POSTED: Sun Dec 18, 2011 3:47 pm

All welcome. Hover over for translations. wc; 1045

It was early in the day when Frodo stretched, and strolled to the familiar stables as routine had him do. He may not have been in the animal care tier, but he sure did love his horses.

The wolf man was naked except for the olive green bandana tied round his neck, and the chain necklace which hung from it a ring. He’d usually have his weapons, shirt, and cloak on him; but he wasn’t planning on hunting today; simply training a secondary horse he had acquired. So he’d dressed lightweight; it was only because of their significance that he kept on the bandana, and the ring. Cautiously thinking of the ring, he tucked the valuable item into the fabric of his bandana, and then swung open the wooden door of the stables. His gaze was met by the numerous horses; the man grinned and nodded at each of them in turn, almost completely familiar with them, now that he’d spent almost three weeks in the pack. After studying the numerous horses in the stables he’d obviously had a favourite or two that stood out from the rest. Of course his absolute favourite was Strider; but Strider had been his horse all his life, and still he admired some others from afar.

Before thinking about the others, though, he’d focus on Strider. Frodo approached the end stall and patted the white stallion who was already up and waiting, for a change. He swung open the door and went about brushing and otherwise grooming the horse; as he did every morning. The man led the bare horse out of the stables using just his voice, and soon had put the horse in one of the surrounding fences. Out to pasture now, Strider trotted around silently, glad to know it would be peace and quiet for him today instead of riding and hunting. Despite loving the thrill of these activities the horse craved relaxation above all.

Gently Frodo tottered back into the stables. It was a surprise to see Frodo for once coming to look at the rest without needing to do anything with his own horse. He walked past numerous stalls until swift eyes located the horse he’d been watching for a while. An unnamed bay mare, young at three years old and unbroken. He’d had a word with someone from AniWaya and now the horse was his; and she wasn’t unnamed any longer. To be nameless for three years… the man shook his head, frowning as he looked at her. Rohan was to be her name. Quel amrun, Rohan. he said softly, opening the barn with a strong hand before closing it behind him as he stepped into her presence. The horse snorted and backed away, ornery for now. He’d sort that out in a jiffy. Saesa omentien lle. Lle naa vanima. the natural, ancient tongue of his people came easily to him when he was alone with a horse. It seemed to be the one they responded to most. Perhaps he would learn the ancient language of AniWaya, too. Most probably not though, as he hated learning new languages. Two was enough for him. In his culture they swapped between English and elvish frequently, but they could be easily distinguished, and because he had grown up with them they'd been easy to learn as a child. But he didn't think he had the patience to learn another..

It seemed the horse was not as Ornery as he had thought her to be. Cautiously she took a step forward. He held out a hand for a sniff. She sniffed it. Compared to training Strider, this would be a doddle, Frodo thought with a grin. His posture and the way he held himself around the bay mare was calm and collected, therefore she seemed to mimic this. A horse could always tell when you were nervous or scared, and usually repeated the emotions themselves. Lle merna aut, Rohan? Lle desiel? he asked softly, moving boldly to pat her great neck. She had lived through war, how much of it she had seen for herself Frodo did not know. But he would break in his new horse. Only he didn't think of it as breaking. More teaching.

She let him pat him. Their bond would be easy to form, he thought, and wouldn't take nearly as much patience as with the stallion. She was ready to start training now; she seemed to like him for the most part. Not trust him, but at least like. There was some rope hanging on the side of her stall; he grabbed it with one hand silently, whilst keeping eye contact with Rohan. When he grabbed the rope and approached her, she backed away, snorting and whinnying. Dina. Tula simone, Rohan. he was using her new name as much as possible so she recognized it. The mare showed the whites of her brown eyes for a second or two and then trotted over, wary but not afraid. He continued talking to her softly until he managed to tie the rope in a makeshift bride around her head, and then he led her out, talking softly and patting her all the while.

Frodo brought her into a small field. It wasn't the best time to break a horse, it being winter, but he needed to start training her right away. The field had been sheltered from most of the snow and it was only wet in some places; mostly there was just dirt rather than grass. It would do well. He stood in the centre of the field and made his grip on the rope slide down, so it was longer. He pulled the rope this way and that, taut, so Rohan had no choice but to move in a slow, lazy circle around him. After a while she was walking by herself, sort of automatically. He continued lunging her in walk for a while. Walk on. his voice was soft. She'd learn the command in no time; the comand for a slow paced walk. He repeated this command several times as she was walking. Rohan wouldn't respond to it at first, but she would learn it in time, just as Strider had.

POSTED: Sun Dec 25, 2011 4:48 pm


Slow, steady movements took him ever closer to the prey. Anatole was a hunter who knew the limits of his talent and was not above scavenging an easy meal. While prideful, that pride was weighed carefully by the resolute realism of a feral beast. He could not take down an elk on his own, unless it was wounded or truly sick. This was why he went after smaller things when he sought his own food—in this case, the noisy weasel that had just concluded combat with a porcupine.

Too good to pass up, Anatole had waited until the victor had begun to eat before he struck. It was a fast movement, and one made to kill instantly. The weasel’s sharp claws tore at his winter pelt, but as it had thickened to deal with the hiemal air, he barely felt their true impact. One savage shake of the head broke the heavy things neck, and Anatole, pleased with this, hesitated before eating. While he was not capable of making use of the fur, it was something he had seen others do and thus valuable. Reluctantly, he shifted to his optime form.

With a full belly, the wolf carefully shifted the pelt (which he had ripped away with his bare hands) to carry the bloody porcupine carcass. The needles would be useful for something, though he was not a craftsman and knew little about such things. With a huff, he began to make his way back to the village.

Anatole was nearly there when the sound of a horse reached his ears. He slowed only slightly, but found the woods broke into a clearing. A black wolf was running a horse in a circle with a long rope. Curious, the green-eyed man slowed to a halt. He did not announce himself.

POSTED: Fri Jan 06, 2012 1:52 pm

Around and around the field Frodo lunged the horse, steadily but surely. He continued to whisper, talk, and shout to the mare until she got the general gist of what was going on. Eventually, he clicked between his teeth and tongue, attempting to get the horse into trot. He had no idea whether the horse understood the command or not, but still pulled the rope a bit tighter so Rohan would have to speed up anyway. While clicking, the wolf finally managed to get the horse to do what he wanted it to. He watched the horse with ease as it trotted around him, and was confident it would be quite sound and easy training the intelligent, calm mare.

On the edge of the clearing, another scent caught his nose. He ignored it, because obviously being in a pack he was used to different smells coming and going. After a while though, the scent still lurked. He didn't take his eyes off the mare but slowed her to a halt, pulling the rope sharply. Woaaa-ooohh... he said, and Rohan was soon still. His head cocked to the side and he turned away, the rope still in his hand as he examined the stranger on the edge of the field. Ever curious and friendly, he lifted his spare hand and gave a gentle wave, while wagging his banner in an excited manner.

Gently, he pulled the rope towards him by continuously wrapping each hand around the piece in front, until it was wrapped and coiled. He untied Rohan to let her graze, for she had trained well today and he was happy with her for the moment. Frodo then approached the halted male, his black curls bouncing around vigorously, the golden-ginger ones on his head floating through the air in wispy tendrils. Pushing a paw through his fur, he stopped in front of Anatole, grinning widely from ear to ear. Lovely jubbily, aint she? he questioned, nodding over to the bay mare. He leant back on his heels and his green eyes twinkled. What's your name then, starfish? Black yer eye with a chance of rain, I'm Frodo! he exclaimed, clenching one fist in an absurd way.

Wordcount :: +366
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POSTED: Thu Jan 12, 2012 10:31 pm

(267) I'm a huge fan of LotR so all your little references make me happy. >^^<

The gesture was a familiar one, and while yet uneasy, Anatole approached confidently. He was careful to watch his steps, worried about stabbing himself with the porcupine needles, and took a few moments to cross to meet the man halfway. He was a smaller wolf, much smaller next to Anatole (who was a beast himself, though not the largest wolf by any means) and darker as well. The mess of brown hair was peculiar against this, but Anatole himself found his own mane irritating and thus kept it short. Still, it was obvious this tribesman was one who had understood the ways of animals, given the way he had commanded the horse.

Both green eyes widened at the peculiar introduction, and Anatole’s mouth showed his confusion by twisting slightly open. He caught himself before the expression formed fully and began speaking quickly to cover the rather apparent misgivings he had. “Anatole Aston,” he tried formally, hoping to establish what little connections remained here for himself. Claudius was hardly a man of respect, but he was a long-term member and had served as a leader…if only temporarily.

“I uh, don’t know much about horses,” he admitted, thick accent clear. Quebecois was his native tongue, all things considered, and it showed heavily in the not-quite European accent that favored French bases and thickened his words. “You look like you do, though. Are you an animal keeper?” He hadn’t made a point to meet these ranks, of course, so he was oblivious as to whether or not this was the path the rather excitable young man had decided to follow.

POSTED: Wed Jan 18, 2012 9:21 pm

The other man also moved to meet him, and Frodo grinned at the friendliness, rocking back on his heels in a relaxed, triumphant way. Every single person he had met since coming back home so far, every single person had been friendly, and he'd made friends with them. Except for those luperci that had attacked him in Inferni, of course...but they didn't count! Frodo listened to the introduction with a perky little expression on his deluded lips, and danced a little jig on the spot for a while before calming himself down, smoothing his rapidly bouncing curls that seemed to want to fly away with the wind, and standing upright and still. Anatole Aston. he mused to himself quietly, his features turning almost devishly serious, handsome, and wise for a second or two before he reverted back to his typical lop-sided grin.

Frodo shook his head at the next statement. Yer probably wrong, that you are. Horses are wee herd animals, a lot like the quarry you or I hunt, 'cept they 'ave the hearts of luperci. That's all ye need to know, pickpocket. one didn't study horses for years and declare they knew everything about them. Or at least, people did, but they were wrong and stupid in Frodo's mind. To know about horses, you had to understand them, and that was usually pretty easy- you just had to let yourself go, and go against everything your were familiar with. Once you had formed a bond with horses, an understanding, there was no going back. They were a part of your life forever. He looked up then, and an amused smile formed upon his lips. An animal keeper... that was something he had considered, but no, he was a hunter, a slaughterer of animals in a way, though he didn't think of it like that. He thought of hunting as on of the most important jobs in the pack. Everybody had to eat, after all. Nope, but I do like 'em. he met Anatole's gaze steadily. I'm a 'unter, actually. Tsiudu Kanati. Though I'm workin' me way up. What abouts yourself, blacksmith mah-boy? Whatters the trick up yer sleeve?

GOOD! Hahahahaha! Us lotr-ers rule the earth :O I couldn't believe how many fans patrolled souls, srsly... Wordcount :: +361
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