chills and hills

Frodo Silvertongue · 12-14-2011, 06:10 PM

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If Frodo wasn't nice, Skoll would be stuffed into a sack and kidnapped. For all eternity. C: Haven't actually read this through, am going now, but I might edit it in the morning.<3 wc; 658 wc; 678

The young man was on his way back from Halifax. He rode astride a stern looking steed, the breath of both horse and rider coming out in short and raspy intervals. Both were healthy, at least, they weren’t sick, but it was cold and automatically their hearts were speeding up to keep up with the weather. Frodo’s own chest felt like it had a thrumming butterfly in it, the rate at which it was beating. His lungs were moving at a much faster scale than his horse’s, because apart from the cold he had another reason to be on edge. He’d just been beaten up. Badly. A couple of weeks ago, he’d arrived at ‘Souls half starved and dehydrated, all together fatigued, but the pain inside him now was different to how it had been then. The wolfman was sore all over; covered in scratches and bruises and numerous bandages that couldn’t keep everything in place. A friend of his had helped him heal over for the most part, however it would take a long time for him to recover. Both mentally and physically. His heart flutters had been somewhat tamed earlier that day, for he’d had a little lesson on self defence from his friend after the attack, but still his quivers hadn’t fully subsided.

Having been attacked on the borders of Inferni, the fact he smelt that he was in the borders of yet another pack now made him very wary indeed. It was in his right mind to carry on at a brisk speed, and collapse in his little hut at AniWaya. However, even the most important of matters couldn’t sway his mind when it came to another in need. As soon as he saw something golden-blonde tumble down from a hill, down from the pack and out into the out skirting borders, Frodo squeezed his calves around his horse straight away. The short male set off at a canter towards the source, before vaulting off his bare horse in a swift movements involving a flick of his wrists. Frodo had around him his cloak, as per usual, and so it hid most of his body, and therefore most of his wounds. There was a bandage round his muzzle, but not enough to scare off the little pup. He still looked friendly, and welcoming, his eyes having the right mixture of concern and curiosity weaved into their depths.
With as much speed as he could, Frodo jogged up to the lost looking pup, who was covered in snow and looked beyond lost.

If my peepers aint deceivin’ me, my old china, you’re far from home, young ‘un. he chuckled heartily, leaning over the pup so the chain around his neck hung down, the ring heavy as it swung from side to side. He crouched a tad, so he was more of eye level with the pup. You be glad I got ter you first, young man. There’s ghouls roun’ these parts, they likin’ their tea parties, and wish upon a star, yer do not want to stay fer dinner. he grinned a little, reaching out a leathery palm to ruffle the child’s head before stooping lower, sitting cross legged, face-to-face with the pup. Wooooowzers! he said, giving an exaggerated stare at the boy. An’ I thought I were small! Jaayzus, you’re a right tidler. Caesar and his roman’s will be proud. he growled under his breath, mocking the pup in the gentlest of ways. Of course, Skoll looked just like a normal sized puppy, Frodo was only playing. There’d been pups at his home, one’s he could play with all day. And little one’s on the ship he’d worked on, too. He loved talking with pups, because the pups had such a strong imagination. They were so innocent, and nothing was wrong in a pup’s life.

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