04-24-2016, 12:44 PM
Patchouli
Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi
It was hard that first winter in the lands of ice and danger. It was hard but it had passed and here he was, still struggling to get his bearings. Patchouli had found several nice places to cozy up in, one in particular that he frequented quite often, especially now as winter approached to reach its sharp fingers through his coat to his skin. Aside from a meager coat he was not too hard off, the cave where the Chamber's king had left a bubbling pool of magma had seen him through- of this he was certain. The palomino was already doing better than last year admittedly but his coat was still nothing like the thick burden that others wore who had spent so much more time living in the icy reaches of Beqanna. Still, he supposed there was little else to complain on but the weather and Gods knew there was no one listening to that plight.
Today is bearable, the season not yet in full swing, the howling winds absent from the clear skies and calm day. Skies light the world from an overcast sun and yet the reflection off the snow burns as bright as anything. He pauses now and again, sooty nose bent towards the earth, lipping around drifts for rough vegetation to fill his belly. That too had taken some getting used to, food was hard to come by here and what was available was as rough and tough as the landscape and the men. For now he tugged at yellowing tundra grasses, pulling the plant at the root and sheering it off as best he could from the icy ground. It was not a good thing to be picky and he had received more than one mouthful of dirt in his quest for sustenance.
When he takes all there is to have of this particular patch his golden head rises once more, breathing deep the cold mountain air. Against the backdrop he can see slight movement against a rise, some sort of animal before it blends into the landscape. Patch hasn't seen much of the native folk, a few hares, a moose once but certainly not much to write home about- if he ever could. Maybe that is why he slowly creeps forward, taking care of his feet and where they fall, avoiding the snapping of twigs sure to cause the creature fright. As he nears he catches another peek, short pointed ears telling him it was no hare at all. This was something different, a fox. He stood a ways off, head outstretched, nostrils flared in his curiosity. "Hello little fellow." The words barely audible as hushed as they are and as far away as he stands, but it feels right to say them nevertheless.
Today is bearable, the season not yet in full swing, the howling winds absent from the clear skies and calm day. Skies light the world from an overcast sun and yet the reflection off the snow burns as bright as anything. He pauses now and again, sooty nose bent towards the earth, lipping around drifts for rough vegetation to fill his belly. That too had taken some getting used to, food was hard to come by here and what was available was as rough and tough as the landscape and the men. For now he tugged at yellowing tundra grasses, pulling the plant at the root and sheering it off as best he could from the icy ground. It was not a good thing to be picky and he had received more than one mouthful of dirt in his quest for sustenance.
When he takes all there is to have of this particular patch his golden head rises once more, breathing deep the cold mountain air. Against the backdrop he can see slight movement against a rise, some sort of animal before it blends into the landscape. Patch hasn't seen much of the native folk, a few hares, a moose once but certainly not much to write home about- if he ever could. Maybe that is why he slowly creeps forward, taking care of his feet and where they fall, avoiding the snapping of twigs sure to cause the creature fright. As he nears he catches another peek, short pointed ears telling him it was no hare at all. This was something different, a fox. He stood a ways off, head outstretched, nostrils flared in his curiosity. "Hello little fellow." The words barely audible as hushed as they are and as far away as he stands, but it feels right to say them nevertheless.
it is better to conquer yourself, than to win a thousand battles
