no need to be here, no card to clock in

Levent Kartal · 10-12-2012, 04:48 PM

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Lemme know right away if scroll table = bad!

Word Count → 439

He had to come back to the woods one last time.

Even in the midst of autumn Ethereal Eclipse was dense and damp, though a fraction more sunlight was able to filter through places where the leaves were absent, rotting on the ground among fungi and forgotten corpses. The cat mistook a dead bat for a crinkled brown leaf, his lips wrinkled back and his whiskers trembling with disgust. He since took off into the trees to look for fresher prey, a course of action that Levent agreed with; his stomach was empty, as it had been more often than not lately, and he should be focusing on those simple things rather than letting his thoughts run back through their dark paths.

But winter was a cold tinge in the air, and the prey would weaken into easy meals with the scarcity of food as the wolf grew strong. He had time—and he had to come back here, just once, just to see.

The paint mare whickered as she recognized the old forest trails, the few breaks in the foliage: now a path for ungainly ungulates, then a path for glaciers. She seemed almost eager, her ears strained forward in the way a horse’s does when they’re anxious to get back home after an unexpectedly long ride. The thick, cloying odors of the forest had Levent inclined to agree with her, but…

The wolf stopped walking, giving the horse’s halter a gentle tug, and did his best to convey the message in Low Speech that they were never to go here again. He phrased it like a horse explaining to a herdsmate that a cougar had reclaimed their old grazing land, not quite sure how to convey the depth of the emotion and loss that chased him from Cercatori d’Arte like a mountain lion chases a foal.

Mai tossed her striped mane and insulted him, calling him a coward and a fool, but Levent agreed with her there too.

He reasoned that they had some time before Wilson had finished his hunt, so he led Mai into a clearing and tied her to a sturdy branch, plopping down on the soil and rubbing at his eyes as he waited. He didn’t dare head any further north toward the pack territory; he dreaded being seen just as much as he wanted to be. Even if one of the dogs he’d pointed their way—like deaf Edgar or the one he met during the storm—could come and give him some news, some last tale before he took to the north, he would be content.

Levent just needed to know.

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