guardians

Ezekiel de le Poer · 01-01-2012, 07:32 AM

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Though both of the de le Poer’s who had come this day were trained for combat, it was Draco who had an advantage on the harlequin wolf. While her eyesight remained sharp, without the vision of her right eye the world was a much more difficult place to navigate. At their distance, he could see the approaching mass of a horse—the pale figure atop this beast was a bundle of ginger hair and a bold blue dress. A child. He made a low noise to attract Mab’s attention, though she had managed to catch the movement of the horse as it clambered towards them. It was an older, large mare. This was good. Her own steed, a frightfully powerful stallion, had a tendency to cause trouble when exposed to strange horses he considered a threat. A mare was not this, especially given his companion was also a mare; a younger Shire, but one he had already known. Next spring, their colt would prove most excellent.

Mab too, wore blue, but her colors were those of her eyes and the true de le Poer. Silver lined this, and alternating styles of fabric (clearly French, by their make) showed off a lean body still toned by physical work. A healthy diet kept her curvaceous, and kept her pelt remarkably glossy—it was a raven’s wing stained red, as was common for her side of the family. Blue-black was not a color seen within the de le Poer line.

Her companion was wearing only his tunic and chainmail, though his horse carried the bulk of their supplies. A sword was strapped to his saddle, though Draco was so well-trained in the art that should they have been attacked it would have taken mere seconds to drawn it. Comparatively, he was a messier looking beast. While his hair was tied back, it had been ruffled by the ride and the unforgiving Irish winds. Mab’s had settled rather easily back in place, for it was naturally wavy and suitable for such seasons. The Catskills had been a savage place, after all.

She smiled easily at the approaching child. After so many long years of judging people on first sight, Mab was quick to see the nervousness and, under this, a free spirit well reflected in sky colored eyes. The girl’s voice was quite pretty. With a nod, Mab allowed the girl to follow—she held her tongue, as was custom, for proper introductions would be required for even such an informal visit. As this was the first time that she, as head of House de le Poer, would be meeting another house of respect a formal procession would likely occur. Nobility were, as she had quickly learned, sometimes forced into these peculiar situations.

Ireland was a beautiful landscape, and Mab enjoyed that it lacked many of the rebuilt settlements and cities that were common in France and its neighboring countries. It was an open country suited for animals—the Eachan family, bound to her by her mate, were native to both Ireland and the countryside of England. Bowie had brought her to Ireland for a summer once, but Mab was duty-bound to France like it or not. Children had also kept her busy, though many of them now lived in various places of the world.

The house that rose to meet them was worn and washed to the no-color of rain or dust, and smoke rose from various chimney flumes. It was quaint, and Mab was truly pleased to be seeing it. She urged her horse forward to match pace with the girl. “My dear,” her voice had aged, and it was a low melodic thing that spoke of her various travels throughout Europe. While she was a native of the Americas, the majority of her life had been spent crossing through European countries. France was her home, but it was a port town crossed by many strangers who all spoke with unique accents and dialects. Mab had particularly loved Vienna’s African tones, a beautiful thing perhaps more because she was not native—it had merged with the English one she had picked up from her husband, the rather enigmatic pirate who had recommended the ship they had taken here. “I think you may want to ride on and let your aunt know we are here.” She smiled, showing this was not intended to be hostile. Indeed, Mab was not a woman who truly expected formality…but she intended to display it none the less.

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