even the songbirds sing

Razekiel Lykoi · 11-09-2011, 06:20 PM

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That should be correct, unless she has spoken with Sage or any members of Ichika who would have mentioned "some hippie guy" in charge. :B Thanks for starting!

Should he have told someone about that night? More than a week had passed, yet Samhain had yet to leave his mind, and not even the miracles of marijuana could fully dispel them. He did not regret a thing, really, but if his fellow Ichikans were to find out what happened after the embers of the bonfire had long cooled and the ghosts among them had long departed into the night. He thought of Gideon, how the two had never truly met, and Razekiel was pleasantly surprised to find that anxiety could still startle and occupy his heart. How wonderful a feeling, to be given concrete evidence that a soul still dwelt within, that he was still alive! A deep, contented breath of chilled, late autumn air and his thoughts were calmed, at least for the time being, once again.

Surely he and Nayru would need to chat, though. The coyote wasn't quite sure how to anticipate that. What would she say?

Once again the red-masked coy had swept his scarf around the blue roan's muscular neck and throat, as if the small piece of fabric could truly aid in keeping the stallion any warmer. Lark neighed delightfully nonetheless, and together the two strolled from Ichikan territory with no destination in mind; as if connected by mind, the horse always seemed to sense when trouble lurked within the coyote leader's mood — though Razekiel had always thought he'd been fairly skilled at maintaining positive energy and whatnot — and the horse insisted the two stroll. Then again, perhaps Lark had just wanted attention, and what kind of hippie would Razekiel be if he were to deny it to one of the Mother's strongest and most beautiful of creatures?

"It's that time of the year again, my Lark," the coyote gurgled, looking with mild dissatisfaction at the leaf-coated ground and shriveling grass beneath a layer of frost. Razekiel knew he could do nothing but wait out the winter, and though he cherished it for the sake of allowing the Mother to hibernate and rest for a time, the coyote would miss the flowers and birds terribly. The usual chorus of songbirds that typically followed him had long left for the south, and the silence that surrounded him at all times he found no less than unsettling.

Around the stallion's neck he had hung the strap of his acoustic, and with the horse's permission he gently retrieved it and slipped up on Lark's bare back and began to strum eagerly. He did not have the most pleasant of voices but in exchange a greater enthusiasm; Lark flattened his ears and lowered his head, but the coyote bellowed on with excited strums, singing no individual song but only about what they passed by in a silly, lighthearted melody.

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