A Good Man Goes To War

Frodo Silvertongue · 12-10-2011, 02:49 PM

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Word Count :: 668 for odessa :> Forward dated to december 12th

Frodo had actually been here before, not long ago. Regardless, he still didn't know his way around very well. The gypsy boy had taken to stopping and having a chat with everyone and anyone he came across. Not only had it always been a habit of his, it was becoming more and more prominent how much Frodo loved to be around people. It was like he created a sort of family in his mind. Meeting strangers filled the aching hole Frodo had in his heart, for the parents that he'd left on their terms. At least his family was still alive, unlike quite a few people he'd met on his travels. But it wasn't the same when they shunned you. Frodo planned to go back there, someday. He planned to show his family that he wasn't useless after all. And he wasn't a liar. Anything but a liar.

Frodo had a skinny build. While most brutes were tensed with muscle, he had the slender form and graceful poise of a doe. The boy was almost fully grown, and quite short, about the same height of an average female. This didn't bother him. While he was narrow and tiny on the outside, Frodo was big in the inside. And his inside was always fighting to get out; this was shown clearly in his confident and carefree nature. Mr Silvertongue wasn't cocky, nor arrogant, and had never boasted in his life. He had never had a too-big-for-your-boots moment, and was humble and modest. A real nice guy, with infectious laughter and a strange voice that intrigued most of it's listeners.

The wolf was in his most comfortable form; optime, and by the gentle sways of his hips he was on horseback, as usual. Together with his trusty steed, Frodo felt he could beat the impossible. The mostly black male twiddled his auburn hair with one hand and drummed slender fingers on his horse's neck with the other. The stallion Strider didn't mind, he liked the gentle tap-tapping, it was reassuring and the horse craved even the most slightest of attentions from his master. The wolf rode bareback, wearing with him a hoodless cloak fixed at the neck, a green bandana also fastened around his neck, a dark shirt, and red bow on one shoulder. That was all. And of course, the small rat that had found it's way inside Frodo's cloak inner-pocket. Pantalaimon, or Pan as the rat was more commonly known, had been a stowaway on a pirate ship, and when he'd come to meet Frodo - who of course, kind as he was, had offered cheese and bread and other luxouries - had never wanted to part with the wolf. The rat had left his home on the ship to become another of Frodo's companions. Now, Pan was safely hidden in the cloak, because the rat knew that not all luperci had a liking for furry rodents...

Frodo carried on at a steady pace, gently squeezing the horse onwards now and again, making encouraging, hushed sounds. They were on their way to Inferni. Simply because Frodo had a friend there - or at least used to - and because he'd had a long absence from 'Souls, he knew it was time to pay a visit to the brute that had been a pup last time they'd met. With his eyes directed forwards, just between Strider's ears, Frodo relaxed, and felt at ease, a feeling he'd had yet to feel for a long time. A familiar song drifted through his head, and Frodo sang it for the first time in ages. When he sang, his accent seemed less dominant, and a smoother tone took over. Still, the curious notes were still there, and although not obvious, still intruiging as he sang. Home is behind,
The world ahead,
And there are many paths to tread.
Through shadow,
To the edge of night.
Until the stars are all alight.

Mist and shadow.
Cloud and shade.
All shall fade.
All shall...fade

Image courtesy of Scott Hudson **; Table by the Mentors!

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