Post by Bowen Lark on Apr 26, 2009 1:27:36 GMT -5
These were the warmest lands Bowen had ever known.
He twitched even beneath the lightest tunic he had, a pale green gauzy material that hung loosely from his frame. The wolf had been walking since before dawn, and in the space of dark skies and cool air, wearing a tunic and undershirt had seemed reasonable. Now it seemed utterly stupid, and Bowen cursed his remarkable lack of foresight. The wolf had unbuttoned the tunic until it flapped around his shirted chest, but still the heat from the noon sun kept a merciless eye upon him.
Bowen ambled in the shade of the trees that flanked the roadway as much as he could, letting his gaze roll over the lush fields and thick forests. His birthlands were stark compared to these southern lands he’d traveled over for the last year. The wolf’s mouth tightened at the left corner, a bitter glint in his eyes. Caneria – Bo couldn’t even remember much of it beyond the war camps, long rows of huddled tents, soldiers and followers in every direction. He remembered…he remembered other places too, dark place, but they were long after Caneria had been overcome and turned into some beleaguered slaveland. If his homeland had been conquered, was it still his homeland? Caneria was gone, and what had been left was a foreign memory to him.
The wolf ran his tongue over his teeth, unable to dispel the sour squint in his features. His gaze became withdrawn, growing smokier. Bo dragged a hand through his headfur, letting out a ragged breath. His tail twitched forward and back, the only sign of agitation on the wolf’s frame. Bowen dragged Caneria to the bowels of his memory and left it there, but was unable to do the same for thoughts of his siblings. Bensen…Darrow, where are you? Bowen ached with the drag of eight years crawling the slums of every country and kingdom, creeping through slavegrounds and thrall markets. His bones were etched with grief and heavy frustration, with failure. Bo had lost the only family that remained to him.
The shadow he cast was long and thin, a stretched replica of Bowen’s lanky frame. The fortress he had seen hours earlier from the crest of a steep ridge was now a massive stone wall just before him. Bo scanned along the parapets for sentries and then let out a low whistle.
“Wot? Yes?”
Bo raised a hand at the head and flapping pair of ears that peeked around a turret.
“Ah’m seekin’ entrance teh yon fort, ser,” he called, voice rolling out in a rumbling tenor.
The hare twitched an ear and frowned down at the wolf.
“And wot’s your name, lad? Are you bringing trouble to Fort Emerald Bay, or peace?”
“Mah nem’s Bowen Lark, ser. Ah bring no trouble teh th’ fort – jus’ lookin’ for a bit of work an’ somewhere t’ keep mysel’ for th’ year.”
“Ah, a recruit! Beautiful,” the hare grinned, waving a hand. “Give me a moment, laddo. Name’s Spiffin Balley, an’ I mind th’ gates for the commander.”
One of the wolf’s ears twitched as the gate creaked and shuddered, opening to reveal Spiffin with a walking staff in one hand. Bo bowed his head as he passed by the hare’s stern inspection.
“Welcome t’ Fort Emerald Bay, laddo. Recruiting station’s just yonder.”
ooc: Stand-alone
He twitched even beneath the lightest tunic he had, a pale green gauzy material that hung loosely from his frame. The wolf had been walking since before dawn, and in the space of dark skies and cool air, wearing a tunic and undershirt had seemed reasonable. Now it seemed utterly stupid, and Bowen cursed his remarkable lack of foresight. The wolf had unbuttoned the tunic until it flapped around his shirted chest, but still the heat from the noon sun kept a merciless eye upon him.
Bowen ambled in the shade of the trees that flanked the roadway as much as he could, letting his gaze roll over the lush fields and thick forests. His birthlands were stark compared to these southern lands he’d traveled over for the last year. The wolf’s mouth tightened at the left corner, a bitter glint in his eyes. Caneria – Bo couldn’t even remember much of it beyond the war camps, long rows of huddled tents, soldiers and followers in every direction. He remembered…he remembered other places too, dark place, but they were long after Caneria had been overcome and turned into some beleaguered slaveland. If his homeland had been conquered, was it still his homeland? Caneria was gone, and what had been left was a foreign memory to him.
The wolf ran his tongue over his teeth, unable to dispel the sour squint in his features. His gaze became withdrawn, growing smokier. Bo dragged a hand through his headfur, letting out a ragged breath. His tail twitched forward and back, the only sign of agitation on the wolf’s frame. Bowen dragged Caneria to the bowels of his memory and left it there, but was unable to do the same for thoughts of his siblings. Bensen…Darrow, where are you? Bowen ached with the drag of eight years crawling the slums of every country and kingdom, creeping through slavegrounds and thrall markets. His bones were etched with grief and heavy frustration, with failure. Bo had lost the only family that remained to him.
The shadow he cast was long and thin, a stretched replica of Bowen’s lanky frame. The fortress he had seen hours earlier from the crest of a steep ridge was now a massive stone wall just before him. Bo scanned along the parapets for sentries and then let out a low whistle.
“Wot? Yes?”
Bo raised a hand at the head and flapping pair of ears that peeked around a turret.
“Ah’m seekin’ entrance teh yon fort, ser,” he called, voice rolling out in a rumbling tenor.
The hare twitched an ear and frowned down at the wolf.
“And wot’s your name, lad? Are you bringing trouble to Fort Emerald Bay, or peace?”
“Mah nem’s Bowen Lark, ser. Ah bring no trouble teh th’ fort – jus’ lookin’ for a bit of work an’ somewhere t’ keep mysel’ for th’ year.”
“Ah, a recruit! Beautiful,” the hare grinned, waving a hand. “Give me a moment, laddo. Name’s Spiffin Balley, an’ I mind th’ gates for the commander.”
One of the wolf’s ears twitched as the gate creaked and shuddered, opening to reveal Spiffin with a walking staff in one hand. Bo bowed his head as he passed by the hare’s stern inspection.
“Welcome t’ Fort Emerald Bay, laddo. Recruiting station’s just yonder.”
ooc: Stand-alone