you and me and the devil makes three.

Larkspur D'Angelo · 05-26-2010, 01:00 AM

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He had not slept in three days.

At least, he reasoned it had been three days. Canines as a whole are ignorant to the flow of time as humans perceive it. Larkspur watched the sun rise and fall, and was aware that this signified a passing of daylight, but he did not understand it as days, or hours. Unlike the educated and humanized wolves that he so often found himself meeting, he was still a very simple animal. Could he function like a man? Yes, as evidenced by his choice of home and skill with the horse. Yet he was basic in simple ways, and unsure of things that were unnatural. He had not ventured to the city. It was likely he never would.

But now the time had come for him to leave the borders of Dahlia de Mai and return to find the girl. He knew this because of the whispering voice, that constant call that reminded him of his place in the world. Tonight he would do something so few of his family dared—he would look into the face of the ini and hear its voice. He knew this because his bones told him it was time. Without a doubt Larkspur was too stupid to be a priest, to be a leader or a holy figure, but he had been chosen. He was devoted beyond anything else in this world to his task at hand. Misery had appointed it to him, and she would not have done that if she did not believe in him.

The girls scent betrayed her before he spotted her. Above his head the moon hung like the gibbous eye of a dead man, half-lidded and drunken. It cast peculiar shadows from the boughs above them, shadows that would have been different in the moon was full. He did not wish to travel to the ini when the moon was full. That weakened the barrier of the worlds and without a doubt he would have been lost. The things in his world were far more dangerous then he likened to admit.

Orange eyes fell on the scar, the satchel, and ended at the girl’s face. He smiled in that peculiar fashion, a smile that was neither friendly nor cruel. He smiled as if he did not understand what it meant to smile. He smiled because it was a learned habit. His eyes betrayed this; they burned with bizarre and arcane fire stolen from some Halloween ghoul of days long past. “Yer here,” he said, stopping in his tracks and leaving only a few feet between them.

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