a magical place

Larkspur D'Angelo · 01-25-2010, 12:24 AM

[html]

Word Count: 1,133

In Character

Addison had been mouthy, uneducated. Larkspur could not believe that any of the D’Angelo brood would act in such a way, having been exposed only to those who had known the way and the truth of the Khalif’s teachings. The scars branded on his arms spoke volumes, but she did not understand, and he would not explain. The people here were ignorant, and they were useless. His task would be much harder then he imagined, and he was growing weary of it even yet. Haku’s offer still rang in the back of his memory, and even with everything that Misery had attempted to teach him the voice of the can tah grew stronger by the day. Tak’s will was stronger then his own, and Larkspur’s teachings made him believe that he was fully supposed to obey the voice of the higher power.

Still, the self doubt was countered by his disappointment. Everything Misery had done to his fur was fading—the bleached sections along his back and sides were all but gone, and his hair had grown out from where it had once been bright, entirely orange and yellow. The fact of the matter was that Larkspur was unable to maintain this illusion on his own. His black fur was overpowering, suggesting that along with the whispering voice he could not escape he was powerless to turn against what he was born to be. Tak had claimed him, and for whatever reason, kept him alive for four years. This was a gift, and he now had to consider the fact that perhaps he was not destined to become like Misery and rise above what he had been born into. Perhaps, even though he had his purpose, he would be unable to do what was intended of him and instead fall into Tak’s service, as he had always been told he would.

Suddenly, he thought of the blue eyed woman, and wondered if perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. An unfamiliar desire had grown in him since meeting her, and he was unable to figure out what in the world it was. Misery had explained to him what love was, and how devotion came in such a way, but she had breezed over the idea of sex and reproduction. His world was very basic, and one day, he would instinctively realize that what his body demanded was the endorphins and the need to make children because it was his duty as a male to reproduce. Furthermore, Misery had asked it of him.

With this all weighing down on his head, Larkspur had been unable to sleep. He had not slept for two days now, and sat in the small campsite that was his home. The tent had been fortified by deer skin and blankets taken from the city. It kept him warm, and when he did manage to sleep it was curled up in the horde of items he used for warmth. The horse, outside, likewise had blankets—he had been lucky and picked up the basic skills needed for hand stitching while with Misery. So he had managed to make a rather basic cover for his mare, who had seemed to enjoy the extra warmth when he had given it to her. Still, though, the man and the beast were acting only as partners and he had not even given the Halflinger a name. She responded well enough to his voice, with or without name, and he had spent enough time working with her that their scents had become intertwined. It was the only way she would have accepted him, given that horses instinctively fled from unfamiliar wolves. He had been lucky, snatching her and the horse Misery had taken, because his scent had been doused in rain and made considerably more familiar by the stolen cloak.

After another sleepless night, Larkspur decided to leave his home behind. Two legged, as he often was, the man threw on the stolen cloak (it no longer smelled like the previous owner, and instead Larkspur’s own musky, horse scent) to keep the snow off should the clouds open up. Behind the small fenced paddock, the mare perked up at his appearance. While he had fed her earlier, his presence often spoke of work, which he had found she seemed to enjoy. Speaking in a low voice and moving with practiced ease, the D’Angelo male exchanged her blanket for the smaller saddle blanket, wrapping this up and attaching it to the saddle. The mare remained still until he put the saddle on her, tightened the strap under her belly, and once he adjusted the blanket he pulled the bridle off of the saddle horn. It slid on with ease, and Larkspur mounted in one solid motion. Turning her with one hand, the horse and rider were out and into the forest.

Larkspur kept his pace easy, and took the route that led near Dahlia de Mai. While war was in the air, he had no fear about the pack or its blue eyed leader. Haku was not his enemy, for they were far more like kin. Still, he opted to swing wide of their borders, especially since he doubted that anyone else would be accommodating—especially when the all ready large male was on a much larger palomino mare. He kept her at a walk, allowing her to warm up to the cold air. When they were away from Dahlia’s borders and the air no longer carried the scent of wolves, he increased the pace to a trot. They went like this for only a little ways, for the path ahead of them widened and the mare became antsy. With a hissing snap, Larkspur let her go into a canter, barreling into the dark forest with no fear of the unknown. He had never had fear, except for the flame, and this carried through his body and into the horse below him.

They ran until the path became less open, and he slowed her to a walk. Unwilling to let her get too hot, lest the sudden change from sweat compromise her health, Larkspur walked her until he caught the sound of a stranger. What he found, as he and the mare came through the trees, was a young wolf with a large stallion. The horse was soaking wet, and the ground around the stream was just warm enough so that patches of grass were visible. Still, it was cold, and there was snow, so he couldn’t understand why the kid was laying on the likely muddy ground. More so, he was concerned for the horse. “Did you let him get all wet? He’s gonna get sick if’n y’don’t dry him off,” Larkspur said flatly, his accent fading but still prevalent in his speech pattern.

Login




Remember me Lost Password?