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 Posted: Thu Oct 27, 2022 10:54 pm
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Warning: depictions of fawn injury and reference to prior fawn death etc.
The wind blew through the trees with a violence that shook the small elaphotaur to the core, and sent leaves falling around him, and about his large companion. "Riesling... do you know the way home?" Zinfandel asked, doubtfully. The way did not seem clear at all. There had been a terrible storm that had kept them cooped up in a cave for what had seemed like weeks. Already separated from their herd, they were in danger of being truly lost. Which, given that Riesling was prince of the herd, and Zinfandel was rather incapable of defending himself, was definitely not a good thing.
Being separated from the herd meant being vulnerable to the dangers without. "I thought I knew where to go, but..." But the way the wind howled, it was almost as though there were voices within it. Angry, haunting voices... that Zinfandel did not recognize. It was distinctly disconcerting, but with his mate nearby, he could not be completely frightened. He did, however, edge a little closer to Riesling, just in case. He didn't like the way the wind sounded, or the sort of shapes amid the trees.
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Posted: Sun Oct 30, 2022 12:45 pm
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There was something in the wind that sent a chill through Riesling's spine, and it wasn't just because another storm might be upon them. There were voices in the wind, spirits perhaps, and they sounded angry. A warning, perhaps, to stay away or perhaps a promised fate? Regardless of the voices intentions, Riesling would not be swayed... The had no choice but to carry onward. He'd been away too long -- and not only did the herd need its prince for stability and security, but they both would benefit from its protection.
Unfortunately, the land had changed. Either the storms that had kept them holed up for weeks had changed the territory, or magic was at play. Perhaps both, he speculated, as he searched for familiar signs. No matter the cause, Riesling was concerned they were quite a bit turned around... and the howling wind didn't help matters.
Reaching over, he looped an arm around Zinfandel's waist, drawing his delicate mate closer to his side. "It isn't your sense of direction, love," he spoke assuringly, "I think things have changed since we last passed this way."
The good news was that Riesling had an innate sense of where home was--whether he knew it or not. Instead of focusing on what he saw and what looked familiar, he would need to rely on instinct, and perhaps, a little faith. He didn't know the way, but perhaps his hooves and heart did.
"I think we stay the course for now." Howling spirits be damned.
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Posted: Sun Oct 30, 2022 1:22 pm
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The feeling of Riesling's arm around his waist was immediate comforting. For a moment, he was able to relax against his mate's side... but in the next moment, the shrilling of the wind climbed into a howling crescendo. Flinching, Zinfandel covered his sensitive ears. "What is that?" he asked, his tone thin with distress and mistrust. In this land, there was no telling what the source could be. Magic abounded, leaving so many unsavory explanation for the current din. It wasn't, no couldn't be, the wind.
His fur stood on edge, and he tucked deeper into the big buck's side. The prince might very well know his way home, but the dizzying sound was making Zinfandel sick. Surely it could not be pleasant for Riesling either. "How do we stop it? Can we stop it?" Ashen with compounding stress and illness, he buried his face against the other's side, trying to drown out the wretched sound.
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Posted: Sun Oct 30, 2022 3:40 pm
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The howling wind turned into a blood-curdling wail, and Riesling had to resist putting his hands up to cover his ears. It was difficult to think amid all the noise, and for a few moments Riesling struggled to make sense of the chaos around them. Perhaps going forward was not the best way? And yet... They'd have to push through the noise to get back to their lands.
On the other hand, the shrieking was near unbearable. He tightened his grip protectively around Zinfandel, and did reach up to cup the others delicate ears with his hands, hoping to muffle some of the noise.
He wracked his brain, trying to think of the source. It had to be otherworldly, for nothing natural made such a noise. But what or who was in pain? .... and it was a pained noise. The longer they stood among it, the more clearly Riesling could hear the agony within the wail. But what might they do? "Show us where to go, Spirits. What might we do to grant you relief?" He cried out, hoping that whatever was there might be listening.
They were well within the woods.... perhaps it was some sort of wood spirit angered by their presence? Or hurt? Looking down at Zinfandel, he gave a small shake of his head. "I know not what to do--but perhaps if we find the source..."
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Posted: Sun Oct 30, 2022 3:49 pm
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Something about the screams shifted. Within the ungodly, awful shrieking, was... Zinfandel could only call it a purpose. Perhaps hope? The awful noise faded only slightly, but became more targeted, a stream of sound leading somewhere. "Should we follow it?" he asked, aware that it was likely to become louder if they didn't. Spirits had a certain way of doing that. Not wanting to respond in the wrong way, he took one tentative step forward. The shrill subsided slightly, a wail trailing toward what he was becoming certain must be the source. The spirit or spirits seemed to draw him towards it, beckoning with sound.
Riesling seemed to have the right approach, but Zinfandel could not feel entirely certain, not after he'd been shaken almost to the bone by the howling. He reached out to take his mate's hand, shivering slightly as a cold wind began to blow. That seemed a little more natural, a little more normal. But the light in the forest was eerie, not quite right. Something supernatural was afoot, and the air seemed to shimmer with it.
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Posted: Sun Oct 30, 2022 4:29 pm
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The change of the banshee-like scream was noticeable, and Riesling could only take that as an auspicious sign. Whether or not they should follow the scream was questionable -- it could be a trick leading them straight to a trap. However, the pain in the noise, however uncomfortable it was to his ears, was clear -- perhaps they could do something to give the wailing spirit or spirits some relief or peace?
"I think we should," he agreed, giving Zinfandel's hand a squeeze. He did not release his hold on the other, and did not plan on letting any harm come to him. Whatever might face them in the woods would have to go through him to lay a ghostly finger on his love. Giving his tail a flick, the large buck continued forward, changing course only to better follow the sound.
Though his ears ached, he found he was more heart-sore the longer he listened to the wail. "We're just here to help," he called out again, hoping to reassure whatever might lie within the deep woods.
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Posted: Sun Oct 30, 2022 4:41 pm
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The more they listened, the closer they seemed to come, the more the shriek seemed to become a wail. Amid the chaos of sound, Zinfandel could very clearly the agony of the soul or souls that sought their aid. For aid it seemed they needed, whomever they might be or have been. He could not turn away from the palpable, urgent need that he sensed the nearer they drew. Amid the wail, he heard... something else. Crying. But the cries were not quite right. The sound seemed... young, somehow.
Distress began to build in the elaphotaur. His hand tightened around Riesling's, and he began to wonder. What in the world was making that sound? Was there someone lost? Someone, perhaps, like himself? With a sinking feeling, the delicate elaphotaur picked his way toward the weeping, noting that the sorrowful noise seemed almost frightened. As frightened, perhaps, as he had been? There was something almost woodsy about the sobs, which was altogether curious. His ears pricked, swiveling toward the noise.
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Posted: Sun Oct 30, 2022 5:18 pm
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It was uncomfortable, walking through the woods, focusing on the howling sound. The longer they walked, searching for the source, the more pained it became.... and the younger it sounded. Instead of the unbearable wailing of earlier, it now was clear that someone, or something out there, was in distress.
This caused Riesling to pick up his pace. Trick or not, something wasn't right, and he wasn't going to stop until it was discovered. The fact that the cries began to elicit some sort of paternal sense of worry in him --strange, really, but spirits were known to be unusual. What was out there? What would they find? The mix of the earthly undertones was unusual as well.
An earth spirit?
A young spirit?
An angry ghost? An angry god?
The sobs had him moving to a partial run, instinct telling him to hurry, to find the source. Someone needed help, needed both of them... but what might they find and what might they do?
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Posted: Mon Oct 31, 2022 8:31 pm
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Zinfandel squeezed Riesling's hand as they drew ever closer, and the sound of a child's frightened sobs gave him pause once more. Was it... could it be...? But the sound was unearthly and strange, something not quite of this world, but not altogether foreign, either. The cries were soft, as a fawn's might be when separated from his or her dame. Something within them stirred Zinfandel, and he almost bolted toward them, then paused again, fearful of his own impulses. It was certainly not safe to dash forward, yet... his heart told him that he must.
"Riesling..." Although the sound seemed spirit in nature, there was something quite familiar about them. "Do you suppose...?" As they drew ever closer, a faint outline began to take shape, and he squinted. It was nebulous and pale. Something indeed that quite resembled a spirit. The form it took might very well tell them much.
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Posted: Mon Oct 31, 2022 10:14 pm
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The cries of the fawn were more terrible than the loudest of howls he'd heard. His instincts were on edge, his muscles tense, as he tried valiantly to see what might be out there. The shape that was taking form before them was both familiar and terrible all at once. It was both earthly and spectral and he wanted to look away in fear even as he could not possibly turn away.
Whatever spirit was out there, it was too late to turn back. His grip on Zinfandel's delicate hand tightened once more, even as he continued to step toward the form. The closer they were to the spirit, the more the form took shape -- and by the time he could better see what it was he was looking at, he couldn't help but suck in his breath in surprise.
It was indeed a fawn... but not like one he'd ever seen. A ghost? An apparition? A tortured soul? "We mean no harm," he spoke, not wanting to risk the ire and wrath of the figure. It looked like the spirit of an Elaphotaur fawn, but there were things that were otherworldly about it; things that were ever disturbing to see.
But a fawn was a fawn, and as the prince of an elaphotaur herd, Riesling could not more turn away the spirit than he could a lost centaur foal. "We wish to help." Perhaps it was wrong to bring Zinfandel in on this -- but what else could they do? They were here. There had to be some resolution to put the restless soul or spirit at ease.
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Posted: Mon Oct 31, 2022 10:19 pm
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As they watched, the fawn turned its head, revealing the terrible wound that must have brought it to its end, and Zinfandel's heart clenched awfully. "Baby..." he said, reaching out to the fawn, trying to offer some comfort. It was, in the end, a lost and frightened infant. How terrible to see it like this, to hear the rawness of the sobs that shook the tiny body. He shuddered.
"It's all right," he crooned softly, suppressing tears of sympathy. Poor, lost little one.
"Want mama," the little one said, pressing back into the tree. When it did so, the tree seemed to shudder even as Zinfandel had. "Wanna go home!" The cry of the fawn made the wind howl horrendously, but now the elaphotaur knew why. Why shouldn't the wind itself mourn for this lostling?
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Posted: Mon Oct 31, 2022 10:35 pm
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The sight of the gruesome injury tore at Riesling's heart, and he felt both rage, grief, and despair all at once. How unjust was the world to grant the fawn life only to snatch it away again so quickly? How terrible to see it alone, without its mother, without its father, without a herd to protect him, to love him, to comfort him? And despair, for here was nothing he could do to give the fawn what he wished... all he could do was try to offer it peace, so it might let the forest, and the trees, return to a more natural slumber.
The wound and disfigurement of the fawn was something Rieslilng had seen before, something familiar. He knew the weapon which caused the fawn's death, he saw the sawn off nubs, and the mark of a certain herd. He knew of centaurs who used such weapons, who branded their kills for their gods, and who killed for sport. Oh, how Riesling wished he might have been there, to battle against the wretched kind that tormented his kin.
But anger could come later.
Right now, the little one needed peace. Perhaps it was the mark that kept the soul from leaving... Perhaps it was the fact it had been claimed by some heathen centaur god and not one of their own. Well. Riesling would put this soul to rest if he could, so perhaps, this little one could be reunited with his ancestors.
"Your family is waiting for you, little forest prancer," he spoke, throat tight with emotion. "The great Forest and Horned Gods and Goddesses are waiting to give you your new name." So Riesling reminded the little elaphotaur of their gods, and he so truly believed that those who passed on, were re-named to honor their lives below and to start anew elsewhere.
Surely, this little one was well overdue to receive a new name.
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Posted: Mon Oct 31, 2022 10:44 pm
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With a little, muffled cry, Zinfandel darted forward, reaching out to hold the fawn who came trotting toward him. The baby knew, instinctively, that here was a safe presence. Unable to stop himself, he wept for the child who had lost so much, though his tears were silent. He held the infant close, as his mother might have. "It's okay, little one. Your mama and papa are waiting for you," he soothed, his hands somehow running over a form that was waxing and waning, solid and then not. Oh, how his heart broke. How frightened the baby must have been.
In his tender heart, he cursed the brutes that had slaughtered this fawn, keening into his soul as he could not aloud. The baby had been just that, a baby. Oh, bright spirits, why had this little life been taken? "Shh, shh, it's all right. The prince is here. Your mama and papa will be with you soon." The fawn gave a little bleat, burrowing in against Zinfandel's soft coat. Sensing, perhaps, a mother and a father figure so nearby. The potential for new life that was sure to come.
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Posted: Mon Oct 31, 2022 10:54 pm
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Riesling stepped slowly forward, allowing Zinfandel a moment with the little ghost-like fawn. Long enough for him to keep control of his rage, to compose himself so he might not further anger the spirits. The little ones bleating cry had him bridging the gap, though he did stand protectively over both his mate and the foal. He dug his golden-tipped hoof into the dirt, and whispered a prayer to the great Horned God for justice.
"It's all right, it's okay. The Horned One is with you, and you aren't alone." After some time, movement caught his eye. The wind's howling had begun to subside, and instead, a soft, golden light appeared from out of the woods. It was almost like a mist... but from it, a form began to take shape.
Could it be?
"I think someone is here for you," he spoke softly.
He would protect his herd, once it was found. He would keep centaurs away, and ensure that none of his kind need suffer at the hands of the hornless beasts. He would remember this foal...this moment... and do all that he could to ensure no such tragedy would happen again.
Perhaps the Horned God was teaching him a lesson. Perhaps, though he had a heavy heart, there was something to take away from this incident that wasn't just grief.
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Posted: Mon Oct 31, 2022 11:02 pm
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"Come here, my little love," a soft voice said, arms opening wide, beckoning the baby forward. Reaching down, the form of the fawn's mother took shape at last, a bright and warm light enswathing her ethereal body. At his mother's call, the baby leapt up, darting out of Zinfandel's arms, and toward his dame's.
"Mama, mama!" he cried, and when he reached her, the light flashed until it was near incandescent. A great wind swept over both Zinfandel and Riesling, but it was warm, like a breath of summer. Enshrouded in that glowing light, the baby laughed and burbled, his little arms just barely visible as he wrapped them around his mother's neck.
In that instant, he was transformed. The injury melted away, little horns growing back to their full length. The awful mark that had marred his hide was erased, as if it had never been. In its place was the mark of the Horned one, a message and a promise that justice would always be served.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Zinfandel watched as the light faded, the shapes easing back into the landscape. Suddenly, he could recognize where they were. They could not be far now from their herd's lands. The wind had eased, and the trees no longer sighed in shared pain. "Now... let's go home." He placed his hand in Rieslings, a feeling of peace and contentment suffusing him. All would be well, in its own time.
((Fin.))
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