Re: In dark times and shadows cast

P. Saga

POSTED: Sun Jan 06, 2019 9:45 pm

Used to the company of horses, Pim moved across the barren white sheets of snowy wasteland at ease with the strange mare in the vicinity. Compared to the stifling heat of summer, the cooler temperatures of autumn and early winter were comfortable to the large bovine. Though, the snow certainly posed something of an inconvenience. Thankfully, it was not yet deep enough to prevent him from unveiling sustenance from beneath the surface of the crystalline flakes and he moved about slowly, scraping the cold stuff away before pulling up brittle blades of grass and grinding them thoughtlessly between flat molars.

Percival shifted his eyes upon the two beasts of burden, thinking about the other animals they had lost to the wilderness during the frenzy of the fire. Some had returned, or had been found by others, and taken in or brought to Old Ironsides – like his father's goats. He had never really cared for them, but he was glad that they had been found, because he knew that that would be what his father would have wanted. Annoying as they were (at least, they were in Percy's mind), the goats had been his father's favorites.

Of the other animals, it was impossible to say what had happened to them. And if Percival was being honest, he didn't really care. Krokar's livestock were important to the pack, but they had never been of significant interest to the young Parhelion. Not enough, anyway, to devote his life to them like his father and Logan had. He recognized their usefulness, of course, but there were more interesting things that the boy chose to immerse himself in.

Saga's voice broke into his thoughts and the youth realized, with a series of rapid blinks, that he had been staring. He swallowed and turned his sights away from the ox and the mare, finding the Mistwalker's vibrantly verdant eyes again. He murmured a grunted agreement and pressed his floppy ears cheerlessly against his head before dropping his gaze down to his feet while he considered the woman's prediction.

"Yeah," he replied noncommittally, not meeting her eyes when he lifted them again. Instead, he gazed out at the grazing herbivores. "Maybe." But winter was still but a whelp, and they had lost so much. "We'll keep fightin', anyway," he added, finally glancing into Saga's freckled face again. "Even if it ain't." There was no alternative, as far as Percy was concerned.

Life was do or die, and he intended very much not to die.

[WC — 428]


The Shoal
Sturgeon
User avatar
Mandi
Luperci we were infinite; there was no time in those days They stole my dirty socks... :(
timshel

POSTED: Mon Jan 07, 2019 4:12 pm

458

While Percival's companion seemed happy to share was little the area possessed in the way of things suitable for grazing, Ghost seemed a little more hesitant. It was with trepidation that the wall-eyed creature lifted her pale gaze across the meadow in which they both stood. Saga noticed this even from the generous distance between them and frowned a little. While the mare hadn't caused her any significant amount of hassle since she claimed ownership over her, there was always the potential for things to go wrong and the Starkhelm made a further mental note to approach Sedona about conditioning the paint horse further. Before she decided to take offence to someone else's pet, especially one that was so politely ignoring her, and take flight. As things stood, if Ghost had decided to try her that day, the Mistwalker would've gladly left her at the mercy of scavenging loners.

The sight of the horse reminded Saga of something, the fate of the horses that the former Krokarans were not able to wrangle and take with them. She considered her words, even considered whether or not this was the correct thing to bring up given the circumstances. Hadn't what they and so many others done simply been looting the corpse of their neighbour's beloved homeland? Her frown didn't soften, instead, it grew as she turned back to Percival and let her hands drop from the tense muscle of his arm. 'We took in a few of your livestock after we found out what had happened.' Took in sounded much nicer, much more generous that stolen. It made then look like heavy hearted samaritans, which they were in fact, but actions always spoke louder than words. 'I think others did too. Saved them from getting eaten I suppose.' It felt awkward and yet cathartic to admit this, although Saga scarcely thought it was a sin, what they did. 'I suppose you don't have any real provisions for them any more but, if you ever want, or need, them back...' She rolled her shoulders, 'We'd be happy to help. We're always happy to help.' While the Vale championed it's loyalty to it's own members and while Saga herself was a very inward-looking soul, the hand of friendship was scarcely a bad thing to extend from time to time.

The Starkhelm agreed wordlessly, letting a short, quiet sound reverberate from her spotted throat. Silence grew between them and lasted for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, the Starkhelm spoke to excuse herself, 'Well,' she began, taking a slow few steps forward towards her horse, 'I should be getting back home. It was nice to talk to you, Percival.'
Saga D'Angelo
Mistfell Vale
Ursarchon
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(Online)
Vida
Luperci
fortitude
ursa major

POSTED: Thu Jan 10, 2019 6:15 pm

Silence stretched between them like the length of untouched snow that spanned between the ox and the horse. Clouds crawled overhead in their slow and lazy course across the sky. They were the white, cottony type, with those thin and fleecy wisps that filled in the gaps between them so imperfectly that the powder blue of the atmosphere beyond peeked palely through. These meandering gaps reminded Percival of streams cutting through mounds of snow, and the young man imagined that that must have been what Krokar looked like when winter had tucked itself in over their territory in times past.

Imagined, of course, because Percival was too young to remember what Krokar looked like in the dead of winter. He had been born in the dying days of the previous winter, right within that odd and magical time when the promise of spring was growing nearer and nearer to fulfillment but had not yet risen to the occasion. When the first snowflakes of the winter's rebirth had fallen, Percy thought that he could almost remember snow. But these were fuzzy half-memories, supplemented by the stories he had been told of those winters gone by and experienced by others. He had spent much of his childhood in the warmth and abundance of summer's bright embrace, after all. It was the sun's hot kiss, the sharp buzzing of bees, and the vibrant expanse of growth and beauty and color that Percy could remember most reliably of the seasons.

He thought of himself as a child of summer.

Her freckled face turning toward him, all squished and heavy in a frown, drew his attention. With a flicker, he followed her hand as it fell away from his arm and then returned his nutmeg eyes to her face. "Really?" he asked, his brows lifting with mild surprise. Why this surprised him, it was difficult to say. He could understand the benefit of the livestock, particularly for other packs, because his own had once used them for their own gain. They could provide useful materials and sustenance, but they also required caring for. Granted, the space, population, and wealth of a pack meant that it was easier to provide for these animals than it would ever be for them as loners.

After a moment of working this out in his head, the youth nodded. "That's good, I guess. Ma will be happy to hear it, and the others, too." Probably she had already told Oscar, he thought. "Thanks." Then, after a meaningful pause wherein Percival softened his own comically stern eyes, the boy said again, but with more warmth. "Thanks." He didn't know what else to say and hoped that Saga could decipher within the tone and the lowering of his ears and the slow, low wag of his sickle-shaped tail, just how very much it meant to him to hear what he perceived to be a promise of support from a pack.

The silence returned, then, and Percival returned to watching Pim scrape and graze, scrape and graze, for what might have been forever. But a certain, unusual feeling had settled over the shoulders of the young Shoalman and reduced the meaning of time to near-nothingness: tranquility. He turned his head slowly to the Mistwalker when she spoke up again, making obvious movements of departure. "Yeah, a'course," he said, nodding again. "I'll ask th' Goddess t' see you home safe-like!" And the youth offered her a small, sad smile and a little wave of his wide hand before turning back to his gentle ox and the life they eked out.

OOC: thank you for the thread! <3

[WC — 607]


The Shoal
Sturgeon
User avatar
Mandi
Luperci we were infinite; there was no time in those days They stole my dirty socks... :(
timshel

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