Reminiscing on (mostly) forgotten memories
#1
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Word Count :: 447 Blarg, so a few hours turned into a day. Sorry. >~<

He had returned a second time to the lands he used to call home. After meeting and potentially saving Wretch here a few days back, he found himself wanting to come back yet again. Half of the reason was probably to be near the water, but perhaps the other half was to build up his strength. Though he had pulled up the stakes and moved further up north when he was caught in an unfortunate blizzard, the last few days he spent here before he left were a bit brutal themselves.

Rivers let his feet hit the ground soundlessly as he glanced around, careful not to make the piercing on his ear jingle with every step or jerk of the head. He didn't really want to see anyone while he was recollecting memories of his childhood. He passed by numerous trees that he and his siblings marked with a zig-zag-like mark near the bottom of the stump, but didn't reach down to inspect them more closely. No, if he wanted time to see mostly everything, he had to keep moving. The day was almost near a close with the now orange sun setting in the distance, and a few, particularly fluffy clouds hanging low in the sky, the side facing the sun turning a vivid pink and the side facing away a dull purple.

The grayish male knew that it wasn't as wise to roam the Dampwoods at night, but he had been wandering around for most of the day, so he could just go ahead and head back to Anathema borders. But something held him back. Was he waiting for something, for someone? Did he expect to see his brother or sisters come dashing through the woods? Rivers guessed they had long since moved on after he left them. Or, at least, he hoped that had. He wanted the best for them, and he hoped they had gotten themselves into a pack. Maybe they joined the other pack near the Dampwoods, or maybe they decided to move somewhere farther away. His mouth turned into a frown at that. He missed his siblings, now that he put some thought into it...

Rivers passed by a freshly fallen tree, and paused for a moment. Well, he could rest for a while, and start again in a few minutes. He would need some strength, and letting his legs cool off for a bit sounded best. Sitting on the tree with a sigh, he rested his hands on his knees and closed his eyes for a bit. His throat cleared, an action which had become his new tic, and after a few minutes, let his eyes open again.

Image courtesy of miez!

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#2
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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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#3
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Word Count :: 442 You can skip the first two paragraphs >>

More thoughts ran through his head regarding his past, particularly ones revolving around the time when his parents were still alive. He and his litermates were such a nuisance to them, Rivers realized after a bit of thought. They would always mess everything up, it seemed. Or, at least, in the beginning. After figuring out his blunders were being copied by his younger siblings, Rivers learned to not interfere with his parents hunting or argue against their wishes, and his two sisters and singular brother seemed to understand.

They were truly unforgettable, his siblings. When the four lived on their own for a few months, the process of hunting, sleeping, playing and other necessities were completed in a relentless pattern. In the morning, the two brothers would hunt while the sisters would either make a fire, plan which direction to head off into next, or just sit and talk. From noon until late afternoon, it was the same as well: a nap, some play afterwards, perhaps a snack. Always at the setting of the sun would they hunt game for that night, and the break of dawn would they begin the process again, from start to finish, without a flaw. So invariable, for the lack of better words.

However, his thoughts were quickly abandoned at the scent of another, followed by the sounds of footsteps. It sounded like two different beings, both of different species, and one reeked of a pack. A wolf, or a canine of some sort. The other smelled kind of like the horses in the barns back at Anathema, though not exactly the same. Rivers couldn't recognize much more than that, but no matter. He just hoped they were nice enough not to slash his throat or jump him.

At the sight of the somewhat large, yellowish Luperci, Rivers rose from the stump. He let his hands sink into the back pockets of his jeans, letting his hand wrap around the knife he picked from a thief in the Dampwoods a few days earlier in the left pocket, just as a precaution. His two-colored eyes wandered to the pale horse the man had with him, but they soon darted back to the canine when he greeted him wholeheartedly, a grin on his muzzle. Rivers gratefully returned the smile, taking a step forward to the man, nodding. He noticed the larger male had a Southern dialect, much like his own, which might actually make the process of befriending him easier if he favored those like himself. "Howdy yourself," the grayish man replied, chuckling softly, "I don't believe I've seen you 'round these parts, friend. Got yourself a name?"

Image courtesy of miez!

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#4
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I was a young troubadour, when I rode in on a song

Word Count :: 227 And then my post goes from long to pathetic. Blarghhhh too sleepy to write more. xD

The timber wolf stood at the approach of the horse and cowboy, his hands finding his pockets as well. Any precautions the other took did not seem to matter, however, as the stranger mirrored his smile. And when he opened his mouth to speak, the Labrador mix wanted to laugh. He hadn’t expected to find someone else with the same dialect; he and Dixie-May had always been the odd ones out in this region, although many luperci spoke many tongues in this place.

“Wayne McCoy,” the mongrel replied, his tail waving once behind him. He patted the stallion on the shoulder absentmindedly, not sure if he was ready to let the horse wander off on his own yet. “I live in the pack over yonder,” he went on with a hint of a smirk, gesturing vaguely toward the west. “Casa di Cavalieri.” He sniffed and added, “And I’m gonna guess you’re from Anathema, though I can’t say I know much about the place. But you don’t talk like you were born around here.” He smiled, his ears folding back slightly and causing the cowboy hat to shift on his head; he knew that it was a bit presumptuous, and that maybe it was just a verbal tic picked up from parents or other luperci. Hell if he hadn’t found himself adopting a Scottish accent when around Jazper!


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

Image courtesy of UmbraDeNoapte-Stock

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#5
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Word Count :: 287 O3o *hands over a pillow*

The dull-colored canine felt his oddly jagged tail flick behind him at the laborador's name. Wayne McCoy. It wasn't familiar to him, but it certainly did seem to fit for the cowboy-ish dog. Laughing slightly, Rivers let his smirk widen the slightest bit. "Rivers Skyeward," he said, slowly letting his paws slip out of his pockets again. Wayne was probably not going to try anything funny, unless he was a really good liar. "But my name ain't half as good as yours. I sound like I come from overseas, or somewhere other than the good ole' South."

Rivers' gaze followed the direction Wayne gestured to, hearing the mongrel say he came from a pack called Casa di Cavalieri. He was almost tempted to say he hadn't heard of it as of late, but reasoned against it, looking back at Wayne, his smile disappearing for a brief moment. "The scent's that noticeable?" he grinned once again, his fangs breaking through his lips. "Ain't been there but for a few months... Must be pretty darn strong. I've hardly even been hangin' around the borders or anything." Giving the other Luperci an indifferent shrug, he continued. "But yeah, you're right: I wasn't from here. I think I came from way, way down South when I was born, but we pulled up the stakes and went... way, way up North." Rivers noticed the hat upon Wayne's head shifted a bit, and he blinked. Huh. The man vaguely wondered why he was so stumped by such an unimportant thing. Meh, whatever.

Rivers looked over at the pale animal that accompanied the mongrel, and nodded to it. "You've got a friend, I see," he mentioned, blinking at it. "Pretty horse."

Image courtesy of miez!

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#6
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I was a young troubadour, when I rode in on a song

Word Count :: 402

The timber wolf introduced himself, and Wayne nodded in acknowledgment, leaning on the horse for a moment. He grinned slightly as the other remarked on the name and shrugged. “All of our names suit us somehow. You look like a Rivers Skyward.” He wasn’t quite sure how, although the words river and sky reminded him of the greys in his coat. The rest of him seemed to fit the picture as well, with the dangling braid and the piercings in his brow and ear. He wasn’t really a country boy proper, but Wayne had hung out with “prettier” characters before; Sebastian came to mind. The voice was what marked him as a southerner, though, and he enjoyed hearing the familiar drawl. Other than Dixie-May, he hadn’t thought there would be something here to remind him of his Texan home.

He smirked when the other spoke of his scent, and shrugged. “I guess I’m sensitive to that sorta thing? You’d think my pa was a hound dog rather ’n a Lab. But pack smells rub off on ya when you’re hangin’ out with your pals, too.” He knew he smelled like an equal blend of Casa canines and horses, along with whatever his personal scent was. It wasn’t as easy to know what he smelled like, although he had Dixie’s scent memorized.

The mongrel nodded in understanding. “I guess you wouldn’t know if you were young, but… Why’d your folks move?” He reached back to scratch the nape of his neck and added, “Me ’n’ a friend came from Texas, personally. She wantd t’ travel, explore around a bit, an’ I didn’t want her goin’ alone.” He was a little sheepish discussing the Samoyed girl with a stranger, but she was as much a part of him as horses were. He’d likely live and die driving cattle and ranching with his parents had he not met her.

Rivers’ mismatched eyes flicked to the stallion, and Wayne patted the creature on the shoulder. “Buckeye,” he introduced. “He’s one of the communal horses in the pack. It’s my job t’ make sure they’re all taken care of, though, and I’d like no job better.” He almost wished that he’d been able to show off one of his mares—whom he truly owned—but he was just as proud of the pale bay as he would be of Fern. They’d all become friends over the months.



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

Image courtesy of UmbraDeNoapte-Stock

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#7
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Word Count :: 347

The wolf shrugged indifferently when Wayne said that all names fit their host one way or another, but decided to leave it at that. He wasn't really interested in debating about such a simple matter, not when much more important issues and discussions were bound to come sooner or later. His lips slow twitched back into a small smile, though, as the mongrel spoke about his "sensitivity" to smells. Perhaps he had visited Anathema before, and that's how he recognized it so quickly? "True," he agreed, shifting his weight to his other leg, "Though I haven't been hangin' out with too many. Ah, well."

He saw Wayne nod after his little story of coming up to Nova Scotia, and paused. "... Why'd your folks move?" Rivers pondered over that for a moment or two, his grin fading for a good amount of time. That... was a really good question. Why did his family decide to move up North, anyway? What could it provide that the South apparently could not? "Honestly... I have no idea," he admitted after a while, sighing, "Guess it never crossed my mind to ask why. But I would bet it was for a good enough reason." He had been wondering about that as Wayne added that he moved with a friend of his, saying he didn't want her to go off on an adventure by herself. But because he was thinking of his answer while being told this, he didn't really respond to it.

Rivers looked the paler creature over as the dog introduced him as Buckeye. He then went on to say it was his job to take care of the horses, and the timber wolf nodded. "Sounds like fun, gettin' to see all them horses all day, ridin' 'em and what not," he said, his smile returning. "I might have to consider it—the job itself, I mean—'cause I think my folks had a horse with 'em when they left to come here. Can't say I remember much about it, though, but I'd think I could manage takin' care of 'em."

Image courtesy of miez!

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#8
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Longneck bottle, let go of my hand

Hey jukebox don’t start playin’ that song again

Word Count → 376 :: Sorry for the wait and crappy post; finals have been eating up my time and stressing me out. Also, I don't know what's wrong with my table. ;_; I liked that one.


Wayne smiled slightly at the other’s remark; he could sympathize with not hanging out with pack mates. He’d been downright antisocial when he’d first joined, suffering through interaction with a grim sense of duty. He still didn’t seek others out very often, but he was a lot more sociable than he used to be; his ring of friends was finally expanding beyond Dixie-May, to the point that he could chat with a stranger in the neutral lands like now.

The other’s smile faded away, and the Labrador mix wondered if he’d hit upon a dark memory—but the other’s expression was more puzzled than troubled, it seemed. He admitted that he didn’t know, and Wayne nodded, content with leaving it at that. He wasn’t one for prying into others’ lives, anyway. It bothered him when others chatted about things he couldn’t change, and so he tended to stay away from such topics if the other didn’t go for it.

Fun, Wayne echoed, and snorted. It ain’t fun. It’s a lot of work—ridin’ for patrols an’ exercise rather ’n fun, rationin’ out feed, shovelin’ up dung, brushin’ an’ washin’ an’ pickin’. After this list, which let out plenty of duties beyond that of Cavallo, he smirked and leaned against the stallion’s shoulder. But yeah, I wouldn’t give up the job for nothin’. Maybe you could see if your pack has any horses and try workin’ with them? Maybe not a real job, but somethin’ to do if anyone needs help. He knew that he and Dixie-May needed all the help they could get in Casa di Cavalieri, but luckily Hadley lent a hand sometimes, and there were other members who liked horses enough to shoulder some of the burden.


coding snatched from kitty&cait

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