The weather had changed dramatically in the past few days. Autumn had arrived with rain and cold wind, and Larkspur delighted in it. He was a true child of the season, born on the cusp of Samhain and with the sunset, Jack-o-Lantern orange burning in his eyes. Soon he would gain another year. Larkspur did not know how to count very high, and had to think hard to account for his own years. Six. He would be six when the weather turned even colder and whispered of the coming winter. Nova Scotia was unpredictable, though. He had learned that last year, during the blizzard.
There was much to do before winter, though. He had set Rowan and one of the other slaves out to gather the grain the horses would need. While wild animals were capable of foraging through the winter, he was dealing with domestic animals—three of whom were pregnant. Horse was showing now, and he was certain that Misty had gained some weight as well. Luna, well..he had seen Black take her several times, and was equally certain she would carry his seed.
Now, though, he was focusing on another task. Salvia’s colt was finally large enough to begin his training. While he desired to have Salvia learn to ride him without tack, the large colt would need to learn to carry and pull things as his mother did. He would be one of the largest here—Black’s offspring would be far smaller. The feisty colt was used to wearing a halter (all the horses were used to them, soft leather things that Rowan had made) but he disliked the added weight on his back. Larkspur had used a weighted bag, strapped around the colt’s body. While he had tried to shake it off the pack, eventually, he grew used to it. Larkspur was leading him around on a long rope, allowing him to get used to the sensation, and was pleased with how quickly this part of his training was going.
He could feel it coming again, the headache. They always started in the same way, as a strange and uncomfortable weight behind his eyes. He'd been getting them more frequently, of late, but after a recent fluctuation hadn't had any at all. The one building inside his head was sure to be more than just irritating when it bloomed into full pain.
For now, he was capable of ignoring the prickling sullenness that lingered behind acidic olive. Movement was unhindered by the bristly bear cloak he had left behind, but soon a chill would come down from the mountains, and he would be sure to wear it. The only thing the Boss wore from that day on the mountain were the scars across his chest, ragged and proud as they rose with each breath.
He walked with purpose amongst the foliage, seeking the well-hidden trail that led north, to where his Arbiter had build the stables. There was a certain peace about the movements of the man, for the Hunter had retreated to the back of his maniacal mind, leaving it blissfully blank. Occasionally, a stray thought would occur to him, and Sirius would ponder such things as his oncoming headache, as the little girl who voiced herself to be Ataxia D'Angelo, as the oncoming winter, as the golden-furred rival to the east.
It did not surprise him to find the mountainous man with the horses. He seemed to have a level of understanding with the dimwitted beasts - They obeyed Larkspur, and were generally easily handled by the giant man. Regardless, Sirius appraised him with curious, narrowed pupils, watching in unseen silence as the D'Angelo worked with his daughter's big black. It was a particular talent of his, to remain unseen - The shadows molded over brooding, handsome features and tall rangy body. One hand lifted so that tentative fingers could stroke thoughtfully at the dark tuft on his chin, before the Thistle King stepped out into the open.
He moved with the silence and carelessness of a man at perfect ease with his surroundings, but as with the horses, Larkspur seemed to have this calming effect on Sirius. Leaning absently against a wooden support of the fence, the Revlis man watched in silence a moment more, comfortable in the company of the much larger male. After a moment, he spoke: "A handsome animal," Dark tones were smooth, careful not to distract the beast from obeying his Arbiter. "Salvia's, is he not?" Those sharp eyes loitered on the ebony colt, a light frown proving the King to be deep in thought.
Though horses were instinctively fearful of predators, especially those who grew to such immense heights as Larkspur, the ones that lived within Salsola were bred by wolves. They recognized wolves as familiar, and though often wary around strangers, recognized the scents and sounds made by the ones that most often worked with them. In a way, wolves had replaced the role of humans—horses could survive without them, but they were certainly better off with shelter and food and the constant work required of them.
Larkspur, like his own mount, was a man that moved with slow but powerful steps. He was relatively even-tempered, though times of desperation had pushed him to aggression. Fiercely protective of his family, and by extension, his pack, he was not a force to be tried. Almost as large (though hardly as heavy) as a bear his size alone often settled fights before they began. If not, he had the muscle and ferocity to back them up. Yet it was his calm nature around the horses and sheep that kept them in line, and they responded earnestly to such handling.
The horse certainly noticed the approaching wolf, but Sirius was familiar. He continued on his trot as Larkspur turned to face Sirius, though he kept his eyes on the dark animal. “Yes,” he replied. “She calls him Nacht. It means night.” With a sharp, hissing noise not unlike a snake, Larkspur urged the young horse into a canter.
It was within his nature to see the worth in all things. As poisonous eyes scanned the colt, they were looking for value, thinking of equal values, of trading and of the fickle politics of merchants. It was not that Sirius was considering taking the colt and trading him; It was, simply, his nature to see such basic worth in those things that narrowed pupils observed. So it was with the horse, and the man, and the daughter they spoke so absently of.
Salvia had just recently become a woman. It was a passing of time that marked both a dramatic increase in both her value, and her potential risk. Women were remarkable like that - Quite often, they were more valuable than their male counterparts, but also twice as dangerous. There was a hunger to the girl's eyes that he had seen before, and understood all too well. It was a hunger that the Thistle King sought not to dwell on, not when in the company of the youth's sire.
Again, narrowed pupils graced the arbiter, watching the slow and easy motions of the mammoth man as he guided the young horse about at an easy canter. The rope between them was slack - The arbiter was commanding the beast with his presence and voice alone. "Very good," He mused aloud, not particularly caring if the salt-and-pepper male caught the compliment or not. Sirius was particularly fond of lapsing into these deep wells of thought, and those who knew him at all were aware that much of the things he said in such a state were out of linear order, or disconnected to the topic at hand. There were many, many thoughts being processed at once behind acidic olive.
Shifting his weight, the lean monarch edged along the outside of the fence, seeking a different angle for his persistent gaze. "I've met another of your daughters, just recently. Ataxia," There was a slight note of annoyance in his tone, warning of the swing in discussion to come, "The children were not shown to me, and so I thought to seek them out myself. Your mate was not present, only her slave." He wondered if Larkspur held any sway over the newest litter - Wondered if the male had even considered that Sirius might have wanted to see them.
The principle difference between his King and himself was that Larkspur had very little concept of possession. He knew that the yellow horse was his. Rowan was his. Yet Salsola was owned by Sirius, and less directly, Eris. If Sirius demanded anything, Larkspur would turn it over. This was the rule of the pack. This was how wolves had behaved long before, and in some part of him, that was engrained within. He was a high ranking member of the pack, but he was a member and not a leader. The will of the leader was the will of the pack. To go against this was to go against them all.
Once he was satisfied that the horse had grown used to the weight, he allowed him to slow. He approached the dark colt and undid the weight as Sirius’ voice came from behind. While he did not look at him, it was clear the dark wolf was listening. His ears were back, high and turned to the deep voice of the King. His jaw tightened as he finally stood and guided the young colt back towards the wider pasture. With a slap on the rump he sent the colt off, and then crossed to meet his King. “Eris did not show them to anyone,” he admitted, frowning. “One was…cursed. I thought she might have shown the others to you.” An admittance of his own lack of involvement with these newest children. Eris had been far more picky and less hands on since she had Molca’s help. She did not require him as much, and until the children were able to walk and speak, he could not begin teaching them.
A lesser member would have dropped all tasks at hand to focus their attention on the monarch. While Larkspur was quick to show deference when it was expected, Sirius required no such thing from him at the current time, as his mild mood proven. The Thistle King was content to allow the large man to continue his simple work, watching on all the while with those fiercely intelligent eyes.
It took a moment for Larkspur to reply, and the Revlis man read in his posture and in his body more than his mere words conveyed. The docile frown over simmering acidic olive draw deeper, heavier. The words he spoke were troublesome, and in a way, confusing. Sirius was not a man of faith. He had long ago decided that the two worlds, the mortal and the immortal, were split by the hand of chance and practicality. If there was a god, or gods, then they surely had little care for the insects that wallowed in the mud below them. This was a cruel train of thought, but in Sirius' mind, a being that could hold such immense power was far more likely to use it in a cruel, or apathetic, way. Thus, for Larkspur to call one of his children cursed was conflicting indeed. The mammoth male was not known to exaggerate - He was refreshingly blunt, with all things. Sirius had not known him to speak a single lie yet, and this was the reason he was held in such good faith by the paranoid ruler.
He stepped back, giving the Arbiter room to vault the fence if he so wished, before speaking. "The one... It has been dealt with?" While the question may have seemed brutal to some, in this, Sirius and Larkspur were much alike. The laws of nature, of their nature, only allowed for survival of the strong and the fit. If one of the litter had been born an abomination, it was at the risk of the pack, and had to be removed. He thought briefly of Ataxia - She had been a strong child, willful and bright. She would uphold the sinister reputation of Salsola, as well as he had hoped from any Erisspawn. The King had not smelt sickness there, but nor had he ventured in to the den - That place was Eris', and not one he would so simply invade, Boss or no.
That was the main difference between them, then. Larkspur had known fear from higher powers and thus bowed his head when a dominant personality proved worthy. Without the chain of faith, Sirius had learned absolute freedom. He answered to no one, was responsible for his own actions, and knew that no retribution could come from a higher power. Larkspur knew; he knew the dangers of faith. It was carved on his arms, in the archaic language of the old gods and the old ways.
Vaulting was not something that the large male was really capable of with his size. He climbed over with a few well placed steps, and landed with a heavy thud. The Arbiter leaned against the fence, his height enough that he was able to almost sit on the wooden thing. Their main pasture, the one with leather woven links to keep the sheep in, was behind the circular training ring he had constructed over the summer. His eyes gleamed with a hellish light, betraying the emotion and the religious weight he had put on “dealing” with the thing that he had never considered a child.
“Yes,” he said strongly, not fearing any earthly retribution. “I am sorry you were not told. It was a shame on my family that could not be avoided.” Eris had damned them; she was lucky Tak had not taken more. He had left his mark on the remaining children, regardless. They would face the night with fear in their hearts.
It was not glee that shone in the Arbiter's eyes, when Sirius' serpent tongue spoke lowly of the necessary murder of a child. Nor was it fury at the thought of such a thing, a fury that would have been expected from a lesser creature, a weaker one. Not, it was the burning of lanterns that the Thistle King had seen only once before, high on the mountain, when the giant of a man had battled the most feared of mountain carnivores. The bear had been burned by the heat held within such blazing amber and jack-o-lantern orange. It did not take such a large leap of thought to conclude that the abomination of birth had suffered a similarly direct fate.
A deep grunt voiced the King's continued aggravation over being blighted by secrecy - It was his due to know all things, and that he had not been informed of such information till now goaded the dangerous monarch. But his anger with Larkspur was short-lived, for the man was an honest creature, and his words were heavy with the truth of their meaning. "So it was," He spoke dismissively. The child had been dealt with, but the shame would remain, lingering on within this new litter. Sirius could only hope that since the weakness had been weeded out, the strong would allow their roots to become stronger, more deeply tangled and entrenched within his kingdom.
Larkspur had hefted his mighty frame over the fence, and dwarfed Sirius with his hulking dark form. Sirius was by no means a small man - He was wolfishly tall of frame, with large and high ears that made him even more so. But beside the bulk of the muscular mountain of D'Angelo, the Boss was a rangy, lean thing, lanky and poisonously elegant where Larkspur was all deep power. One hand rose to clap against the man's thickly furred upper arm, signaling Sirius' change in mood before his devilish tongue could. "You have been keeping yourself well, I trust? Your slave had been tending you suitably?" There was a sharpness to his eyes as he voiced this, for Sirius knew that the man had long since taken the pretty red thing as his wench. The Revlis man wondered briefly if he had taken the girl to his bed, too, for undoubtedly these months had been cold where Eris was concerned.
While Salsola valued secrecy, there was an idea in place that Sirius would need to know all things. It had been Eris’ word that kept the Arbiter from speaking of their blight, more so because she refused to deign to his beliefs. Fire had been the only way to cleanse the blight. Khalif had taught him that and he knew it well. Though the shadow had passed from their life, it lingered in the faces of his mate and those so-young children. The others would sense it. Salvia already had.
The idea Sirius mentioned was avoided, for Larkspur did not wish to speak of Rowan as anything more than his maid. “She tends to the children when we cannot. I will have her cook for you sometime, if you wish—she was taught well.” This was not a lie. Rowan had an extensive education when it came to her preparations, which were (though he did not know this) a combination of French and German techniques. She had been brought up into her life, and thus becoming a slave was something to be expected from her. Boldly, he continued: “Does that coyote belong to you?”
