Just dust to fill our hands today

P. Iomair | Miramichi Wilderness

POSTED: Fri May 03, 2019 6:36 pm

Winter was losing its hold over the land and, in shifts and cracks and sweet songbird song, spring was quickly establishing dominance over a fast-aging season. Percival cast his nutmeg eyes over the young sprouts and saplings and felt his thoughts shift gently. It was remarkable, how quickly and fiercely life could bounce back. Where once there was cold, barren grey – the only sounds the soft shhh of the bitter wind through naked branches – now there was warmth and music and life. He could see the small nubs of buds dotting every tree and shrub, casting the wilderness in a quiet hue of green, and in the air there was the smell of leaf mold and thawing earth.

Percy breathed in and felt the corners of his lips curl upwards sweetly, his eyes closing only a moment until he exhaled again slowly. Life never died, he thought to himself as he repeated the words of his mentor, it only waited to be reborn.

Beneath him, solid and warm, Pim the ox ambled casually over a verdant earth, pausing frequently to pull up the new growth in earnest. It had been a very long winter and any feed they had had stored was lost in the wake of Krokar's untimely demise. Though Percival had tried hard to provide for his mount, Pim had grown thin in those lean and bitter months that followed. So the wolfdog let the brindled bovine do as he pleased while he sat atop his broad back, both of them seemingly at peace with their individual worlds.

The trickling of water tickled the Shoalman's ears and Percy breathed in the smell the of the tributary, thinking of his birthplace with painful fondness. But when he cast his nutmeg eyes against the trickling water and saw a figure there, he stiffened abruptly. Frantically (though he hoped he seemed calm and collected), the young Parhelion encouraged his mount to pause and cleared his throat unnecessarily. "Hello," he said with feigned confidence, straightening his posture for good measure. Percival watched the older man carefully, but with respect, and thought he caught cues to suggest something had been lost. Thinking he might be able to help, he asked, "Are you lookin' for somethin'?"

[WC — 561]


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

POSTED: Tue May 07, 2019 12:04 am

It was difficult for Iomair to see the beauty that came with this new wilderness. Where some saw the verdant green and immediately thought of spring, he saw the space that lay between – the scraggly branches that reminded him of cracked bones and a life left far behind him. They had a camp now, a small insignificant thing set beneath the shadow of a too-tall mountain, its peaks long out of reach. He spent his days wandering the Miramichi Valley, seeking out those who would aide them – Moonwraiths and Sunwardens, Heartsingers and Shepherds.

Together they built a tiny piece of home; far-flung cultures thrust together in the depth of the North.

As he walked, he spun his token, the rich piece of metal shiny in the places where generations before him had rubbed it smooth. The piece of iron was a familiar weight in his pocket, an anchor which reminded him of the life that lay behind him – and the expectation that now weighed upon him in this new Realm. Vodeva would watch him go and finger her beads, whispering prayers that fell on deaf ears – the pain in her side a flash of lightening that refused to be quelled.

She plucked leaves and whispered to them, quietly willing her children to return to her.

Slowly their numbers grew, and still Iomair wandered – hopeful and keen that somewhere, someone would help them.

The King wandered on foot, weaving through trees that were dotted with moss and lichen – silvery birch trees that twitched upon a breeze that seemed to call his name.

It was later when he realized that the Dúr token had disappeared through a hole in his tunic – tumbling into the long grass that had begun to protrude about his feet. When he cursed it was with a grumbling sound, the long whiskers about his muzzle twitching as he began to stamp about.

The voice that called to him had him swinging his head up, his warm eyes squinting at the ox that peered back at him – the man astride it straightening curiously.

Iomair cleared his throat and offered a smile, standing to stretch the stiffness that had begun in his back.

”Yes. It seems I’ve lost my token.” He frowned and blew hair out of his face, ”Can’t say I’ve ever met someone riding a cow before.” He chuckled, allowing the mirth to glitter in his eyes, "Is that common around here?"

New Caledonia
The High King
User avatar
Amanda
Luperci

POSTED: Fri May 17, 2019 9:26 pm

The man appeared kindly, his eyes warm and his smile disarming, but Percival remained quietly cautious. Strangers could end up being invaluable friends, capable of great generosity and greater support. Or they could become heinous foes, their wickedness culminating in the destruction of an entire pack and the displacement of many innocent people. High atop his faithful ox's broad back, the young man wondered which this stranger would be.

For his part, Pim seemed less aloof to the stranger than his rider was. He paused the near-constant chewing of his cud long enough to push his wide, wet nose towards the man and eased himself marginally closer. Percival leaned back gently on the ox's reins and shifted his weight over the bovine's back, glancing back down at the stranger as he spoke.

"Your token?" This was not a word that Percy could remember hearing before and the truth of this must have been plain on his face with the subtle canting of his head and the gentle furrowing of his brows. The man's soft chuckle and mirthful eyes reminded the youth of his father, before The Fall.

Percy considered his question before shaking his head. "I'm not sure," he began, and then added, "I don't think so." He had never met anyone else who rode an ox, and Percival could understand why: they weren't the most comfortable of mounts, nor the fastest, but Pim suited him just fine. "Anyway, cows're female. Pim's a male. Except he can't breed, so we call 'im an ox."

Knowledge was power.

"I'm Pecival Parhelion," he continued after a beat, feeling a little more at ease in the stranger's company now. "I ain't sure what a token is, but it sounds important. Would you like help searchin'?"

[WC — 306]


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

POSTED: Tue May 21, 2019 12:46 am

Knowledge was power. It was something that Iomair was still learning despite his elected title – despite the crown that always hung over his head despite the fact that he more often than not refused to wear it. One of the Aegas had forged it for him, carefully explaining that it marked him as their new ruler – as a conqueror, a man who would lead them to glory before all of the Clans, united. It served as a reminder that failure was sometimes necessary, and that this new path upon which he walked meant something.

Everyday around the campfire the new members that would become New Caledonia traded their stories in dribs and drabs – and slowly Iomair could make out the threads which would bind them all together.

The man who sat atop his steer had eyes that appeared to have seen too much, for despite the kindness that Iomair offered there was something steely about the set of the dogs shoulders. His tail did not wag against the pale mounts side, though his ears did prick forward at mention of the Kings token. ”It’s good luck. I carry it with me always.” Iomair blew air through his lips, ”I think that its fallen from my pocket.”

He cast a foot lazily through the grass to fold it down, frowning when it revealed nothing but dirt and new shoots of green.

”My name is Iomair Nartholiel,” He paused before offering, ”The first High King of New Caledonia.” The ox came closer, flaring its large nostrils as Iomair smiled and offered the creature his hand. It blew warm air toward him, and with a delighted sound the man patted the creatures nose and cheek – enthralled by his great size and gentle nature.

”I would must appreciate your assistance, Percival Parhelion.” He rubbed Pim’s chin and padded a few steps away to offer the man help down from the creatures back.

:D

New Caledonia
The High King
User avatar
Amanda
Luperci

POSTED: Wed May 22, 2019 5:16 pm

Luck.

Percival felt his eyes blink spontaneously, as though they were preparing for a physical onslaught that, in his mind, he thought was unlikely to occur. He knew a great deal about luck, though whether or not he believed in those same superstitions that his family touted was yet to be determined. After all, he had thought himself quite lucky once upon a time, when his family – his pack – was powerful and whole and safe. And then, in a single fiery night, it had burned away to ash.

Some might say that his luck had run out, as though it were a finite substance that he had wasted frivolously and with reckless abandon. But Percy had his reservations. It made more sense to him – and made him feel infinitely better – to believe that he had some control over his own well-being and success rather than have it be left completely up to chance.

"That doesn't sound very lucky," he commented with sympathy, twisting his lips cheerlessly. Whether Percival believed in luck or not, he already resolved himself to helping the man – a King, of all Luperci!

The young Parhelion's nutmeg eyes widened when the man announced his name and title, his bushy brows lifting and his lips parting. He knew that many Luperci gave themselves many different titles, but there was something special-sounding to Percy about the High King. Briefly, he considered the leader of Mistfell Vale, who also likened himself to a king – a Ravenking – and thought that Iomair's title sounded much loftier. "Nice to meet you," he said, shifting atop Pim's back to dismount.

Once on the ground, Percival offered the High King a small smile and a slow wagging of his tail. "What's New Caledonia?" he asked, glancing briefly back at Iomair before crouching down to search the earth for the man's token.

[WC — 314]


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

Northern Tides