a magical place

Levi Donahue · 01-24-2010, 10:55 PM

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wc: 1,004

The young white wolf had awoken bright and early today. The sky was a dull grayish blue, almost completely hidden by thick clouds, heavy with snow. The gray puffs threatened to unleash their burden with a fresh blanket of snow. But for now, the air was clear of the falling flurries.

Levi walked from where he slept, his rucksack slung over his shoulders. He was headed to the stables, intending on going for a long ride on Bud today. The big stallion had not been receiving enough attention, and a good, hard ride was just what the brute needed. Levi headed to the big horse’s stall, only to find the light brown horse peering out over the stall door at him, his ears pricked.

The young male stroked the velvety nose softly. “Morning, big boy.” He filled up the stallion’s feed bucket with grain before heading to Kaya’s stall next door. She too was watching him, ears alert as he filled her bucket too. The mare lipped his hands as he dipped the grain in, and he chuckled softly, the noise rumbling from his throat.

When the grain had been finished, he picked up a light halter in case Bud decided to be stubborn, and slipped it into the bag on his back. Next, he unlocked the stall door and held it open. In one hand, he held a small apple. He knew the big stallion would not run from him now, not when he had such a tasty treat in store for him. He obediently stood in the aisle of the barn, waiting patiently as Levi hitched up the stall once more and said good-bye to Kaya.

The white male strode from the barn, wiggling the apple in his hand as he went. He knew the horse would follow him. He had two more apples just like it in the rucksack, for later. He stopped a little ways away from the barn, turning around to see the big stallion walking behind him, his eyes on the apple in his hand. Levi rolled his eyes. Always thinking with your stomach, aren’t ya Bud.

He held out his hand, palm up, with the little apple resting flat on his hand. The big horse lipped his hand, picking up the apple and chewing it. Juice and bits of apple dropped from his mouth as he chewed. Chuckling, the young man walked around and climbed up onto the horse’s back, settling himself comfortably and grabbing a handful of his dark mane. He waited for the horse to finish his treat before asking him to walk.

The sun was barely visible through the clouds, casting a faded light into the forest. The horse and his rider walked steadily through the trees, the soft quiet of the forest oddly soothing. A few birds that had not gone to a warmer climate for the cold winter months made themselves known, announcing themselves to the two beings below.

The big hooves made soft, crunching noises in the snow as they went, headed for the break in the fence that was the territory line. They made it soon, and the two were off, Levi intent on going on a little adventure he so dearly loved.

The pair found themselves in an entirely new place by the time the sun was in the middle of the sky. Some of the clouds had drifted away, leaving the light blue visible. The patchwork of the sky was an interesting site, and Levi found himself looking up as they rode along. Off to the side, Levi noticed a small stream, babbling in its own musical language. It ran into a think, dense forest, the trees casting a dark shadow on the earth beneath it.

Levi asked the big stallion to veer off, into the trees. The cool, damp shadows were a new experience form the clear air behind him. It smelled damp here; he guessed it was because the trees overhead gave little leeway for sunlight to break through.

The horse and wolf rode for a whole longer through the dark trees, until they came to a bigger expanse of what he guessed to be the same stream they had seen earlier. He asked Bud to stop, and he slid off the sleek, muscular body and walked to the slow moving water, the horse clodding closely behind him. The white wolf knelt down and dipped his hands into the water, bringing the cupful up to his mouth and lapping it up. The large horse did the same, lowering his nose and dipping it into the water, taking long draws of the cool liquid.

This was a good a place as any to take a break from their ride. He pulled his rucksack closer, pulling out the book he had brought with him. It was a new once, one he had not yet had a chance to read, what with his getting settling in his new home. It also happened to be his last book; he would have to see if there was a library around here. The idea seemed unlikely, but no harm in finding out. He might find himself to be pleasantly surprised.

A loud splash caused him to raise his head, his eyes wide and ears alert. He laughed out loud as he saw what the source of the noise was; Bud had jumped into the stream and had laid down in it, rolling onto his back and kicking out his legs. Despite it bing the middle of winter, he knew the horse had gotten a lot of exercise this morning. The stream was too small for the large stallion; his front half was resting on the bank, but he looked utterly blissful.

The wet beast rose, shook out his slick coat, and walked to a patch of damp grass nearby, lowering his head to the sweet grass. Certain that he would stick around, Levi lowered his gaze once more to his book, sighing as he settled down against a tree trunk.

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Larkspur D'Angelo · 01-25-2010, 12:24 AM

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Word Count: 1,133

In Character

Addison had been mouthy, uneducated. Larkspur could not believe that any of the D’Angelo brood would act in such a way, having been exposed only to those who had known the way and the truth of the Khalif’s teachings. The scars branded on his arms spoke volumes, but she did not understand, and he would not explain. The people here were ignorant, and they were useless. His task would be much harder then he imagined, and he was growing weary of it even yet. Haku’s offer still rang in the back of his memory, and even with everything that Misery had attempted to teach him the voice of the can tah grew stronger by the day. Tak’s will was stronger then his own, and Larkspur’s teachings made him believe that he was fully supposed to obey the voice of the higher power.

Still, the self doubt was countered by his disappointment. Everything Misery had done to his fur was fading—the bleached sections along his back and sides were all but gone, and his hair had grown out from where it had once been bright, entirely orange and yellow. The fact of the matter was that Larkspur was unable to maintain this illusion on his own. His black fur was overpowering, suggesting that along with the whispering voice he could not escape he was powerless to turn against what he was born to be. Tak had claimed him, and for whatever reason, kept him alive for four years. This was a gift, and he now had to consider the fact that perhaps he was not destined to become like Misery and rise above what he had been born into. Perhaps, even though he had his purpose, he would be unable to do what was intended of him and instead fall into Tak’s service, as he had always been told he would.

Suddenly, he thought of the blue eyed woman, and wondered if perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. An unfamiliar desire had grown in him since meeting her, and he was unable to figure out what in the world it was. Misery had explained to him what love was, and how devotion came in such a way, but she had breezed over the idea of sex and reproduction. His world was very basic, and one day, he would instinctively realize that what his body demanded was the endorphins and the need to make children because it was his duty as a male to reproduce. Furthermore, Misery had asked it of him.

With this all weighing down on his head, Larkspur had been unable to sleep. He had not slept for two days now, and sat in the small campsite that was his home. The tent had been fortified by deer skin and blankets taken from the city. It kept him warm, and when he did manage to sleep it was curled up in the horde of items he used for warmth. The horse, outside, likewise had blankets—he had been lucky and picked up the basic skills needed for hand stitching while with Misery. So he had managed to make a rather basic cover for his mare, who had seemed to enjoy the extra warmth when he had given it to her. Still, though, the man and the beast were acting only as partners and he had not even given the Halflinger a name. She responded well enough to his voice, with or without name, and he had spent enough time working with her that their scents had become intertwined. It was the only way she would have accepted him, given that horses instinctively fled from unfamiliar wolves. He had been lucky, snatching her and the horse Misery had taken, because his scent had been doused in rain and made considerably more familiar by the stolen cloak.

After another sleepless night, Larkspur decided to leave his home behind. Two legged, as he often was, the man threw on the stolen cloak (it no longer smelled like the previous owner, and instead Larkspur’s own musky, horse scent) to keep the snow off should the clouds open up. Behind the small fenced paddock, the mare perked up at his appearance. While he had fed her earlier, his presence often spoke of work, which he had found she seemed to enjoy. Speaking in a low voice and moving with practiced ease, the D’Angelo male exchanged her blanket for the smaller saddle blanket, wrapping this up and attaching it to the saddle. The mare remained still until he put the saddle on her, tightened the strap under her belly, and once he adjusted the blanket he pulled the bridle off of the saddle horn. It slid on with ease, and Larkspur mounted in one solid motion. Turning her with one hand, the horse and rider were out and into the forest.

Larkspur kept his pace easy, and took the route that led near Dahlia de Mai. While war was in the air, he had no fear about the pack or its blue eyed leader. Haku was not his enemy, for they were far more like kin. Still, he opted to swing wide of their borders, especially since he doubted that anyone else would be accommodating—especially when the all ready large male was on a much larger palomino mare. He kept her at a walk, allowing her to warm up to the cold air. When they were away from Dahlia’s borders and the air no longer carried the scent of wolves, he increased the pace to a trot. They went like this for only a little ways, for the path ahead of them widened and the mare became antsy. With a hissing snap, Larkspur let her go into a canter, barreling into the dark forest with no fear of the unknown. He had never had fear, except for the flame, and this carried through his body and into the horse below him.

They ran until the path became less open, and he slowed her to a walk. Unwilling to let her get too hot, lest the sudden change from sweat compromise her health, Larkspur walked her until he caught the sound of a stranger. What he found, as he and the mare came through the trees, was a young wolf with a large stallion. The horse was soaking wet, and the ground around the stream was just warm enough so that patches of grass were visible. Still, it was cold, and there was snow, so he couldn’t understand why the kid was laying on the likely muddy ground. More so, he was concerned for the horse. “Did you let him get all wet? He’s gonna get sick if’n y’don’t dry him off,” Larkspur said flatly, his accent fading but still prevalent in his speech pattern.

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