shadows

Gabriel de le Poer · 09-01-2011, 03:47 PM

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+3 Private. August 17th sound good?

Sometimes, and often at dusk, Gabriel came to the mountain that had sought to claim his life. He did not fear it (in truth, he feared very little these days) but respected the earth and its might. That above all had been proven to Gabriel, who had seen the raw power of earth, fire and water. They had not yet suffered a flood here, but Gabriel had been caught in one while he lived in Scintilla. It had nearly drowned him, but Eli had been there and the coyote knew the land far better than his wolfish counterpart. Eli had saved his life then, and Gabriel had never forgotten that.

He should have saved Marlowe, but how could he have done such a thing? The bird had wings—he had been within seconds of his freedom when the rocks had come. Gabriel did not recall much from that day. Sitting at the base of cracked rocks and raw earth, he could smell the landscape for what it was. Calling this place a wasteland was a lie; those who had named it had done so to keep strangers away. Certainly, the rocks were mighty and present, but the valley was rich. If he had allowed them to herd, as once suggested, the animals would flourish.

Yet Gabriel was stubborn and Gabriel could not let the old ways die. He would have lived happily as a wolf alone, negating the knowledge of books and words and hands for a simple time. Growing lazy and fat off livestock would destroy them. Inferni was made to fight; the strong always were. A deep sigh escaped him as a shadow passed overhead. Ibsen, no doubt, going to scout or whatever it was his son often had the bird do. Like his father, Gabriel reflected sadly. He missed Marlowe terribly. Perhaps that was why he had come here.

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