there are two kinds of spiritual law

Ezekiel de le Poer · 07-20-2011, 08:09 PM

[html]

Word Count → 700 :: Private.

The storm had begun mid-afternoon, when bruise colored clouds rolled in from the west. Ezekiel had watched them come from his cave, and tasting the rain in the air and studying the jagged bolts of lightning cut across the sky. They struck the bay often, hitting the water and the beach with savage indifference. He did not fear storms, but respected them. This explained why he lingered in the safety of the stone cave, perched near the entrance and smoking silently. Ezekiel made a point not to smoke around the others—he disliked the way that Talitha scorned him for such a thing, and knew many saw it as weakness.

It was safe to smoke during storms, for the wind and the rain hid the smell of tobacco and clove and (rarely) marijuana. He liked the cloves because they did not dizzy his sensed as the marijuana did. While it gave his scent a strong note, Ezekiel knew how to hide this if he so desired.

An hour into the storm the wind had become so savage he had retreated fully inside, where Ibsen was. The raven lived in the cave, as he had since birth, and neither of the two found this odd. He was sitting on one of the books the coyote had brought back from the city, reading it slowly. Words were still difficult for him.

“The storm’s getting worse,” Ezekiel said, leaning against the deer-hide pillow he had fashioned. It was stuffed with pine needles and smelled pleasant, on top of providing a comfortable place to rest.

“It is summer,” Ibsent replied in his harsh voice, for nothing could make a raven’s speech smooth. “You said summer is when the storms are worst. It will pass.”

The coyote smiled, amused by the blunt pattern his companion used. “How’s your story?”

A laughing caw came from the raven. The coyote’s choice of words was well-made. It was, after all, a play by the man whose name the bird carried that was the subject of discussion. “I think I spoke better as a man,” the bird admitted, hopping back to turn the page with one clawed foot. “You should get more books.”

Outside, the thunder roared and the wind howled. Ezekiel turned his head towards the sound, listening with interest. He wondered how the majority of the clan felt so safe in the Mansion. Stone walls comforted him, and despite the heat of the summer, his home was cool. The small amount of light given off from an oil lamp was enough for the two animals, though Ezekiel knew that the small supply of lamp-oil he had found in the city would not last the summer.

“I’ll go soon,” he reassured the bird, who made a noise at this but settled back into his book.

Ezekiel slept for a few hours while the storm blew on and out towards the Atlantic. He woke recalling a dream, but it faded the more he fought to grasp it. Frustrated, he slunk outside while Ibsen slept on his open book. The rain had cooled the night air considerably, and the coyote shifted to his Lupus form so as to better travel. It was an easy thing to do from the caves, for the dirt trail lead away from this point in various directions. One route followed the new line of the borders, the other cut directly north, a third followed the river, and a fourth turned east and towards the Mansion.

The Aquila took this path but veered away at the scent of deer. He was large enough to hunt alone, though he himself preferred hunting with the bow. Still, he would not pass up an easy meal. Yet the more he tracked the source, veering wildly through thickening forests and closer to the border, the more he realized this deer was terribly elusive. He hadn’t heard anything, nor had he seen any other hints that the animal was around. It was peculiar, but his nose told him he was close, and so he followed with a hunter’s easy trot. Perhaps if he was noisy he’d spook the damn thing and it would make itself known. That way he’d at least know it was there.

mall-caps;padding:0px;}
</style>
[/html]

Login




Remember me Lost Password?