the trivial sublime

Ezekiel de le Poer · 01-25-2012, 10:04 PM

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(833) tl;dr. Last few paragraphs are all that matters.

The past few days had left him mentally drained. Between the trades, the talks, and the rather predictable leader’s meeting he had little time to himself. Ezekiel had managed to trade off nearly all of his pelts; this was unsurprising to him, given their fine tanning and the softness of the leather itself. With a large collection of odds and ends now kept in the small encampment he had the two men had made, there was little to do but try and sort through it all. Oblak had been easy enough to mingle with the other horses, though Ezekiel kept her close at night. This eased his own tensions and allowed him to sleep easier.
As today went, he was taking care of a last-minute order from Enkiel. Ibsen had been careful to stay out of range of the festival, but as a raven, his presence was largely unnoticed. Still, the coyote excused himself with the premise of exercising the horse. He mounted her without tack and rode away from the conglomeration, his pace quick and jagged—if anyone did follow him they would likely be turned around in doing so. Ezekiel sighed and let out a singular cry that was entirely raven; he was able to mimic their sounds flawlessly. A tree rustled and from it fell a shadow, only to swing high, flutter, and approach.

“Too many wolves, hm?” The raven croaked, his eyes laughing. He settled on Ezekiel’s outstretched arm, talons shifting lightly. A small parchment was wrapped around one of his legs. A single red ear flicked at the mention of his cousin-kin, unhappy with the closeness of their tent to so many antagonistic packs. It was lucky that the Cajun dog stuck with Max; the two of them were so busy fighting with each other that they had no time to even consider violence. Myrika and his half-brother had been spotted at one point, but he had lost them in the confusion after only a few moments.

“It’s quite thrilling, really,” he replied, amber eyes darkening. “You should feel lucky that I didn’t let you come.”

“And miss the fun?”

A croaking caw broke from the coyote, which caused the bird to laugh in his own tongue. Ezekiel plucked the string gingerly, loosened the parchment, and found his cousin’s fine and delicate handwriting all too clear. He snorted. “Did he try to tell you all this?”

The raven lifted a wing and flapped it once. “He talk too much; too many words to say.” At least, too many for the bird to translate. While his memory was amazing, his speech was not that of his father. Marlowe had been a genius as far as ravens came; while Ibsen and Zola had both shown promise, they were only above average and not as remarkable as he recalled the elder being. As Ibsen began to preen at this wing, Ezekiel pocketed the note.

“What else?”

“Nothing. Inferni quiet. All here, no trouble.”

“Even Salsola?”

A glimmer fixed itself within the raven’s eye, and he fluffed his chest proudly. “I tell others to watch; if we see them, you know.”

The coyote smiled thinly. “Tell Enkiel to give you what I left; you eat like a king tonight, my friend.”

With that, the bird took off. Ezekiel turned Oblak but did not follow his original route; he swung wide, riding her hard, and came about after another twenty minutes. When he reached the corral, he dismounted and allowed the mare to rejoin the other horses she was socializing with. Luckily, the scent of his stallion remained—and he now confirmed that Oblak was pregnant. She would foal later then the others, but with any luck, early enough to avoid the frost.

The Aquila quickly headed towards the woman with the seeds. He had spoken to her previously and given a single hide with the promise of trade once Ezekiel spoke with his medic. As it turned out, Enkiel wanted a large selection. Sydney seemed thrilled about this, equally ecstatic when Ezekiel offered to send his Cajun friend over with some sort of recipe. Alligator stew, as it turned out. Enkiel’s list was large, but she handed over the packets with a laugh. His bag once again full, the coyote turned outside and began heading back towards his own tent.

A call from behind made his ears turn back, but he recognized the voice and quickly hurried away from it. The two hybrids in question were likely going to ask him to break up another argument; he ducked into the nearest tent as he heard Sydney’s voice rise, catching his apprentice and thief off-guard.

Ezekiel stiffened suddenly, realizing he was not alone. He turned and found an orangish man seated before a low table, smiling in a peculiar manner. The odd looking woman behind him struck a chord; she looked remarkably familiar. As he opened his mouth to explain, the older man spoke.

“Sit, please. Something brought you here for a reason.”

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