiftly chilling winds. Gathering the firewood, curling beneath heaps of blankets in her hammock, and being near the Great Fire warmed her within and out, even though she repeatedly knew that the fire was sacred and not to be near. Still, she watched it and felt its heat from the distance she was assigned, and awaited the day that it would be hers to bask in.

The fascination with the Great Fire was because of its mystery, not its power. Ralla had known that there were other mystic wonders of the world, but she had never before resonated with anything but the moon and stars. She felt it special, and she felt that her tribe was special, so she worked hard for them and took pride in her work, however menial.

Ralla was just returning from a wood gathering trip--Sugar, the brown quarter unicorn, still strapped to the cart that had carried the timber--as she made her way to the stables to untack him. She had not expected to see another wolf--unknown to her--leave the building before she arrived. At first, she decided to keep out of the wolf's way; holding back until he was well enough away before going into the stables and getting Sugar situated. But then a tool in the shed fell; a pitchfork. Ralla had not seen one other than in Long Gone buildings, although they seemed more plentiful in Nova Scotia. Its shape was of three prongs, although the middle point fell like a compass straight in the direction that the wolf had left. Call it a trick of the wind, but Ralla saw the sign.

She easily picked up the stranger's scent--definatly AniWayan, if not unfamiliar personally--and followed it; the path that the pitchfork had pointed out clear as the scent trail was. As the scent became stronger, so did a tune. Ralla's ears twitched from side to side as she strained to hear that sound; the sound of music; the sound of what made her blood boil and flow. Without much preamble or reason, she knocked on the door of the house that she had not known filled. Mentally, she noted to add it to her daily-to-weekly rounds. The sounds of a shutter on a loom--distinct in its mechanical rythmn and unmistakable--had reached her ears, accompanied by the sound of the song. She was eager to meet this new wolf, as she was always with new wolves. Her encounters had been many since her arrival in Nova Scotia, yet still she yearned for more.

Moon walks. "Moon talks." Moon thinks.

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