mourning in the warning.

[Jeremiah Ezekial]

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Jeremiah was trying very hard not to dwell on his misery. He was not succeeding terribly well. One would think that, with the months he'd had to mentally chew on his abandonment of the only way of life he knew, he would have grown tired of rehashing those last few weeks with his family. Truthfully, he was sick of it; he just couldn't stop himself. He'd prayed and prayed about it, asked the Lord for some sort of peace, all to no avail. Apparently, God had decided that Jeremiah would be stronger for fighting this battle on his own; either that, or He wasn't listening anymore. While the young shepherd shied away from this idea, Jeremiah wouldn't have blamed Him for giving up on the dog. It seemed he might be a lost cause, after all.


The mottled canine sighed as he trudged through the sand, leading his black, white-maned horse, creatively named Black, by the reins so as not to give the animal an even more difficult time of walking on such a soft terrain. The only thing that managed to chase the memories of the pain in his mother's eyes away was the memory of her. The Outsider. She'd been the only person he'd ever met outside of his village, and though he'd been quite young when she'd stopped through, he'd been fascinated by her and her wildcat. The pair had represented everything he'd never known -- presumed he would never know -- about the world. He could only think that it had been God's hand that had brought the sable female through the quaint little community, for without the memory of her he wouldn't have known where to turn when the village turned its back on him.


He'd left everything he'd ever known in search of her, because she'd represented a world he thought he might fit into, considering he didn't fit in his own. It had been a long journey, made longer by the fact that he didn't quite know where he was going -- only that the wolf had been headed north when she'd left, and so that was the direction he took.

Jeremiah was jarred out of his self-pity when his chocolate eyes landed upon a sable figure, not too far away, and he stopped short, eliciting an irritable snort from Black. He rubbed his eyes with white-furred fingers, for a moment not believing she wasn't a figment of his imagination, this figure he'd so longed to find. He trotted forward for a moment, pulling Black along like an almost-forgotten doll, and stopped short once more, unsure of what he was doing, exactly. Black voiced another, louder snort in objection to the way he was being manhandled, and the slender dog placed an absent-minded hand on the horse's neck. He was unable to take his own indecision any longer. E...Eris? He called out in a voice hoarse from disuse. Praise God, Eris, is it thee?

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