thistle and thorns

Razekiel Lykoi · 07-08-2011, 01:24 AM

Postdated July 6. Dahlia Valley.
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Though nearly a week had passed since the Ichikans' arrival in their new home, and despite most of his fellow packmates (including Nayru) having already found residence, the redfaced Seiryu had yet to find a place to settle down and create for himself a nest (or, as he described it, "the groovy pad in which I'll lay the ladies, yeah?"). Naturally Razekiel was in no rush; his wanderer soul had yet to fully accept that this pack was his own to lead and that his meandering spirit could not lead him away for days at a time as he had done to Juniper Peace, to Inferni, to Aube de Musique. He had to settle down and find a place to sleep — somewhere stretched beneath the stars, yes, that would be "real chill, man, real chill".

Distractedly he had wandered Ichikan lands in search of potential, and while the small map he carried had been marked with several plausible places, the Seiryu came to realize slowly that he was particularly fussy with his sleeping habits, even despite his tendency to roam. It did not matter, anyway; the longer he took to settle, the more time he had to walk about aimlessly, as far as he was concerned. Many of his possessions stored temporarily in the barn, the coyote carried no guitar but occupied himself with song nonetheless; his voice rang out a song alone for once, unaccompanied neither by his strumming fingers nor the chirping of the songbirds that were strangely attracted to him. Even the little birds needed to sleep; even those with wings had a nest to return to, and thus so should he, right?

Lit by the moon and the twinkling stars, Dahlia Valley knew great beauty even when the sun did not touch the framing ridges. Fireflies lit the way, the late evening brisk yet comfortable; pausing between verses he would breathe in the night air with a fluttering heart, the Great Mother touching his soul in ways no woman could. He followed a stream into a lightly forested area, pausing his song to enjoy the crickets' solo, until sound of distress reached the man's onyx auds. Twitching the joint between his teeth, the coyote paused to listen — a horse, surely, grunting and neighing in some sort of struggle. Puzzled, he followed the sound with a smile brighter than the moon yet calm as the wind.

The stream and sound led him further into the trees where a stallion stood, its skin scratched and bleeding in places as it tossed its grand, heavy skull back and forth, its dark mane taut at a point. Brows raising, the coyote stepped closer, much to its dismay; even in the shade and the night, Razekiel saw the stallion's muscles tense beneath its grayish-blue roan coat, and under a patch of brown at its nose its nostrils flared angrily at the coyote's approach, as if demanding the Seiryu simply move along. Naturally, the coyote did not. Stomping its long, black legs in the dirt and pulling at its head, its mane clearly caught in a tangle of thorn bushes. At this Razekiel clucked and wagged a finger, "Look at you, like the strongest of fledglings unable to fly! Now how did you catch yourself in such a position, my four-legged friend?"

The coyote reached into his satchel and retrieved a dagger carved of bone; the stallion flared up immediately, knocking the Seiryu back with its massive head. The coyote was sent sprawling, but burst out laughing nonetheless, and the process repeated several times with augmenting laughter until the stallion finally submitted and allowed the prince near. Slowly and carefully, Razekiel reached the knife high and cut the stallion's mane free, leaving several gaps of short hair against long. The horse was freed, however, and upon his freedom he trotted in circled merrily, knees and head held high as he stretched his neck and whinnied pleasantly. Razekiel chuckled, patting the stallion on the shoulder when he passed — "There you go, songbird, stretch those wings and fly!" — and then the Seiryu turned and was on his way.

It did not take much to notice the stallion followed him at a distance; each time the coyote turned to look over his shoulder, the horse quickly turned and looked away as well. It followed each turn and corner the coyote made, and after some time the prince turned and clucked again, chuckling when the blue-gray stallion trotted close and nuzzled him once more.

"Have I clipped your wings, lark?" he laughed, scratching at the underside of the stallion's chin. It whinnied contentedly. "I'm not real in favor of keepin' free spirits from the great green pastures and open road, man."

It was at that point a small red cardinal, even despite the hour, lowered onto the horse's head and tweeted, then promptly began cleaning its wings. Razekiel watched as the stallion simply blinked, seemingly ignoring it as if completely accustomed to its presence and, the bird unmoving, once again nuzzled at the man and his smoking joint.

"Ahhh, I see, Lark," he smiled, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly as the nickname stuck. "Perhaps the Great Mother thinks we'd be real cherry workin' together, yeah? Been a long time since the kings like you lent me their strength. Are your wings strong enough, man?"

With a whinny and another nudge, the coyote was encouraged to climb aboard — but he did not. Rubbing at the length of the horse's brown-tipped nose, Razekiel shook his head and smiled. "We walk as equals tonight and every night," the gentle man said. "We sleep in the Mother's breast tonight, yeah? Now, my Lark, do lay down and make yourself comfortable while I find something to soothe those scratches..."

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