Word count:349 ----------------------------OOC: Looking for a loner for him to run into, maybe to tell him about New Dawn.
He had woken to the crisp scent of the sea and the taste of salt on his lips. It would take only a day more for him to reach the Isthmus of Chitengo, and then he would be in Nova Scotia. It had been two long years since he had left his home and taken the boat across the ocean and he had since seen almost all there was to see of the world. Perhaps this would be where he finally settled down. The cold, unforgiving north might just be where his restless soul was taking him.
Ignatius rose with the sun and packed up his bedroll, storing it with the rest of his things in the cart that would be pulled by Pippa, his chestnut and white mare. He briefly stopped to look at the scene he had painted on the covered cart shortly after he got it. He ran his paw over the laughing Luperci and smiled. He had received this cart from one of the few more civilized packs of coyotes in the south. It had cost him only his songs, stories and tricks; that was something he was happy to give away.
The sun was still breaching the mountaintops when Ignatius started off. He kept a steady pace and walked beside Pippa. The wares he had stashed in the cart wobbled this way and that, creating quite a commotion. His approach would not be a surprise to anyone in the area but he liked it that way. He was here to entertain and hopefully make a few friends along the way. There was always the possibility of an attack but so far in life he had been lucky, at least in that respect. It did him no good to worry about what might happen.
He hummed a soft tune as they walked along, matching it to the rhythm of Pippa's hoof-steps and the jingle of the cart. The sky was clear of any clouds and he could tell it was going to be a beautiful day. It was the beginning of a perfect end.
Amy was returning from her trade in the west. Fresh goods were in the wagon, as well as the items that Thana had asked for. A quiet young girl, just seven months old, walked behind her, the exotic cat clutched in her arms. She was silent, eyes wide. The girl was a little dirty, Amy would have to wash her before handing her over to the wolf. It was equal value for the task demanded for though. Amy still couldn't believe that Thana had had the gall to demand being paid when she was Amy's servant.
The clattering sound of a cart caught Amy's attention. She pulled her own horse to a halt, looking over the area. There he was, a colorful male, just walking alongside his noisy cart. It was so bright and cheerful. A sudden urge to burn it to the ground seized her, quickly quelled down. He might be distasteful, but he was still someone she could trade with. Howling Amy worked to bring his attention to her. She clicked, tugging at the horse's head to pick up the pace, moving swiftly over the grounds, the girl tripping a little as she tried to keep up.
ooc: sorry for the late reply, i only just saw your post
A howl rang through the air and the black and white male pricked his ears and turned his eyes toward it. There, in the distance, was another cart, like his but plainer and pulled by a horse that matched the color of its owner. He raised a hand in greeting and gave a friendly howl in return, telling the woman that he was no threat to her. He marched onward, picking up the pace until he reached her.
“Good morning!” He called when he was within earshot. He pulled Pippa to a halt and looked over the approaching wolves. Both were in Luperci form, as he was, and the younger one carried an interesting looking cat within her arms. He gave it a curious glance, wondering if it came from this area. He patted Pippa absently as he spoke to them again. “You wouldn’t happen to be traders, as well, would you?” What a lovely coincidence if they were! He wondered what they might be selling as he waited for a reply, smiling all the time.
The greeting howl stated the lack of intent to harm. Even if there had been that intent, Amy wouldn't have cared. She could have easily gutted the wolf before her, and taken the goods for herself. Of course, doing that kind of thing wasn't exactly good for business. So Amy gained her pleasure in other ways, and acted fair when it came to trade. The male glanced curiously at the cat held by the slave at her side, wondering about it. Amy smiled, knowing that getting such animals was difficult. It had been quite pricy, ending up having to loan Raoth out for a night. She didn't know what they'd done, but Raoth had returned covered in blood, and they'd let her pick out whatever she wanted afterwards. Hopefully he hadn't done anything foolish, trying to escape or killing one of them.
Neatly she nodded her head, tail high with pride. I am a trader. She is a slave. I can get anything that one requests, always good quality. What about yourself? What claim do you hold? She looked over him with curiosity. Canines didn't always trade with her, the prices steep due to her nature and the quality of her items, and she wasn't sure on the trade policy of others, just that she did her best to drive them away from where she worked.
A slave, was she? Where he came from things of that nature were not very common and he was unsure how he felt about it. He looked at the girl with a soft smile, wondering what kind of things she was used for. He did not want to think about it, honestly. He had lain with a woman before but never against her will. It made his skin crawl to think about it. It really wasn’t any of his business, though and he tried not to dwell on it as he listened to the rest of what the other dog was saying.
What he traded could not be measured in terms of quality, as it was more a service than a good. It took him a moment to find an answer for her but when he did, he was confident in his reply. “I can’t make a claim even half as good as that but I’m told my performances are the best thing many a canine has seen.” He shrugged his shoulders modestly before continuing. “If you would show me your wares, perhaps a song or a story will be payment enough?” If not he could offer some of his more complex acts, if there was something she had that really appealed to him.
Word Count → 000 :: the slave is only 7 months old...
The young girl clutched the margay closer to her body, drawing a small mewl of protest from the young cat. Large eyes stared up, wondering why the trader was so interested in her. Amy had shown the same interest before the purchase, pacing and measuring the girl out for what she would be used for. Amy shook her head, wondering why so many seemed surprised that she kept slaves. It wasn't like it was a particularly new concept. Plenty in Europe had slaves. The land truly was barbaric, others constantly surprised by it.
Performance? Amy's ears raised, looking him over. He wasn't the most handsome wolf she'd ever met. Well, her standards were rather high. It was difficult to find someone who she thought of as holding beauty in any form. Showing off her wares in exchange for a song was definitely a good idea. Amy had nothing against showing him what she had, and she loved listening to music. Certainly. Do you know any ballads? She loved those songs, especially the tragedies. They really rang with her.
He paid no more attention to the slave girl as he negotiated with her golden owner. He had made her uncomfortable which in turn had left him with the same feeling. She couldn’t have been much older than six months, still a pup, and probably afraid after being taken away from her home by this stranger. A song would do well to lighten the air.
Though he knew many songs, he did not know the kind that the woman asked for. He flicked his ears back as he tried to remember if any of the songs he had learned had been called a ballad. Coming up dry, he relented to asking her. “A ballad? I’m not sure that I do. What do they usually sound like?” He frowned at his lack of knowledge; he was supposed to be the expert on all forms of entertainment. What good was he if he couldn’t even fill a simple request?
The confused look from Amy's request had the dog's lips curling with distaste. He claimed to be a great entertainer, but couldn't even answer what she had asked for. She watched him, knowing that he was searching for a possible ballad to sing to her. A smirk fell on her features as he asked her what a ballad was. He claimed to have a high performance quality, yet he couldn't even answer this simple request. He even asked what a ballad sounded like!
Shaking her head Amy explained. It doesn't have a specific sound. Ballads tell tales, usually tragedies. Beautiful songs, really. I suppose if you don't know one, it's none of my concern. I still have things to do. I can't waste it on an amateur singer. Amy looked at him, wondering how he would defend himself. Would he find a way to prove himself, or clam up in anger? Either way, Amy would be amused before she head out.
‘I can’t waste it on an amateur singer..’ All the happiness vanished from his eyes as the insult fell from her mouth, though a dead smile still lingered on his lips. The insult hurt but it did not cut him as deep as she might have thought. He knew his own abilities, and he was anything but amateur. He would not take the word of a stranger, who hadn’t even heard him sing, against the audiences he had entertained throughout the world. Sure, occasionally there would be a canine that had no taste for the arts but he did not take it as a personal insult. Her words were meant to hurt him and he did not like dealing with those that would hurt others on purpose. It was his personal duty to bring laughter and joy into the world and they found it enjoyable to cause tears and anger wherever they went. In a way, canines like her were his rivals.
He shrugged as a reply, showing that he cared little one way or the other. “Understandable, I suppose.” That was a lie. He had never quite understood why some canines rushed from task to task; never resting or stopping to appreciate what was around them. The world was a beautiful place and deserved to be admired. Every song and every story was worth hearing. Every blade of grass and every creek were worth seeing. However, some just did not see it that way.
He turned away from her then and started toward the back of his cart. He looked at her over his shoulder as he left and spoke. “The world is only as cruel as you make it but is beautiful without anyone’s help.” With that parting gesture, he disappeared behind his painted cart. Seconds after he had left the soft sound of a stringed instrument filled the air. He gave it a few experimental strums and fiddled with the strings to get it perfectly tuned before he began.
“In Scarlet Town, where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwellin'
Made every youth cry well-a-day
Her name was Barbara Allen.”
“All in the merry month of May
When green buds they were swellin',
Young Jeremy Grove on his deathbed lay
For love of Barbara Allen.”
“He sent his man unto her then,
To the town where she was dwellin'.
"You must come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen,”
For death is printed on his face
And o'er his heart is stealin'.
Then haste away to comfort him,
O lovely Barbara Allen."
