if we own the night then spread it out

Salvia Eternity · 01-02-2012, 10:18 PM

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Salsola, Borgata Mazatl

Salvia is on Misty and Larkspur is with the new horse and cart (and Rowan). I figured both or one of you could reply :> This is really tl;dr.

Travel between Salsola and Freetown was not hard while on horseback alone. When they had left, their time had been fair and they had only taken a few nights to arrive within the trading port. Larkspur had done this before, and been able to find a room for the trio to stay in. Salvia was watched with the father’s sharpest attention, for while he was certain she was more than capable of handling herself in the wild, people here carried weapons and Salvia was yet untrained against such devices.

Most of the days they had been together involved the learning of a very important scale; trade. Larkspur himself had not been so versed within the realm until he had observed it a thousand times over. Now that he had made a name for himself, it was a simple task. His size alone proved formidable—except for a very few northern traders, Larkspur towered over the smaller beasts of the port.

Their main goal had been, as his niece had suggested and Sirius approved, to gather a cart and a horse trained to pull such a thing. While Horse was certainly strong enough, he wanted to find a secondary mare large enough for such thing. Additionally, he was looking for a candidate for the selective breeding program that he had begun. With this in mind, he had rejected several bay animals that were too bulky and too feathered for his purposes.

It had been Salvia who had found their solution. An older trader with his cart had been lamenting to her about the troubles of being so old and having only a “failing shop” to support him. Their bartering had not taken very long; Larkspur had offered him a collection of gems far more valuable than everything he owned and overwhelmed by this (as well as the size of the man giving him such an offer) the old wolf had taken it with gratitude.

Salvia had left a few days after this, but Larkspur had been inevitably delayed. The reasoning had been secretive and it tore apart his very palpable loyalty to Sirius, to Eris, to Salsola. He hated himself for having to go about things in such a way, but there was no doubt in his mind when the woman had begun weeping and told him the sad and sordid tale of her life. No, Rowan had cried, she did not want to see such a thing happen again. Not all men were like Larkspur.

They had bargained once more before leaving, with an old woman whom seemed to possess powers of an incredibly powerful sort. This deal had lightened their load considerably; it was a large cart, however, and this was suitable for the needs of Salsola. Larkspur had taken only a few hours to learn the interstices of the hitching system. Even these were not as complicated as he imagined. A thong crossed the chest of the horse, and was connected to another strap that circled the girth of the animal not unlike a saddle. By running two long lengths of leather through the bridle and various other metal rings connected to this pull, he was able to direct the animal from a seat back in the cart. Two long wooden poles hitched at either side of the horse, and these were also connected to the straps as to provide ease for the animal. In this manner, the horse did not pull completely from their front, but instead balanced the weight between the poles and the harness, thus making the weight of the cart easier to haul.

He was particularly pleased with the animal as well. While an older mare, Blanche was hardly past her prime. A massive draft horse of gray color (for white was not a true pelt of horses, save those odd albinos that were ugly to the eye and genetically inferior) as pale as fresh snow, she was comparable in size to Horse if only a hand or half smaller. Her temperament in particular pleased the burly Arbiter, who enjoyed the slow and easy ways of the cold blooded horses. Docile enough to allow him to full inspect her, the mare had proven of strong body as well. There were only a few scars over her legs, likely caused by accidents in her youth, but there hardly seemed any cause for true concern. While her mouth was slightly harder than he would have liked, she was not headshy and this proved her master had treated her well. The old wolf had seemed a little sad to see her go, but he was already planning how best to retire and joked of finding a woman as pretty as the red one accompanying her master. Rowan had said nothing, but Larkspur had not failed to notice there was a slight glimmer of pride in her eyes. A vain creature, she had finally been granted aid from the cold in the form of a long robe that did not interfere with her movements. It was made of leather, and not top quality, but the rabbit-fur lining inside was enough to keep the skinny thing warm. As much as he tried to make her eat, Rowan had not been able to keep weight on…and he doubted she would now, with Freetown and their terrible secret far behind.

The trail north was one well worn, though there was a sharp deviation within it. Most traders and travelers turned west, perhaps fleeing as they had from the eastern seaboard. Civilization lay to the west, and while Salsola and the other packs of Nova Scotia had begun making such steps, they were still a feral world and one that showed little sign of profit. Unless one sought to make a home in the wilderness, Toronto was the next destination. Few humanized wolves went further north then that. The forests still claimed feral things that had not evolved beyond living red of tooth and claw.

He directed the cart easily enough by riding it, with Rowan in the back. She worked as they went, sewing up more bags from the various leather and furs they had gathered. It was an easy work for her, and it kept her mind off of other things. Horse, whose saddle and bridle were bundled up in the back of the cart, was tied by a rope halter and following easily enough. She was beginning to show signs of carrying a foal and this meant Larkspur would be certain to take things easy with her. There would be no danger to the mare for months yet, but he was a cautious man when it came to the animals. This ensured, after all, that there was little chance for a failure in strength or birth. Horse was not a new mother either; she would likely have an easy time with this one, especially (as he suspected) since the smaller stallion would produce smaller offspring. Black had been a massive colt, even at birth. Larkspur did not doubt he would grow equally as large as his mother.

They traveled during the day and spent the night huddled around small fires, eating food brought from Freetown. Though a capable hunter, Larkspur’s energy had to be focused on the delivery of goods. If, as last time, an incident occurred he would not be able to defend the property if his strength had gone to chasing down fresh meat. Rowan managed to season and prepare this so it did not ring of age, which pleased the Arbiter. They worked together when it came to caring for the horses, though Larkspur was the one who dealt more often with their feet while Rowan brushed them.

This morning, they had woken early in order to ensure the horses were prepared to be presented. It would not do to come back looking worn and bedraggled, and Larkspur had Rowan go so far as to wash their manes and tails while he went through the cart once more and double-checked the stock within. Most of it was simple things; tools, in particular, a few more of those nose rings. Gifts too, had been brought, and in time they would be given to those who deserved them. Rowan was brushing through the mane of the white mare when he returned, and nodded, pleased with her work. Both horses were glistening, and he was pleased by this.

The two wolves, as well, washed themselves in the stream. Frigid as the water was, the goal was to cleanse the obvious scent of Freetown from their bodies. They did not carry Salsola’s at all, though it would not be long before it once again melded into their fur. Larkspur was still damp when he hitched the mare up, allowing Rowan time to brush her own hair and fix herself as to look proper. It was a silly thing for a slave to do, but she reflected her master and would not allow him to come across as a dirty man. Larkspur, of course, enjoyed seeing her cleaned up. She was a wondrously beautiful woman, after all.

They slowed only once, when Larkspur caught an unfamiliar scent on the wind. A pack? Here? He had a mind to investigate but settled for the long distance observation. While not strictly near Salsola, they were close enough to set off warning bells. With their back to the ocean, the secretive pack was now bordered by the savage coyotes and this new and untested neighbor. He urged the horse on, making note to return if Sirius had not already (though he must have, of course) scouted the area out.

It did not surprise him to see a figure looming out of the forest on horseback. He let out a low, deep howl of greeting and watched his daughter fly towards them.

For Salvia, the morning had been equally busy. There was still the issue of Luna’s hoof, and while she had caught it early, it had not been early enough. No infection stemmed, but she did not favor that leg and rode tenderly. Odessa had suggested some plants and a salt soak, which to Salvia’s great pleasure seemed to help immensely. She took extra time with the mare, grooming her for longer than she did any of the others…except for her own, of course. Nacht, while too small to yet be ridden, was being broken in daily. She made certain his midnight pelt gleamed when he was turned out to graze, and admired his color next to that of the pale mare.

Likewise, she worked with the other horses as well. Misty in particular had become a thorn in her side; while previously the lead mare, with her position usurped by the pretty appaloosa belonging to the Siv woman, she had become downright horrible. Salvia had gone about re-breaking her with a cold and vicious savagery, often exhausting both herself and the animal by the time they were through. Today, luckily, had gone without incident. She had hitched the mare up early and ridden out to set the sheep to graze. They were penned at night to prevent poaching, and then driven up to the grassy fields that were shared with the horses. Luckily, the animals all stayed within the territory—Salvia likened this to their reorganization of scent and domestic upbringing.

She had left them to work Misty further, taking her on a simple patrol. The reindeer were somewhere around the area and she would likely try and pick one out for her next large hunt. It took teamwork to bring down such an animal, especially when she herself was hardly as large as her father or brother. Indeed—Salvia was downright average except for her weight, which was due to muscle mass. Femininity was rare for her, though a nipped waistline and long hair spoke otherwise. No willowy beauty like the witch who had been poking around the stables, that was for sure.

They rode hard, for Salvia did not coddle any of the beasts beneath her. The air was frigid and filled her lungs with ice, but she reveled in such a feeling. Winter was her time; she had been born in December and while she was hot-tempered, it was winter that called to her, winter that gleamed in her pelt and in her cold eyes. Salvia was, without a doubt, meant for such weather. Her fur was plush and layered, and no bit of the cold reached her save the skin of her face and palms. Even her feet reflected such breeding. Fur had grown long around them, and she walked with her toes splayed as a cat might, for this allowed better traction. On the horse it was less obvious, of course.

She had spotted the approaching cart when she came to the edge of the woods. It was hard to miss, especially with a giant driving it. His voice carried not to her alone, but to the ones who had sent him away. Salvia came anyway. She dreadfully missed him, and her brother, and would not allow herself to simply walk away from the man and his prizes. With a hiss to imitate a cat (which in turn imitated a snake) she urged the mare into a canter.

Once the distance had closed, Misty fretted around the unfamiliar horse until a sharp sound from Salvia warned her against it. Though prancing still, she settled near the driver’s side and fell behind the white mare, who might have no more seen a noisy tree for all of her concern.

“You missed the Supper,” the blonde girl chided, though she was not cruel about such a thing. Salsola obviously trusted the Arbiter and she doubted his presence was truly an offense. After all, Pandemic was gone as well—though he was training yet, as he had so desired.

“I woulda been back fer it but we had to wrap up a few things,” the burly man grunted, orange eyes darkening a shade. Salvia felt a prickle of concern for that darkness, but dismissed it. Likely trouble with a trader or something of that nature.

“Oh, mother will be most pleased to see you. I haven’t seen her much myself, but I’ve been kept busy with the animals. Luna injured a hoof, but it seems to be healing now.”

“Y’take care of it?”

“Oh yes, and Odessa helped me. She’s working on becoming a medic.”

“Is she? I’m sure that’ll please her mother. How’re yer sisters?”

This time, Salvia’s eyes narrowed. She looked away, feigning anything that might not betray her true irritability of the subjects. “Oh fine, I’m sure. Probably running around with mother’s coyote, no doubt,” she huffed, and flipped a length of loose hair from one shoulder. “How is Pandemic?” Her tone shifted, suddenly, at the mention of her dear brother.

“Jus’ fine. He said he’s gonna learn as much as he can before comin’ back up here.”

There was a slight droop in her shoulders, but Salvia hid this. She missed her brother something awful and did not wish to hear he would be gone for longer than she had imagined. It was rough being alone, even if she had TK in the house to keep her company. Of course, a slave was not a friend, even if they had begun talking more.

“How was the Supper?”

“Oh!” She said suddenly, green eyes bursting into a shade far brighter than before. Her teeth gleamed as she spoke, for it was in her nature to show them—even if it was not with hostility now, but mere excitement. “I claimed the Casador position, as well as joining the Confidants.”

There was nothing but pride from the massive wolf, who smiled and glowed at his daughter as if she was the most spectacular thing in the world. At that moment, she was. “I knew y’would. Yer special, Salvia. Yer mother and Sirius have seen that too.” Eris would have, most certainly. Salvia had been one of their first, and continued to prove her growing nature daily. Larkspur too, had seen the preferential treatment given to the girl by her “Uncle”. That title pleased him; even if they were not blood-kin, Larkspur looked to Sirius as both a leader and a brother. He had killed for him, and he had almost died for him. One demon had been replaced for another, only this time it was without madness (at least, the clear and obvious madness) at the helm.

Salvia beamed and smiled, but it was her mother’s smile—an arrogant, haughty thing that did not doubt, but knew such words were truth. She was special and she did have a right to such titles for more than her name. Bloodlines gave much; she was daughter of the first Arbiter and Auxiliary, niece of the Thistle King. By her own hand she had risen, heedless of doubts and violence and the strangers who even now plotted against her life. One day she would face them again, and they would see why Salvia bore the name Tigress amongst her own people. It was obvious now, that she was a creature carefully groomed and raised for violent ends. Sirius had seen to that, crushing all childish notions of love and blood and placing instead devotion and chains that bound her to him and him alone.

So while she was this man’s daughter, she did not belong to him anymore. Like all of those who lived to serve their Boss, Salvia’s purpose was clear to her. One day she would be asked to kill for him, and she would do so without thinking and without doubt. So in a way, she was much like her father—except even smarter, and far more cunning. The intelligence within her was vast and terrible, for she was quick without being wise, educated without books or papers or foolish human notions. All she knew had been learned through her body; language through imitation, combat through experience, hunting by practice, and the ways of beasts through observation.

The blonde girl, however, said nothing of this. She only smiled and fell into line beside her father, watching the road ahead of them for the greeting that would surely come.

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