[m] [aw] you'll be free, child, once you have died

Max Klein · 06-19-2012, 11:21 AM

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+3 suck it I'm taking this thread

The end of the war had come as fast as it had begun. Max did not know that was how such things worked—he had never seen war before—but assumed this on par with the norm. He had grown up before and during the fighting and now was hardened by it. His body was a mass of muscle carved out of wood, strong and solid, and his mind had matured in some sense of the word. Stories would never leave him, as he was a storyteller by birth, but a darker shade lingered with each tale. It was no longer just mystical monsters he spoke of, but living beasts of flesh and blood who he had cut down with his own hands and teeth.

Of course, he had not gone unwounded either. A twisted and jagged scar lined his left side, left from where a spear had struck him so deep it had snapped by the force of it. He had felt his ribs crack, though mercifully, they had not broken. Ezekiel’s had again; he had watched his leader stoically face recovery alone, and sought to emulate that.

Something had changed, however. He didn’t know what it was, but Ezekiel was no longer the person he had been before the war. A hollowness was in his eyes, a lie in his face, and anger in his words. He was angry at something or someone, but what it was Max did not know. It was not his place to press, and so he had taken the easy route of living on with the knowledge that something was different.

One prized claim from this war was the stallion. Oh what a marvelous thing it was, all gold and red, and not half so headstrong as Viggo. They had so many horses now, and it pleased him greatly. While not a horsemaster himself, he recognized the value and worth of the animals. This one was well trained and responded to his commands with ease, something that Max recognized as true worth.

He had not really been given a purpose in going north, but he thought often of Salsola these days and while he would not go to their borders, he was bold enough to cross the river north. It was by doing this that he managed to move far enough east to spot the girl and her own mount, one he recognized because it matched his own. Likely, the two horses shared some common parent. He thought about this and dismissed it, hailing the wolfdog with his own not-true wolf’s cry. It was too deep, but close.

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