Reminiscing on (mostly) forgotten memories

Wayne McCoy · 04-12-2012, 09:38 AM

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I was a young troubadour, when I rode in on a song

Word Count :: 575 Like most of my post is skippable. >__>; And I didn't mind the wait; I made you wait too. xD

“Easy, Buckeye,” Wayne murmured, shifting to accommodate for the pale bay stallion’s sudden halt. The horse nickered nervously, ears swiveling forward to catch the sound of some beast deep in the forest—although there was nothing to be heard, even when both strained their ears. Patting the equine’s neck, the cowboy gently urged him on again. A bear had been through this part of the woods fairly recently, and while all the Casa horses were unafraid of luperci, other predators were harder to tame their instincts around. None had thrown Wayne yet, though, and Buckeye relaxed as he felt his rider’s calm demeanor.

The Dampwoods were farther north than the mongrel had been in a long time, especially after the incident with the raiders. It had taken him some time to feel comfortable patrolling, as weak as his injure shoulder had been, but it was mostly healed now. Granted a high position in the pack, he wanted to go out and make sure that nothing drastic was going on in the rest of the world. He knew that his position as Cavallo made it most important to keep up with the goings-on within the borders, but Casa di Cavalieri had pledged itself to do good deeds for those outside the pack. He might as well stay on top of things.

There was a strong wolfy scent in the north, but he hadn’t investigated it to see if it was a new pack forming or not. New Dawn was made up of strictly wolves, he’d heard from other tongues, so that was probably where the musk came from. It was only odd that it smelled of horses as well, but he knew better than to go up to their borders and find out while alone.

Sticking to the wider cleared trails through the trees, he guided Buckeye around deadfall and over a babbling stream. Slow and steady hoof-beats remained muffled by the leaves underfoot, and occasionally the horse stopped to try to browse. Eventually, Wayne had given up correcting him; it looked like they might have to spend the night in neutral territory.

He might have been more worried had he not spent so many months journeying with Dixie-May to Nova Scotia. He would have preferred having her in his arms as they slept, but knowing that she was in the bed and safe was enough for him for now. Yawning, he slipped off the stallion’s back and led him by the reins; being close to the ground would help him to find a good place to sleep, one undisturbed by recent signs of predators—luperci or otherwise.

The fresh scent of a canine—Anatheman, if he remembered Selene’s original scent right—gave him pause. It wasn’t odd that one would be in the area, but he remained curious; he hadn’t heard much of the cave pack or interacted with its members to his knowledge. He just hoped whoever this was was friendly.

The Labrador mongrel was incapable of being stealthy with a horse at his back, but stealth was suspicious anyway. He followed the scent carefully, ears pricked and jarring his cowboy hat, his free hand looped casually in a belt loop—close to a knife, merely for caution. When he found the other wolf, however, it was with a chuckle. The timber wolf seemed to be asleep.

“Howdy,” Wayne McCoy greeted, grinning good-naturedly for once in his life as he patted the horse’s neck.

I'll be an old troubadour, when I'm gone

Image courtesy of UmbraDeNoapte-Stock

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