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Rose · 06-26-2006, 02:18 AM

One of his brothers stirred in his sleep. A low growl, a yip; then a twitching of limbs as the pursuit began. White Paw nuzzled his brother on the neck, drawing him from his dreams to a lighter sleep. He laid his head back on his crossed paws and flicked his eyes about the room.

He could hear little islands of subdued talk about the room. The Small Folk sat near the fire, eating and drinking, talking low among themselves. They were kin, he could tell, by their scent and by the ways they acted with each other. The one who had sat with the old woman now took her place tending the fire. Sometimes, though, or perhaps it was but a trick of the light, he thought he saw the old one standing near Willem, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. White Paw shook his head and the image dissipated, like so much smoke caught in a fresh breeze. It was often like this, he reminded himself, when someone died, man or animal. From the corner of his eye he would catch them in familiar places until they faded from his sight, either from his own thoughts readjusting themselves to remind him they were well and truly gone. Or perhaps the spirits themselves pulled away from their familiar haunts and went on to some other gathering. It was a puzzle to which he had no sure answer.

Old Carr and the boy, my boy, my pack-mate he corrected himself, moved about the room bringing food and drink to the two-leggeds. Birger had not overlooked him and his brothers and father. There had been a filling mash of warm oats mixed with egg and meat scraps. ‘For our brave defenders!’ the boy had said with some pride as he placed the bowl before them.

White Paw pricked his ears at the sounds he heard from the courtyard. Hooves scuffled and scraped at the frozen ground, followed by the insistent sounds, the low callings of the two deer. There was worry in their voices, a note of abandonment, of loss.

He got up, stretching his stiff limbs, shaking the soreness from his wounds, and trotted to the kitchen and out the door to see what was the matter. No, no danger. they said to him. But we worry. We have not seen our herd member. Her custom has always been to be with us often. Where is she? they insisted. How does she fare?

No, they couldn’t come in, he told them. Be patient, let me see if she will come to you…

The woman sat in a chair, her gaze fixed on the fire. What she saw, he could not tell. Her eyes were dull; there was an air about her as if she had fallen in on herself and was lost. White Paw sat down beside her for a moment. He leaned against her leg, laying his great head lightly on her knee. He whined a little as he did so, to draw her attention if he could.

Your pack is in need of seeing you.

He stood up, nuzzling at her hands; then grabbed her right wrist lightly yet securely in his teeth, pulling softly at her.

You are the lead deer. Four-leg, two-leg, no leg at all. You have a duty. You must see to them.

06-26-2006, 02:18 AM	#178
Rose Haunting Spirit Join Date: Nov 2005 Location: Playing to the tide with Uncle John Posts: 49	One of his brothers stirred in his sleep. A low growl, a yip; then a twitching of limbs as the pursuit began. White Paw nuzzled his brother on the neck, drawing him from his dreams to a lighter sleep. He laid his head back on his crossed paws and flicked his eyes about the room. He could hear little islands of subdued talk about the room. The Small Folk sat near the fire, eating and drinking, talking low among themselves. They were kin, he could tell, by their scent and by the ways they acted with each other. The one who had sat with the old woman now took her place tending the fire. Sometimes, though, or perhaps it was but a trick of the light, he thought he saw the old one standing near Willem, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. White Paw shook his head and the image dissipated, like so much smoke caught in a fresh breeze. It was often like this, he reminded himself, when someone died, man or animal. From the corner of his eye he would catch them in familiar places until they faded from his sight, either from his own thoughts readjusting themselves to remind him they were well and truly gone. Or perhaps the spirits themselves pulled away from their familiar haunts and went on to some other gathering. It was a puzzle to which he had no sure answer. Old Carr and the boy, my boy, my pack-mate he corrected himself, moved about the room bringing food and drink to the two-leggeds. Birger had not overlooked him and his brothers and father. There had been a filling mash of warm oats mixed with egg and meat scraps. ‘For our brave defenders!’ the boy had said with some pride as he placed the bowl before them. White Paw pricked his ears at the sounds he heard from the courtyard. Hooves scuffled and scraped at the frozen ground, followed by the insistent sounds, the low callings of the two deer. There was worry in their voices, a note of abandonment, of loss. He got up, stretching his stiff limbs, shaking the soreness from his wounds, and trotted to the kitchen and out the door to see what was the matter. No, no danger. they said to him. But we worry. We have not seen our herd member. Her custom has always been to be with us often. Where is she? they insisted. How does she fare? No, they couldn’t come in, he told them. Be patient, let me see if she will come to you… The woman sat in a chair, her gaze fixed on the fire. What she saw, he could not tell. Her eyes were dull; there was an air about her as if she had fallen in on herself and was lost. White Paw sat down beside her for a moment. He leaned against her leg, laying his great head lightly on her knee. He whined a little as he did so, to draw her attention if he could. Your pack is in need of seeing you. He stood up, nuzzling at her hands; then grabbed her right wrist lightly yet securely in his teeth, pulling softly at her. You are the lead deer. Four-leg, two-leg, no leg at all. You have a duty. You must see to them. Last edited by Rose; 06-26-2006 at 02:26 PM.