12-19-2009, 09:51 PM
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She was gone.
Larkspur had realized it the day he had finally returned from the city, crushed by the rejection. His head spun wildly, and a great rift had cracked his skull in two. There was still his horse, still what he needed to survive. She had left him that. Why, though, she had left, he did not understand. He had needed her. There was no further instruction, nothing to tell him if he had done wrong.
Until he saw it.
Perched on a stone, offset amongst the snow, was a small and beautifully detailed figure. It was no larger then two inches, but it radiated power. The eagle was made of a material that Larkspur did not recognize, and he almost dreaded to touch it. But she had left it for him, because that was the Will. As he reached out, his large hand hesitated only momentarily, afraid the icon might hold a dangerous power, but found it cold and lifeless. This did not change its power in his mind; Larkspur knew what he was cradling was can tah, and that alone was power. She had left him with purpose, but not left him alone.
Under his hair, which now had begun to turn pale blonde (and thinned considerably from the damage) his Jack-O-Lantern eyes suddenly turned terrible. There was power in the stone god. Tak had chosen him, just as his aunt-mother had. He would find his redemption through the guidance of this artifact. Slowly, and carefully, the large wolf wrapped the icon in sinew and placed it around his neck. Only then did he feel its weight, now magnified, and realized that Misery’s teachings were true.
Larkspur needed an heir, and he needed to ensure the D’Angelo name no longer be tainted by weak and worthless children. The black wolf’s face twisted, and turned wicked.
In less then an hour he was moving, four-legged, and approaching an unfamiliar pack. Though he had scented them before, he had never made a point to find the source. Now, confident that he was immortal, the large wolf did not attempt to hide his presence and began scenting the very palpable border.
She was gone.
Larkspur had realized it the day he had finally returned from the city, crushed by the rejection. His head spun wildly, and a great rift had cracked his skull in two. There was still his horse, still what he needed to survive. She had left him that. Why, though, she had left, he did not understand. He had needed her. There was no further instruction, nothing to tell him if he had done wrong.
Until he saw it.
Perched on a stone, offset amongst the snow, was a small and beautifully detailed figure. It was no larger then two inches, but it radiated power. The eagle was made of a material that Larkspur did not recognize, and he almost dreaded to touch it. But she had left it for him, because that was the Will. As he reached out, his large hand hesitated only momentarily, afraid the icon might hold a dangerous power, but found it cold and lifeless. This did not change its power in his mind; Larkspur knew what he was cradling was can tah, and that alone was power. She had left him with purpose, but not left him alone.
Under his hair, which now had begun to turn pale blonde (and thinned considerably from the damage) his Jack-O-Lantern eyes suddenly turned terrible. There was power in the stone god. Tak had chosen him, just as his aunt-mother had. He would find his redemption through the guidance of this artifact. Slowly, and carefully, the large wolf wrapped the icon in sinew and placed it around his neck. Only then did he feel its weight, now magnified, and realized that Misery’s teachings were true.
Larkspur needed an heir, and he needed to ensure the D’Angelo name no longer be tainted by weak and worthless children. The black wolf’s face twisted, and turned wicked.
In less then an hour he was moving, four-legged, and approaching an unfamiliar pack. Though he had scented them before, he had never made a point to find the source. Now, confident that he was immortal, the large wolf did not attempt to hide his presence and began scenting the very palpable border.
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