The World Keeps Turning

POSTED: Thu May 28, 2009 5:13 pm

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There was a quiet frustration within the woman, if such a diluted emotion could be named as such. It frustrated her that Haku believed he could control her in such a way. Indeed, Haku was her superior and she would obey him to an extent that it could be called a fault. But the warrior’s discipline was quite complete. Cercelee trusted Haku, and Cwmfen had trusted Haku. Had. But now he seemed to change—she wondered what it was that had elicited such a thing. It did not help, she decided, that she spent much of her time moving about the lands. She had seen very little of her pack members, especially Cercelee and Haku. It was in that time that the change had occurred, or so she believed. But Haku was not yet out of control. Because she was the Adonis, serving ultimately beneath the Rosea, the woman felt that it was her business to be wary of Haku’s actions. And perhaps she should meet with the Rosea soon, if only to catch up and if only to tell her what it was that she had seen thus far throughout the lands.

But there was the matter of her father as well. Onus had told her. He was still here, and he had grown more aggressive. The warrior did not waste her time with thoughts that it was her fault—she knew that her choices did not directly provoke her father. And yet, she recognized also that the sole reason for her father’s presence within these lands was to come for her. Within her soul, from the moment she had sought to join Dahlia de Mai, the woman had known that her father would find her. It had not been a surprise. And she felt now that her inability to face the crow wolf had indirectly effected those attacks. A quiet sigh escaped her. It had begun with Onus, who she had found dying in the rain. The love she now could admit to having was now given to that masked man, and she knew that her father would not leave until he had taken everything from her. But her father had also attacked Ezekiel, and that had been for the simple possession of her scent upon his fur. The golden boy had also faced death.

And it was with the thought of that boy that she found herself upon those ashened slopes. The woad warrior stood with her back to the world, her white orbs beholding the charred earth of an earlier world. Those eyes were contemplative. She knew that soon she would have to face him. That was inevitable, and she knew it. The only question would be when. Silently, the woman sat, a single, graceful movement. The black ashes rose upon the wind with her movement, carried for a moment by the golden air. And yet the world sang a different song than it had when she had first met Ezekiel. Since the moment she had left the lands of Inferni, she had never seen or heard of the boy. There was a quiet worry within her soul, but she did not doubt that Gabriel de le Poer had taken care of his son. She had seen the rage in those eyes. The white orbs lifted as if seeking something. But there was nothing save her beautiful solitude.

POSTED: Thu May 28, 2009 5:31 pm

     Tension still raced through his body, fueled by the scuffle with the ring-eyed wolf. Hybrid. The boy had looked more wolf-like then coyote, but by all respects so did his father. What infuriated him was being caught in such an affair. His father had been irritated by the situation and sent Ezekiel off. So he had gone, and the minute he had gotten near the borders started running. He had ran until he reached the mountainside and only then needed to slow down. That had lasted shortly; the boy started climbing the rocky face of the northern peak until he had to stop and regain his breath.
     While he sat there, hair fluttering in the wind, he had caught a familiar scent. Instantly the feeling of dread rose in his belly, and he shut his eyes against the sick sensation of vertigo. It’s not him, he began to convince himself. It’s Cwmfen. Eventually, this did settle his nerves. Pushing himself to his feet, the boy began to head east.
     It was there he found her, seated on the mountain and looking to the sky. For one instance, Ezekiel hated her. This was an uncharacteristic fault and he pushed it away, advancing slowly.

POSTED: Thu May 28, 2009 10:35 pm

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The silence was soothing, and the black fae sat in silence, laying back into the soft ashes to look upon the heavens. For a moment the world was quiet, and yet she felt that new emptiness within her heart. She did long for the company of Onus, but they both knew that every moment could not be spent together. And she knew that each reunion would be made sweeter for it. The woad marked warrior was a solitary creature, and she did not wish to be bound by the societal ideal of mateship. And she loved her solitude. But the love that she felt for the man was different, more fulfilling. It was a beautiful thing, and it was strange to the woman, who lived in that world of symbols, that two creatures that were quite the opposite had joined in that most sacred of relationships. The warrior could not help but smile. The white orbs watched the sky as her mind finally cleared, all thoughts leaving her mind as she fell into that quiet, soul cleansing meditation. The heavens were bright, the clouds painted upon the cerulean heavens with a purity, with a light hearted care. And the soft wind pushed them by, a quiet drifting.

Someone approached. The Dahlian wolf pushed herself up with a fluid movement, looking upon the one who had come. It was strange how the woman had only just been thinking of the body—and here he was. She had not met again with the boy since he had been injured, and she admitted that she had missed the maturity of the young man. And now, looking upon him, she thought that there was something different, something darker, within that golden gaze. The woman was silent. She did not deny that such an experience would change his life, his mind. But she wondered suddenly, for the first time, to what extent her father had damaged this boy in spirit. Those slow movements were almost aggressive, as if he would attack, she thought, like a hunting creature. The white orbs sought the gaze of this boy and was still, a quiet question within the warrior’s eyes.

"It has been a long time, Ezekiel," the quiet melody greeted. "I’ve been wondering how you’ve been...." Had it been permitted, the warrior would have gone to Inferni. But she knew that the relationship between the two packs continued to be hostile, and Gabriel de le Poer had made it clear to her that she would leave those lands. The Adonis would not disrespect that truce, even to satisfy that anxious curiosity of the wellbeing of the golden coyote. And she expected the boy, being the son of Inferni’s leader, to be able to understand such things. A quiet smile was offered to the boy, gracing her maw with that soft serenity. Her gaze fell over him, noting the scars that had not been there before. She was glad that the wounds upon his eye had not blinded him, or at least it did not appear that it had. A warrior would need all the advantages he could get, and she knew that this boy aspired to be such a creature of war.

POSTED: Sun May 31, 2009 12:25 am

     At her voice, there was a slightest click—as if something had snapped on in his memory. His tail wagged slowly behind him, a reassurance he meant no harm, and he continued to close the distance between them. “Recovering. The past two months were slow.” That was no lie. He had spent more time laid up, writhing in pain, then he had ever wanted to do so again. After that amount of time he had gained more weight and grown, but his muscles were still rebuilding and most of the weight was not worked. That was a problem, and one he was working on adverting.
     Taking a seat next to the painted woman, the boy turned his face out towards Inferni and for several long moments was silent. Then; “Why is your father hunting you, Cwmfen?”

POSTED: Sun May 31, 2009 8:42 pm

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Something changed. She could feel it. The white orbs had watched the boy carefully, but the change had not been physical, although there had been a physical response, she believed that such a response had been stimulated by that intangible shift of his mind. The air was lighter, though she had not felt the heaviness of his presence until it had been lifted. And she had to admit that there was a certain amount of relief. That darkness that had been present only moments before was dangerous, and she did not wish to fight against the boy should it have come to that. But then he wagged his tail, continuing to approach, and the woman knew that she would not have to do such a thing. And she was relieved that the boy had not fallen too deeply into that dark, brooding cloud. And yet...she could not be too sure. If she had learned anything while crossing the land of ice, it was that one cannot trust too deeply the soul of another.

As Ezekiel approached, taking a seat beside her, the woman could observe him more closely. He was changed—heavier perhaps, but that was not the change that she noted. "Recovering is always the most frustrating part," the soft melody agreed, remembering when she had been attacked by Hybrid. Even the wounds that had been inflicted by Brennt had taken time to heal. Yet none of those attacks had exhibited the broken bones that this boy had faced. "But it is a part from which we must learn." The process of healing, especially for a warrior, rendered one useless until the wounds were healed. And in that time, the mind had much to dwell upon: the mistakes made, why the enemy won, how can such things be changed, how can one succeed. But the understanding of oneself and ones body was the most important. But it was a thing that could come from only the individual himself.

The silence was broken by that question. The woad marked fae was silent, her gaze considering the dark ash about her. It was not an unreasonable question, and she knew that the crow wolf must have plagued his mind as much as it had hers. "He wants something from me," the soft alto said at length. Her gaze lifted from the ground to find the young man’s face. Perhaps he would judge her, but ultimately the woman could judge only herself, and she had. A sigh of frustration threatened to escape her, but she held it back. "From my mother he wanted a son that carried the bloodline of my ancestors. But he was given a daughter instead." Of course the daughter was herself, but whether or not she had been given was debatable. There was a slight pause that followed before the woman continued, her words slow as if to comprehend them. "He still wants that son." There was fear in the deeper recesses of her mind, but such a fear had not yet consumed her.

POSTED: Tue Jun 02, 2009 10:20 pm

     There had been a thousand temptations, and each he had sought his father had held from him. For that, Ezekiel had hated him. He had hated the golden-eyed man and his talk of God, of healing, of learning. What he wanted to hear was the promise of violence. It hurt more then anything else to not hear what he wished to hear. His father had spoken on the subject once, and said nothing more. So he read, and distracted himself in a novel assortment of information. The names of Saints and devils traversed his mind, and the names and functions of bone, nerves, and optic tissue were known by heart. And as he had healed, he had begun to work.
     Her peculiar white eyes told him nothing. They were like mist; he could not see beyond what she willed him to see. All of the talk of blood and ancient rights belonged to a different world. He understood it and knew then that the man who had sired her, the man who was hunting her, was a demon. It came to him as he stared into her eyes and saw the raven-coated wolf as he had last. “That man is a demon,” he said solemnly, not using the word as a metaphor. “I found his name in one of my father’s books. They called him Andras. He comes with the head of the night raven and the body of a wolf, bearing a sword.” Inhaling and tasting the carbon of ash and long-gone fire, the boy continued. “He needs to be destroyed.”

POSTED: Wed Jun 03, 2009 8:06 pm

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The woman’s eyes sought the other. A demon. Yes, she had often thought that of him; and yet, she felt as if the full meaning of that word’s association with the crow wolf had only been a recent thing. When she was young, her father and mother were the only creatures she had known. Corvus had taken care to keep the two females isolated from the rest of the world. While her father had brought fear upon her young heart, the girl was also captivated. He was different than her mother—there was no doubt about that. He was darker, more powerful, and she was intrigued by that. But deep within her mother’s silence, she knew that something was wrong. That dark charisma had captivated her mother as well, and it had resulted in the birth of that daughter. While Cwmfen would have been too young to comprehend this, she was not too young to understand the danger of that man. And so, when he killed her mother, she knew what would happen. She knew what he wanted. And she had run. Yet, the man had caught up with her and he had raped her, taking her virginity to mark her as his. And then he had left her, waiting for her body to reach maturity so that he could take what he believed was his. Yes, to the woman this man was a demon. And he had passed from the shadow of her thoughts into the inescapable reality.

"Andras," the woman repeated quietly, almost with wonder. That name was unfamiliar to the woman, but the golden boy’s description seemed accurate enough. And her father’s sword was the darkness he wielded, piercing the hearts of his victims and killing them. "He will be destroyed," the woman vowed, that soft melody sung with certainty. "His time draws near." Or at least the time of hid judgment. Her dreams had been revealing hints of such a thing, and she believed it to be true. She felt it in the air. But what was she waiting for? Already Tokyo and Slay had paid for her. The woman released a soft sigh as her gaze turned back to the world that opened up before them. Her hands gripped the dark ash, feeling it in her hands as if it held the secret answers of her questions. But there was nothing.

"You mustn’t go after him," the woman said suddenly, her head turning to look upon the boy once more. She had asked a similar thing of Catalyst, though it involved the puppy eater Brennt. But she was solemn as she requested it of this boy, the white eyes meeting his gaze with that quiet intensity. "That is not your battle to fight." Perhaps the coyote would think it so. He had been a victim of her father as well—did he not have the right to avenge himself, his honor? The warrior understood this, but she knew as well that the coyote could not win against him. She did not even know if she could, but she knew that she must face him. Perhaps she could consider that her life’s turning point, the event that would determine the strength of her character. And this boy’s metaphorical dragon would come at some point in his life. But it was not this one.

POSTED: Mon Jun 08, 2009 12:38 pm

     Hearing the demon’s name from her lips made him all the more certain it was true. She sounded as if his name was not entirely unknown; as if she had suspected he was a demon all along. The resolve in her desire to see him ended made the boy all too aware that she was a warrior before all else. In that moment, he knew he never desired to meet her in battle. He had no doubt she would neither hesitate nor give him leeway. At the same time, a secondary impulse desired nothing more then to know her through bloodshed.
     Her request made a vicious need rise in his chest. He wanted to rend her father from one end to another, and scatter him to the four winds. He wanted blood and fire. Then he recalled the holy rage in his father’s eyes.“I won’t,” he promised her slowly, barely able to hide the fury in his tone. “Your mother must have been remarkable,” he added quietly. “, to create someone like you from a beast.”

POSTED: Tue Jun 09, 2009 7:18 pm

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His simple answer made the black female relieved. But she did not miss that seething anger within the young man’s voice. Anger was a dangerous thing if left unchecked—a warrior would know that. Loss of control was no light matter. Terrible things happened when anger was allowed to reign, and not only to the people around but to the soul as well. Fear, anger, and hate were the three seductive sisters that all beings, especially warriors, must be careful of. And it was especially dangerous for the boy. Right now, in the stage between novice and master, his skill was a dangerous thing, something to be reckoned with. He was coming to that point where he would be able to consider himself a master of war, but he would have to be careful of himself. Pride could easily get in the way, and Pride was the thing that drew the three sisters into the psychological wounds so easily made.

Her head turned slowly when he spoke, her head tilted slightly. My mother, she thought briefly with that quiet melancholy. But when he spoke of herself, the woman paused, looking absently down at the dark ash between their sitting forms. A light smile danced lightly upon her maw. "She was...enduring and patient," the soft melody said at length, "and she loved me." That had been the most important thing for the young Cwmfen, for in that isolated world there had only been Graine and Corvus. "But there is nothing remarkable about me. I still have the same—if not greater—potential of Darkness within my soul." It had been something that the warrior had been cautious of. She knew the stories of children wrought of rape, the anger of the mother permeating the body as the child was conceived and formed in the womb. She thought that such a thing was the reason for her infatuation of with the Darkness within others, but she was careful not to freeze her fingers upon the cold soul of evil. And perhaps that was why she feared Corvus. Perhaps she feared him because she thought that he might awaken the dormant darkness within her.

There was a long silence as the white orbs turned out into the world once more, seeing nothing save for the images of her mind. She was relatively comfortable in the presence of Ezekiel, believing that he was someone to be called a friend. "Did your father look poorly upon our meetings?" the quiet melody inquired suddenly. The woad warrior thought back to that night when she had trespassed upon Inferni territory carrying Ezekiel. It had been as if the young man had not informed his father of those meetings. And the Adonis could not deny that she had enjoyed such a thing. She wondered now if Ezekiel, when he was ready, still wished to continue those lessons. But that also depended upon the word of Gabriel, she knew, for the two canines were of different and opposing packs.

POSTED: Wed Jun 10, 2009 4:28 pm

     Listening to her speak about her mother made the boy suddenly miss his terribly. Faolin had come and gone like smoke and like a summer storm. She meant little to him, and indeed, Fatin and Tristan had served him far better then his own parents. He had, by all accounts, grown up in a different world. Cwmfen’s warning did not go unheard; he thought of taking Siobhan, and attacking the ring-eyed hybrid. Both times he could justify himself, but were they poor excuses? Perhaps. The doubt began to cling to him like rainwater.
     Then she asked about his father and the boy’s ears turned back guiltily. “I…I never told him. He hates your pack. I didn’t want him to be angry with me.” He inhaled, smelling salt-water and ash.“He asked me about it as I was healing. I told him then. I think he understands why I want to train with you, though. He said that he could tell you were a warrior.” Almost sheepishly, he looked over to the woman, gold-yellow eyes torn between a thousand emotions. “I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble.”

POSTED: Thu Jun 11, 2009 8:37 pm

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Briefly, the woman thought back upon that night. Gabriel de le Poer had been so... well his presence did certainly live up to his reputation. She had sensed great wrath within him, and such wrath she had never felt before. It had been heavy and red in the air, like the bloodied clouds of a battlefield. But the black fae had felt as if the leader of Inferni used such wrath to his advantage in a way both controlled and uncontrolled, making it a dangerous thing. Indeed, there had no doubt been some wrath directed directly at the Dahlian warrior, for she had crossed the boarders without permission. If not for the wounded boy in her arms, she did not doubt that the Inferni leader would have attacked her. And in the weary state that she was, having just healed from Hybrid’s attack and having carried the body of the boy for that great distance, she would not have been able to properly defend herself. But Gabriel de le Poer had been unmoved, and she had been allowed inside the enemy territory.

"Yes... I brought it up when I was in his presence," the woman explained, almost apologetically. It would have been better for Gabriel de le Poer, as a father, to have found out directly from his son. But the black warrior had been unaware that Ezekiel had chosen to be silent. "I joined Dahlia as the war between our packs ended, but I can still see the tension. The Lilium of Dahlia de Mai must hate Inferni as much as your father hates Dahlia." There was a slight pause and wry smile. "I was attacked by Hybrid, you know," she said quietly, "and so there has been a renewed tension." And the warrior had met her attacker. It was strange how he had come just as she had been able to shift down again. But he had not attacked her.... The black fae admitted that the strange, red-eyed coyote had been intriguing, and his words had been strange. But he had been unwise to attack a member of her particular pack—they were on a truce, after all. Then the warrior smiled slightly; warrior had a way of identifying each other.

The woman smiled, a quiet and warm gesture. "You have caused me no trouble," the alto melody replied quietly. If anything, it had been she who had caused the trouble. Had it not been her father that had attacked the golden boy? But she could not blame herself for that either, for she had not directly provoked her father to do such a thing. It had only been her scent. It was only lucky that she had come in time—she did not think that the crow wolf would have stopped and simply walked away. The white orbs looked upon the eyes of the other, seeing those many emotions and yet unable to sift through them for their numbers. Her head tilted slightly, wondering what it was that was bothering the boy so greatly. But she was silent.

POSTED: Sat Jun 13, 2009 6:26 pm

Ugh, sorry this is so short. :[
     “My grandmother is partially responsible,” Ezekiel said almost immediately. His father had gone to great lengths to explain the causes of the Dahlian war, especially the circumstances surrounding Talitha’s capture and rape. “Haku took his revenge on her. Then on two more coyotes to prove his point.” The golden boy paused, recalling the fury in his father’s voice, the terrible rage in his eyes. He had no doubt that it would be his father that would kill Haku one day.
     Ezekiel looked to the woad-painted warrior and his ears turned back slightly. “Do you ever miss your mother?”

POSTED: Sun Jun 14, 2009 4:18 am

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That's okay!
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"As much as we would like to blame an individual for the start of something like a war, it is impossible," the warrior replied gently. "Your grandmother and the revenge of Haku may have been the catalyst, but there were many things that could have been done to prevent war." The leaders should have expressed more severely that there should be no attacks in times of tension. The individuals who had acted as a catalyst should have restrained themselves, should have turned to someone else for guidance first. "I do not know much of the war. But I know that one must also remember peace in times of war, and war in times of peace." As a simple creature that lived for that thrill of battle and war, the thrill of Death chasing at her heels, she would have loved to fight in the war, and she would have done so for Cercelee had the time been right. But she had entered at the end. She remembered thinking how it would have been nice to be able to fight.... Her duty, however, was not to begin wars but to protect the pack, to prevent war through violence. It was ironic, but she did it without question and with passion.

The white orbs turned back to the golden coyote. "Do not be eager to engage in battle. Warriors do not pick fights—we allow the fights to choose us, and we fight where we are needed, not when we need them."

The woman paused. It was strange how that question had arisen once before not too long ago, and the woman wondered what it must mean. "I do," she said at length, her voice quiet. "For the first year of my life, she was the only other wolf that I knew aside from my father." Her eyes looked into the distance, as if reminiscing upon some distant memory that was pulled in from the blue haze of the far-away. "She was gentle and loving.... It was—" The woman struggled with the right words to express her idea. "Comfortable," she said with a sigh, but she knew that that was not quite the proper words. With a soft smile and a quiet laughter in her eyes, she turned back to the boy. "She was able to give me what I needed before she was killed." Corvus had given that to her as well, but it had been rougher, silent and unforgiving. And he had been unkind to her body when she had fled. But Corvus had otherwise never harmed her—it was strange. She remembered now that he had always been careful. "But she exists only as a memory now, and I have accepted that."

"What about you?" the woman asked suddenly, that melody still gentle. "I’ve heard about your father, and I have met him. But I have not met your mother...." And the warrior wondered also whether the question about her own mother had arisen from a desire that had been felt within himself.

POSTED: Sat Jul 04, 2009 7:58 pm

     He listened. And as he listened, he considered everything she said. While Cwmfen had not been a part of the war, she neither justified nor defended her own pack. Instead, she suggested that it had been avoidable. Perhaps this was true. Ezekiel did not believe that such a thing was possible. Not when he had seen the holy rage in his father’s eyes. Something terrible had happened—something so horrible that Gabriel would not rest.
     As she spoke about her own mother, though, he suddenly realized that something had been taken from him. The feeling began to sink deep in his belly, like cold iron, twisting his gut. His eyes went listless and hollow, darkening. Then, vaguely, he heard her ask about his own mother. Ezekiel’s ears flared back and he suddenly shot her a dirty glare. “She’s not here,” he nearly spat, though he was unable to hide the hurt in his voice. “I have to go.” And with a surprising burst of speed, the coyote clambered down the sloping mountainside and back towards Inferni.

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