Adieu to the Vast Horizon

Marcus Biscay · 07-28-2010, 01:54 PM

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Inquisition filled Marcus' mind as the figure of a mid-size, grey and white wolf came uneasily towards him. He quickly sized her up in his mind: Female, almost middle aged. Cultured, not humanized. Civilized. Non-governmental. Un-organized societal functions. Marcus had always had the uncanny ability to size others up before verbal contact had been made. This often led to him formulating first impressions that were spot on far before a first impression should be made. Unfortunately, this also often led to him being completely wrong in his deductions, making for unpleasant, and sometimes life threatening circumstances. Especially when one mistakes the alpha male in Berlin for his mate's grandmother. But that story is for another time.

Seeing that the female before him seemed reluctant to approach his ship made Marcus feel uneasy. Was he truly so far away from home that even his appearance was frightening to others? Truthfully, he hadn't expected intelligent life in this part of the world. The Icelandic wolves had only supplied him with the knowledge they had gained from the 'ancient runes' they possessed. The proper names for these 'runes', as Marcus corrected them, were books. Marcus was allowed to take many of the charts and maps from the Icelandic archives, which all detailed passages and routes to this new part of the world. But out of all of the cartograms provided to him, never had Marcus read of this 'Crimson Dreams' shore.

However puzzled he may have been, Marcus would have to review his findings on a later date; a question had been posed to him. "Stories for another time, my dear. The winds which brought me here are of dreadfully bad taste when brought up on a first encounter." He stood, grabbed his cane, and began to walk down his boarding plank. "In all honesty, the only thing you need to know is that I've been traveling for months now, and am in need of a good spot of tea, and some pleasant company, if you would oblige." By this point he had reached the sand, and stopped.

The thing that Marcus found remarkable was not that civilization had reached so far out into the world, and not even that somehow, his capacity for dialect had allowed him to understand this female native's accent. No, instead, he was amazed with the skill he still possessed in speech. It had been half a year since he had spoken in anything other than awful grunts and primitive hand gestures. The Icelanders had not yet developed a strict linguistic code, and so any speaking they did was disjointed. Mostly they just pointed at things and grunted. He dismissed this thought, and decided to ponder it later on.

Marcus snapped out of his thought process and broke the silence he had created. "My name is Marcus Thadeus Biscay. I mean you no harm. Now please, do come along." He smiled, and turned about to head back on-board.

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