The gypsy in us all.

Bangle Guffawri · 01-11-2011, 12:50 PM

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1244 words. This post is forward-dated 4 years from now, at 7 years old, after he has settled.

He could smell the salt of the sea in the air, and how good freedom like that tasted. Waves lapped upon his bare feet, which were still strong compared to the rest of his body. He always knew he was born to be free, to go place to place.. to see the world. But why? The coyote mix stood there, eyes downcast, staring as his feet were slowly being consumed by wet sand. It had been a few years - 4 to be exact - that the wolf lavishly decorated in fur and bone had packed up to see the rest of the world. But he had that, didn't he? He saw the world ... through milk chocolate eyes and fiery hair, through the rambunctiousness in his children, and through his heart that beat furiously for them all.

But nowadays, Bangle found himself constantly at the sea's inquiring gaze, that stretched on for miles into the horizon. An array of pinks, oranges, and soft yellows played on his fur, which was slowly graying with age, and on the environment that surrounded him. Though he would never speak of the thoughts that weigh heavily on his mind, often did the coywolf ask himself what kind of life he would have had, had he been a traveler forever. Would he have found love? Would there be children as a result, to teach them about skinning, and crafting, and everything else he knew? Something tugged at his brain, telling him this was the wrong course of action to take, but no matter how he listened to his heart, the gypsy was still well alive in him.

And he could see it. He could see it in the eyes of his children, too. A few had left, taking with them only the knowledge and love of their parents, to put to use in their own lives. A small smile crossed his features, then, not the large grin everyone used to know him by. Orange eyes were small pools, as they mimicked the movements of waves before him. Bangle always knew they were travelers at heart, and knew from the first moment they were born that there was a traveler in them all. They sought better lives, just as Bangle had done before he arrived to Cercatori d'Arte.

His head turned slowly, eyes casting a glance back to the forest, back towards his home. Had he not been treated right, here? Didn't he have everything he needed? The coywolf had friends that loved his silly ways, he had trade routes that helped make Cercatori known to others, and he had love. He had changed a lot over the years, choosing to follow his heart ever since he saw Skye cry for the first time. Muzzle turned the other direction, towards the serene sea, almost too quickly. How he remembered that day.. how he remembered that he could not see her like that, despite the tears that fell for the gypsy when other females did not find him by their bedside the next morning. His feet walked that day, into a new life, with her. And ever since, he stayed in one place.

Bangle's feet ached, but it wasn't just from age. They longed again for freedom - to walk in tall grasses, to climb snow laden mountains, to cross thick bogs, simply yearning to see more and be more. And how he had denied them for the last few years, listening instead to his heart as it beat in his gray-lined ears. 'Thump, thump, thump.' Now... now the red and gray colored coywolf didn't know what ached, what beat, what he heard, or what he felt. Lids found themselves closing over his eyes, which were once bright and alive. They weren't so, anymore, not truly. As he breathed in the deep air of the sea, he began to wonder.. if the color in his eyes was once what he recognized, or if, instead, was the reflection of fire.. surrounded by white fur. Had she changed him that much, that his eyes no longer saw the possibility of other lands? Had she made him see only her, instead of what could be?

His feet felt much heavier all of a sudden, almost completely buried under thick sand. Waves continued to lap at his ankles, now, threatening to take hold of him if he stayed there long enough. Bangle shifted his weight once, but still felt himself tied down. He did not try again. 'Are you alright?' The coywolf used to hear her sweet voice, full of concern, asking him of the countless times that he stood there, by the sea. Even now, though she was not present, he could feel her soft hand on the back of his arm, the scent of strawberries on her, and the waves of fire that spilled down his shoulder where her head leaned. "Yes," he would say. But after some time, he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her, or himself.

But Skye didn't question it. She knew of his past, but she did not know how certain he was of his future. 'Don't be out too late,' she'd say as her form, her voice, her essence.. drifted away, back home. Bangle never used to hear those words - for years he could lie looking at stars, being warmed by the glow of a small fire at his side. Oh how he missed those days, those sweet gypsy days. The coywolf opened his eyes, presently, having subconsciously closed them when he heard his mate's voice by his ear. But she wasn't there that sunset, as he stood there ankle deep in sand. He knew she must have fallen asleep waiting for him, like she did most every night now. Eyes were glazed over with a knowing look, as Bangle finally freed himself of sand, turning slowly back to the forest.

The sea could never be tamed. One could never fully capture it, and keep it. It was as free as the wild horse through the plains, and just as untamable. When sand met grass once more, a strange clash of worlds that made an obvious border, Bangle stepped up to the nearest tree. His pack lay beneath it, the same one he carried with him on his journeys in the past. It was worn, but full, waiting for its carrier. Bangle stared down at it for a moment, as if he were fighting with himself, feeling like the wet sand buried beneath the ever-moving waves. Slowly, but surely, he picked the pack up and hoisted it onto his back, a burden he almost welcomed. Bangle took one long, last look into the forest, back to where he returned every night, back to her. "Forgive the gypsy in me," he pleaded into the air, a voice filled with more feeling than he ever imagined. This would be the last time ... she would wake up tomorrow without him by her side, just like he used to do.

Bangle began to walk alongside the ocean, leaving heavy footprints behind him, both physically and mentally. He was leaving, for good, only this time wasn't like the others. Bangle was leaving behind everything he needed, to search the lands once again for what he always wanted. The silent jingles of jewelry could be heard well on through the night, like silent cries; telling the world of the gypsy who, like the ocean, would not stand still.

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