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Perhaps he should have expected it, but really, who expected their family to dump them miles away from home? No matter how many times he rolled the thought over in his head, he couldn't get why he wasn't wanted. He had always done what he was told, even though he was never terribly social. That was just his nature. Ari would rather imagine himself in solo journeys, and also entertained himself with art. He didn't often play with the other kids — a reason why he imagined he probably wouldn't be missed too much. He wondered if it had been a decision by his second-elder brother, Pelagios, and his mother. Pelagios never did like him (even though the stormy gray boy didn't like anyone, it seemed), and his mother didn't seem to either. Nikolaos was always the one who seemed to tolerate him, and he had been the one to drop him off here. But still... Ari couldn't get the compassionate glint in his brother's dark eyes. He hadn't been part of it — he had just been given the ax and was told to be the executioner. In a metaphorical sense. That was how it felt to Ari, at least.
Still, he couldn't dwell on it. With all the time Ari spent with himself, he had plenty of time to think. He thought and thought and thought for an entire day, and decided to not sit on the whole ordeal any longer. If he was going to wait here for his brother (who might never show up, he imagined), he might as well get settled. He searched through the territory called Jaded Shadows, looking for a piece of real estate that might suit a kid like him. Eventually he settled in a small dirt cavern nestled between a few foothills of Ashen Mountain. It was right in the middle of a snarled copse of trees — the perfect place to hide away from prying eyes.
After setting up shop and making the place a little bit more homey, Ari set off on his next excursion. He needed art supplies. He had had the idea to get most of his art things before they left (Nikolaos had told him they were going on an "adventure", which Ari thought he could take his art things along as a person would take a Game Boy), but he was fresh out of paint. He filled part of his paint flask with water, and started looking through the skeletal undergrowth of the forest for something to make the pigment. He wasn't having good luck with it, either. He wanted black paint, mostly, but he might have to settle with dark green... He sighed, glancing up at the weak midday sun. He just didn't know forests well. They were very much different from the swampland he had been raised in.
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She hadn't come up the mountain since the night she'd first shifted. What a strange time that had been, with the changes in the pack - and in nearly every wolf's attitude, it seemed. Life often sobered up around the end of winter, but Legacy was living through her first year, and only knew this on an integral level. Her small hand traced the contours of a tree trunk as she passed, liking the secure, solid feeling it lent to her. The quick-footed youth was far away from her den before very much time had passed, and her path was more level, the undergrowth thickening.
Rustling faintly under her feet and to each side were the brittle tangles of last year's growth, not yet revived into life by spring's encouragement. She knew the territory well and her paws were sure upon their path. A roundabout, calming trip, a change of scenery from her underground home. Also, a chance to hunt, though she would have to shift back to four legs first. Some sound made her stop dead, freezing and looking around. It wasn't the deer or squirrel she'd expected, but a wolf - a boy. Her eyes widened in surprise; he was unknown to her. A hesitant call of greeting escaped her maw, but she was tense even as she did so. She had first-hand experience with the darker kind of stranger. Just because she was inside the packland didn't make her safe. [/html]
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He was just giving up on the search, resigning the ever-important decision for paint color for another day, when the snap of a brittle twig behind him made him whirl around. Ari had been, somewhat understandably, on edge ever since he had arrived here. His vision blurred with fear, but that seemed to evaporate when they settled on the red-furred girl that had stumbled across him. She looked remarkably like Fatin, who had accepted him into the pack, and he could only imagine that this was one of her kids that she had told him about. He relaxed a fraction, thinking that some one who was so kind as Fatin must have compassionate kids as well.
That didn't help the awkwardness of the situation. He wasn't a conversationalist — he normally relied on others to make topics while he only responded to keep conversation going on. She didn't say a word. Feeling like a heavy weight was resting over him, begging him to say something, he managed a weak smile and said in a small voice, Uh, hi.
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No one could conceivably be frightened of a puppy-girl like Legacy, so she wasn't surprised to see his expression turn from nervous shock to a faint smile, which she returned with a wide grin - mostly of relief. He was jumpy, though, she decided - maybe even jumpier than she was. The idea gave her courage. She was rarely awkward around strangers, and waved a casual greeting in response to his words, stepping forwards a bit to get a clearer view of him through the scrubby winter bush. A wolf-keen sense of smell told her he'd been around a little while, and thus must be an accepted presence.
"You don't look much older than me," she observed curiously, "who're your parents? Do they live here too?" Funny to have someone arriving into the pack during such a confusing time. They'd been quite full up for a little while, with very few coming in for months. With interest, she added "Why did you come here?" It was probably rude to belabour the poor thing with questions, and she was realising she was sounding a little unfriendly which was definitely not the intention. A pack was only as good as the links between its members. Who'd said that to her? Maybe she'd just thought it up. "Sorry, should have said - my name's Legacy," she added, both stopping the torrent of words and subtly inferring for him to introduce himself back if he wanted to. [/html]
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His parents? Strange she should ask about them. The second he heard those few words, a small grimace crossed his gaunt features. It disappeared quickly, though — replaced by his usual impassive look. They're nobody. And they don't live here, either, he replied, trying to say it as nonchalant as possible. He didn't want to dwell on the subject, especially with someone who had a mother as kind as Fatin. When it came to mothers, his was the exact opposite from hers. Her next question off set him once more, and he shrugged. I didn't. I was dropped off here. I'm waiting for somebody. Yes, the kid who was waiting for someone who might never come. But still, it gave him hope.
The answers were a bit wounding, but he was answering because of his impulse to be polite. His mother and brothers had taught him that you should always answer questions, and answer them truthfully. He had never dared to disobey this regiment, because that would often entail danger to him. Regardless, she gave a belated introduction. Legacy was the name, and Ari nodded. I'm Ari. He gave another quick, nervous smile.
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Evidently there was no information to be gleaned from asking who he was related to: he sounded like he was alone, and also like he understandably didn't want to talk about it. Suitably quelled on that score, she just murmured an "Oh..." in reply. Ari was rather a mystery, but she sort of liked his straightforward style. It was highly possible she'd irritated him already, she decided, so was relieved to see the smile. Someone who spoke in such economical, slightly repressive statements couldn't be expected to fake a smile; it was actually unexpected, but she took it as sincere.
"It's nice to meet you, anyway," she said warmly, hitching back a lock of cinnamon mane, then realised how embarrassingly earnest she sounded and lowered her eyes in confusion - thus spotting the intriguing flask he held. "What's that?" Legacy nodded at it, a question in her eyes. [/html]
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Ari gave a half-hearted wave of his hand to show that he didn't mind her slight pry into the reason why he was here, even though it was really painful for him to think about still. He couldn't drive the thoughts of his brother's shadowed face full of pity, and the idea that his family had been behind his abandonment. He could think on it forever, but that wouldn't get him anywhere, or any further into this conversation. At her continued pleasantries, though, he couldn't help but cheer up with a bit of optimism. No matter how shitty things were with his family, the people here were nice. Far nicer than they could ever be. Maybe this might turn out to be a gift in disguise. A horrible disguise.
Nice to meet you, too, he replied quietly, yet earnestly. He nervously played with the clasp of the small container — full of water and assorted things he had picked up — and looked at it as she pointed it out. It's for paint. I make it with water, certain plants and things, and contain it in this. Art is my hobby. One of his only hobbies, and his only passion. Everything else in the world seemed smaller when you were imagining a scene in your mind and transferring it through hand and brush to something in reality. Ari thought that it was noble. His mother had thought it trivial. That didn't restrain him from continuing to paint, however.
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Her family had a greatly creative tendency, and Legacy's eyes lit up enthusiatically as he explained that it was a paint pot. She hadn't had much practice painting, being only seven months old and still new to shifting, but loved to create calligraphy and had learned plenty of art-lore. Her words tumbled over each other as they came thick and fast, "I like art, too! I'm not a good painter, not very... I like drawing letters and writing things down... I use charcoal that comes from the fire sometimes, when it's hot and they pile enough wood on. I save it, you should come by the den and get some sometime! You use water in your paints?" she asked, then continued without giving him time to speak "You can get oil from pine-tree resin, you have to have something else though, I think it comes from flax. I don't have any," she finished sadly; she could have lent it to him, if he wanted some. "You mix that with the colourful stuff and it makes a pretty good paint, I think." [/html]
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Ari was surprised to find someone who was interested in — if not liked — art. Back in his former pack, everyone had a meaningful job, and things such as the arts, music, poetry, and writing fiction were generally frowned upon. Here, however, that didn't seem the case at all. Looking at the cinnamon-hued girl with interest, he listened as the words cascaded from her. He nodded, as she neared the end, thinking he should swing by her den and get some charcoal (it would be nice to draw on the walls of his den, make it more interesting). He shrugged sheepishly as she commented that he made his paint with water. "Watercolor" was perhaps what he was going for, but water back at home was much more thick than it was here. You could practically paint with the mud. He had been finding it hard to make paint how he was used to, but what she said about pine resin was interesting. There were very few, if any, pines in the marshlands. He would have to see about this resin.
Yes, I probably could, he said generally, shrugging once more. He was used to very basic paint — usually black or a dark brown or green. He didn't paint traditionally; his paintings were a bit more primitive. He liked simple outlines of things, without any color usually. The inside of his den would, in time, look like it was covered in cave paintings of old. Still, what she had said about drawing letters made him interested. There was only two or three wolves back at home who could read and write; he wondered where she had learned.
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"There might be something in the pine nuts too..." she couldn't help continuing on the train of thought, "Where I read about it, it doesn't explain exactly how to do it though, it just said something about how they used to do it. Years ago." And how a year still seemed a long time to Legacy. "We have a book... we have a lot of books," the girl added to explain her sources, as bubbly and vivacious as ever - even chatter-prone.
She had some understandings of pigments, too. Clay could give you red, brown, yellow; you could even heat the mud-dust to change the hue. Blue was in the glittering stones that could be brought over from Europe. With those, and chalk, you could create any shade you wanted. It wasn't so easy to obtain the ingredients, though, and much of it she didn't remember wholly - certainly not enough to talk about. "But don't let me get in your way," she continued with a small smile. "I'm delaying you, aren't I?" [/html]
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Ari never minded listening to people. He wasn't exactly a thrilling conversationalist, but he was a hell of a good listener. There wasn't a word that tumbled from Legacy's mouth that he didn't take in completely. He never looked bored or annoyed with her — more interested and fascinated. No one had ever opened up to him like this back home. Hell, no one had barely talked to him back there. This place was so odd. He wasn't sure if he'd ever get it, but he was trying to learn. She continued on about books, and he shrugged as she continued. 'S nice, but books don't do me too much good, he mumbled, not even sure she heard him between her own speech. He didn't mind. He wasn't exactly proud of his illiteracy.
The conversation took a quick pause and Ari imagined he could see the wheels and cogs in Legacy's head spinning, going much quicker than his thoughts had moved. If Ari's thought process was anything, it was ponderous and careful. Her next words surprised him, and he shook his head gently. N-No, you're not in my way. Or stopping me. I wasn't really doing anything t'start with. He paused awkwardly, fiddling with the clasp on his paint flask once more. You could help me look for something to c-color my paint with, though. I'm not really used to forests like this. The mixture of coniferous and deciduous trees in Jaded Shadows were very different from the solemn willows and cypresses of the marshlands.
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It had to be admitted that Legacy rarely grew tired of the sound of her own voice. Maybe it was partly because she had so many thoughts and words bubbling around in there that to hear just some of them aloud made a change, brought them to life. She was the sort that, in isolation, would not take long to lose touch with reality. And so a willing listener, as his attentive expression proved him to at least outwardly be, was something she could appreciate and possibly even take advantage of, with her spinning sentences and inexperienced, enthusiastic philosophies. Aware of this, she had pulled her politeness from thin air with no idea that what she said was true. As he proved her happily wrong by explaining his lack of direction, the girl gave her most genuine smile for days and then gave a deferent, gently teasing bow of her head - more self-deprecating than mocking.
"At your service, then! We'll find paints for you if I have to dig them out of the heart of the mountain single-handedly." Even just some good ochres and reds would do... then they could try the oil thing, once the pigments existed. As she padded forth to lead the way to some undecided destination, she shot a puzzled look at him, recalling an earlier remark. "Books can do anyone good, can't they? If you find the right ones, about things you want to know..." The library was pretty good, but she was getting to the point where extra literature would be highly useful on certain subjects. Shame that the human city was somewhere she couldn't bring herself to go. [/html]
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Much unlike Legacy, Ari's own thoughts had, very early on, taken on the form of emotions and images rather than words. When he was angry at someone, he did not stream violent sentences through his head, but simply saw visions of red and a torrent of blinding emotion that did more than a string of simple words could. Perhaps this is why Ari had long since chosen to convey his thoughts and ideas in the form of art, rather than speaking or writing. He could convey an image of hundreds to thousands of words in a few strokes of a paintbrush, and that spoke for itself.
He looked at this girl, however, with unbridled curiosity and wonder. You are far too kind, he said humbly, shifting himself, but not uncomfortably. Ari had rarely added color to his other paintings at home, as the only color, understandably, that one could get in the middle of a swamp was a rather dull black-brown. The idea of a new dimension of colors and hues added a new light to his chosen profession, and he regarded it with a small, content smile. Of course, a small tinge of embarrassment crossed it when she continued on about books. He shrugged, keeping his shoulders hunched, and said in a small voice, Books can not help those who can't read what they say. He usually stopped all conversation of reading and books with that before it could get too embarrassing, but he always felt belittled and inferior when he said it. He was nothing more than an illiterate orphan with a brush in hand. [/html]
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Some books had pictures in them - they weren't always considered to be quite as useful as the academic, wordy type but Legacy just knew that there had to be some good ones out there - an artist like Ari might find great interest in a book of human paintings, for example. She would keep it in mind. Then he revealed he didn't read at all; she realised she should have thought of that. "Well, if you ever want to learn, they'll all still be there..." She tailed off, knowing too well how uncomfortable her run-on sentences could get sometimes. "But they have pictures in sometimes - just small ones, I've seen, but I bet there's some that are much bigger. In the human buildings you can find a lot of books. If you want, we could go there... some time..." Now she tailed off, yet again, for the pure reason the very thought made her tremble for some undefineable reason. "We're looking for paint colours now, though," she reminded herself more than him. "I think there's some red clay just up here." Turning to her left, she began to ascend a steepening earthy slope, shooting looks at him to check he was keeping up. [/html]
[html] Mind wrapping this up? I'm trying to close up all old topics quickly.  Actually, I'm going to draw a fade to black here? I apologize if this is no good for you, but I'll surely have another thread, if you wish. Just wanting to close all my old threads.
The trouble between Ari and literate didn't even stop at the fact that he had never been taught — the thoroughly thought that he wasn't capable. The few elite in his old home that could read were the best and brightest of their group, and he, as he had been taught and chastised, wasn't. His artistic talent had often been ridiculed as a lower form of communication, and which was just perfect for him. Regardless, a book with pictures in it would be something he would like to see. Having never really looked in a book, he didn't even know pictures could go in them. So, with his blue eyes slightly wide at the idea, he nodded. Her words continued to deposit bits and pieces of knowledge in his brain that he could hardly hold onto — the thought of a human city made him say, somewhat in awe, T-There's a human city here? A strange mixture of fear and overwhelming curiosity beset him. He had heard very little of humans at home, but what he had made him very curious indeed. He might have to visit this city some day, if he had the time.
He shifted once more and stood, ready to follow her to where she said was red clay. Red clay! He had no idea the earth could change its colors. Sure, the rocks and plants could change their hues, but he had never seen earth of a differing color from brown at home. Biting down on comments and questions that would probably make him feel and look like an idiot, he followed her dutifully, and would perhaps do so as she led and taught him of the different colors that would add a third dimension to his once-rudimentary artistry.
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