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 Posted: Mon Aug 31, 2009 6:47 pm
Journal Entry 1: "The Day Before"
Sunday, April 3, 292 A.P.
Today has been a fantastic day! Riam, Meghan and I all went out riding on Father's horses as soon as we woke up, and did not come back until it was nearly suppertime. Well, Meghan and I rode them; Riam borrowed a neighbor's that needed exercising. I chose to ride Harlen; he's my favorite of our two. He's a handsome bright bay with two white stockings on his front legs; not too tall and not too short for me, either. He's pretty fast, too, but he has such a wonderful, smooth trot, not at all bumpy. I'm amazed that he was sold as a wagon-puller, not some wealthy lady's mount. Of course, with the scars on his nose from a cruel former owner and his slightly sparse mane, he was likely deemed too "ugly" for royalty. That does mean we were able to get him for a few sacks of flour and a round of leather, however. That, and the fact that he was apparently bad-mannered before now. Bad-mannered, really! When he came here, he was so nice that I don't believe he could hurt a fly. He still is; he needs barely a squeeze of the leg and the smallest twitch of the rein to turn, go, or stop while under saddle.
Bardor, however, is a different story. A great dappled gray, recently gelded, and stockier from the draft blood in him, he's not quite so forgiving and kind as Harlen. It takes a strong leg and a firm hand to made him cooperate, and his trot isn't quite so pleasant. Aye, but Riam has managed to control and train him enough to be useful, and Meghan has taken a liking to him, oddly enough. Riam, of course, rode the neighbor's horse, a tall palomino desert-type named Alkhabir. He's a fiery one, a good mount for my brother. Father is even considering trading for him, just so that Riam always has a mount.
Anyways, we were trotting along a path in the nearby forest, just jumping over the small logs and such, when Riam got this great idea. "I know," he said, "let's have a steeple-race. We run along the path back home, jumping over all the obstacles. First one back wins the last piece of pie tonight." We'd all heard of the fancy steeple-races that the rich and famous of Tarallus put on: races between the best Thoroughbreds, leaping over high jumps and running as fast as they could. It seemed easy to us; besides, who could resist the last piece of the pie that Mother had declared she was making tonight? Meghan and I agreed, and then on my mark, since I was the youngest and on the smallest horse, we were off.
We stayed pretty close together the first few minutes, until finally Bardor slacked off. The poor brute was just too large and muscled to run fast for a while. Riam and I stayed pretty close, until finally the larger and faster horse won out. Riam, however, was too nice to simply win like that. He held Alkhabir back long enough for me to get a good head start and let me win. When we got back, he simply said that the shortest horse and most determined rider had won. "Our little secret," was his kind whisper, only acknowledged by my small, scheming smile.
Just to thank him, I let him share the last piece of pie. He grinned.
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Posted: Mon Aug 31, 2009 7:05 pm
Journal Entry 2: "The Accident"
Wednesday, April 6, 292 A.P.
Why? Why did he have to go, to leave us? Leave me? I was his favorite sister, I know. He spent the most time with me, often ganging up on Meghan to play tricks. He was always so much fun to be around, to play with. And now, he’s gone.
It is only a few days after the…accident. Even though I want to forget it, in some back corner of my mind, I know that I can never let it leave. It just isn't possible. I can't forget something like that. But in case I do forget, at any time at all, I will write it down, so that I can remember things the way they actually happened to me, and not just the way someone tells it.
We hadn’t been doing much of anything. Riam had gone out to play with his friends, this time letting me stay home. Meghan was reading a book. I was drawing a horse, using the sketchbook and pencil Father had been kind enough to trade away to get for me. I was just starting on the horse’s head when a knock came at the door. Father got up from the table to get it; it opened to show the neighbor, Mr. Crayeton, standing there, looking very worried. I furrowed my eyebrows as they talked in whispers. Then Father called Mother and they went out. I glanced over at Meghan, questioning. “What do you think they’re doing?” I wondered.
“How would I know?” she replied and went back to her book. I shrugged and returned to my horse. Naught but half an hour later, my parents came in, carrying Riam’s limp body between them. Mother was crying. I looked closer at my brother’s body. His arms and legs were gashed, blood soaking through his trouser legs. His head lolled, his eyes closed. I gasped, my heart almost stopping, and I threw down my drawing tools and ran to them. Riam’s chest rose and fell softly. He was breathing, but barely.
“Meghan, go get all the pieces of cloth we have that could be bandages. Caitlin, come with us and make up Riam’s bed.” Father’s voice cut through my scared world, deep and commanding. Though it was strong, it cracked on Riam’s name. I stood there a few seconds longer, then dashed into Riam’s room, struggling to keep tears back. In an instant his bed was ready for him; silly boy had never felt the need to make his own bed. My parents came in and gently deposited him on the bed. Meg came in with a small pile of cloth: pillowcases, towels, bed dressings. We didn’t have many actual bandages laying around. Father and Mother took them and began to cover Riam’s wounds. He looked at me once, “Now go,” before starting his duties. Meghan and I slowly wobbled out of his room and went to sit in our places. She didn’t pick up her book, though, nor did I my drawing supplies. We were too scared and upset to. This lasted for a few moments, before we both sobbed and hugged each other, finally allowing ourselves to cry.
That was the first day. The next two were the worst days of my life. On the second day we simply sat there, inside Riam’s room. Meghan and I were told to sit next to him, watching and ready to call if there was any trouble. Father would replace one of his bandages with a clean one, and Mother would take the soiled one and wash it. It was a never-ending cycle of sorrow. We didn’t even eat that day. The neighbors brought over food, but we were too upset to eat any of it. We barely even slept.
The third day was the last one. I had dozed off on accident when someone shook me. “Cait,” Meghan hissed. I snapped my eyes open to see my parents sitting next to my brother. Again, Mother had started to cry. My heart thudded as I heard a strange gasping sound, and looked to the bed to see Riam wheezing, trying to breathe. I walked across the room and sat on my father’s lap, taking Riam’s hand in mine. “Goodbye,” I whispered, trying not to let the tears come, trying to be strong. He smiled, still unconscious, gave a sigh, then fell silent. His hand went limp.
We sat there for a few more moments, until Father cleared his throat and said the words that ended it.
“He’s gone.”
I managed to hold my tears in long enough to get to my room, then started to cry. And that is where I am now, crying again as the thought of my brother, my dear Riam, crosses my mind as I write. I play his voice over and over again in my head, those funny phrases and nicknames he would come up with, like “Caity-did!” I will try to never forget his voice, ever. I don't want to. But even now, barely an hour after he had passed, it sounds fake, made-up. Like it had never existed at all. Like he had never existed at all.
Wait--what was that? A voice, inside my mind, though as clear as if someone was standing right next to me speaking. It's masculine, oddly enough, so it's not like it's my inner voice...or is it?
”You’ll be fine, Caitlin. I know you will.”
I can't think. I just can't. Is this really happening? Is this really what has been decided? My future?
”Hush, Cait. No need to panic. You know who and what I am, don’t you?”
I…I do. I do! It—he—is my daemon, starting to manifest for the first time. Joy rises in me. For so long I have been wanting a daemon of my own—but I had forgotten that with it came a terrible tragedy. I somehow am able to formulate a reply, though it feels odd to be talking to something that doesn't speak aloud. ”Yes, I do. My…my daemon.”
”Yes, Caitlin. And now that I am here, I will comfort you, and help you through this.” As I think on this, I suddenly see a small swish of something out of the corner of my eye. Something vaguely animal-like, yet mystical, like a spirit. A small flash of gray fur accompanies it, followed by golden-yellow with black spots. I feel something in the crook of my curled-up legs and smile. It--he, is there.
”See, you’re going to be perfectly fine. You will get through this, Caitlin. You know you will. So hush, and go to sleep. I'm here, always.”
And somehow, I know my daemon is right. Even though my dear brother Riam is gone, my daemon has begun to fill a similar space in my heart, helping me to heal.
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Posted: Sat Jun 12, 2010 9:40 pm
Journal Entry 3: "Leaving"
It had been a week since his death. That Saturday they had held the funeral--a quiet affair, with only the remaining four, the extended family that could make it, and a few close neighbors and friends. She'd tried to hold back her tears, she really had. But they had come, almost like breathing, no matter how hard she bit her lip. It was just too hard to bear. He was gone, gone forever, with no hope of coming back. And even if he could have, in the way that the people of fairy tales came back? She knew that he would not be happy; he had been too mangled, too bloody, to be able to fully live. He wouldn't have wanted to live that way. It would have been torture. Nothing could bring him back, nothing. She had to keep telling herself that--and so did her daemon.
He had become somewhat more visible to her as time passed, always there, strongest when she needed him, fading into the background when she didn't. When it would come over her again, all those memories, he was right there, with a flash and feeling of gray fur, or the slight whoosh of a feathered wing. She could sense it was a he; it only felt right. He had no name yet, but he didn't need one now; it was enough to just have him there, to know that he was watching over her.
She had kept a piece of her dear brother, as well. After they all went to sleep, she snuck from her room and to the pile of somewhat soiled cloth that was outside of his room. She needed something, something to remember him by, to keep with her forever. And finally she found it: a piece of white ribbon, brought by her sister to aid them, somehow having escaped the bloodstains that plagued the rest. Ribbon was somewhat expensive, but it was only material. A brother, a son, was worth far more than a paltry piece of cloth. She ripped off the clean piece and brought it back to her room, falling asleep with it in her hand, finding some solace, somehow, in the closeness she felt to him.
Then, the next Wednesday, the news came. They were moving away. Her father had not bought the neighbor's horse; without a son to ride him, they were fine with two. Cait had been odd for too long; even after she had come from her room, she had been in a trance. They needed to move, to get away from the memories, they decided. The horses would come, of course; they helped to comfort her, as well, and would be useful on the journey. And really, Cait didn't mind. Perhaps it was for the best that she left, and her daemon told her so, though she made sure to take the ribbon with. A few days later they were ready, with all of their belongings packed into her father's cart, and the two horses hitched to the front. The family was moving, and nothing would stop them. On the third day of their trip, however, their daughter told them her secret.
"Mother?"
"Hmmm?"
"I...I have something to tell you. You know how I've been shut up in my room for a while? Well...I've been hearing a voice. Not mine. It's masculine, and different. It's comforting, too. He helps me when I think...when I think about Riam. I think it's my daemon. Is it?"
Her parents looked between each other, her father taking his eyes off the road for one moment. Then her mother looked back, a small smile on her face. "Caitlin...yes, that's your daemon. Why didn't you tell us before? We could have helped you, you know that!"
"I know, Mother. It just...it didn't seem right to me. Just not yet."
"Well, in any case, we know where we're going now," came her father's deeper voice, his pigeon daemon gazing at his daughter with a similar expression to her master's. "Jaradin College. There you can get more help with your daemon. Besides, maybe in the city we'll get lucky." He gave a grin to rival his wife's. "Cait, I think that this might just turn out to be a good start to a new life. What do you think?"
And she couldn't help but agree.
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Posted: Sun Jul 04, 2010 4:58 pm
Journal Entry 4: Animal Form Evaluation
It had been a rather quiet day at the college. Caitlin had gone for a walk earlier, then sketched for a good part of the day. Always it was of animals; she'd never been able to master people. And now it was often her daemon's forms, the cats, canines, and bird that she always saw in his swirling yellow-gold self. There were full-body drawings and smaller, part ones; random ears, eyes, wings, and tails she had seen and wanted to identify, all in black and white and gray. Sometimes Cayne had pointed out a certain detail he'd noticed and she had added it; after all, they were going through this together, and he knew as much as she did.
Now they were simply laying on the bed. Caitlin had found a few books at the massive library (she loved going there and just browsing) and taken them back. Each was about animals, a certain category for each. It was time to see what Cayne was, exactly. She grabbed the first and started to flip through it, looking through the images of canines for something she recognized. "Dog...wild dog...dingo...aha!" Now in his smaller spotted cat form, Cayne glanced over. There it was! She read the caption below: gray wolf. "Gray wolf...well, you're part that, aren't you?" she muttered. Then she went back to reading; she didn't know much about wolves, save that they had inhabited the area she had lived in before, and that she should never get close to one. Well, one that wasn't a daemon, of course. "They're social, and very family-oriented...well, I am like that, even when I'm not being all that social: I feel weird without people around me, and I enjoy being around friends and family. I love my family a lot, too. They also usually show their anger to other wolves before attacking; I do that too. I'm really body language-oriented, I guess; I can tell what people are generally thinking by their body language and voice." And this has helped you out in the past, hasn't it? said Cayne. She grinned. "Yep, it has.
"They also have lots of stamina when hunting--I guess I can keep doing something for a long time, though I do eventually give up if it's too hard. And they are often thought of as cruel creatures when they're really not, kind of like how some people get the wrong idea about me and think I'm someone that I'm really not. Or that I can kind of change to fit my situation, though wolves don't really adapt to human changes." But they do to natural ones, Cayne pointed out, reading a little more of the text. That's like you, isn't it?
"Yeah, I guess it is." Cait then kept flipping. "There's something else, another canine...here we are!" This one was much smaller, and kind of red-brown, at least according to the illustration: a coyote. "They have smaller packs than wolves, kind of how I prefer to stay in small groups. They also can be on their own; I guess I seem solitary at times. Coyotes are nocturnal, too; I feel at home at night, as well." The sun hurts your eyes, doesn't it? She nodded. "Yes, it does. Coyotes are adaptable to human interference, too...I'm pretty adaptable, aren't I? After all, I change to fit best with the people I'm around." Another nod. "But...I'm not that adaptable with food, I'm pretty picky. And they're considered tricksters, which I'm not. I mean, I have a sense of humor, but I'm not that mischievous, am I?" Cayne chuckled.
Let's leave it at that, for now. We'll find more tomorrow.
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Posted: Sat Aug 07, 2010 12:30 pm
Journal Entry 5: Animal Form Evaluation
As it turned out, Caitlin had had more work to finish than she'd expected the next day, so the next chance she and Cayne had to go to the library was a week after the first group of books had been found. Now she was sitting at a table, a few books on various birds and cats laying next to her, and Cayne on her shoulder as his bird self. She reached for the first book in the stack; the front cover read FELINES and had many different, well-done illustrations of various cats on it. "Let's see...I know there are a few cat forms you take..." She immediately opened it and began to scan. "There's one that's larger, and striped...and another that's smaller, with spots. Kind of yellow and black, while the larger one's pale orange and black. Let's see...Aha!" There was the first: the smaller, yellow-and-black spotted cat. An ocelot.
"Hrm...it says that they're nocturnal; I kind of like the night, and at home I would be up at nighttime a lot. They're also territorial; I dislike others copying me, or getting too close when I don't want them to. They are also very solitary. I can be somewhat solitary like that, but not really." She shrugged. "Anyways...they also prefer prey smaller than them. I'm kind of like that with projects, wouldn't you say?"
"You like smaller ones," said Cayne. "Ones you can finish quickly. Though you can handle larger ones."
"Yeah...oh, and they stay with their family for a while when they're young, too! I'm like that; I do love my family and like being around them, though I guess I can head off on my own a little. Hrm, what's next..." She flipped through a few more pages, searching for the other feline...
"Here! A Northern (Siberian) tiger! They loooove the cold, like me; at least, they live in it. I preferred it up north, where it was cooler. They're also the largest kind of tiger. They sometimes hunt bears, too...I guess that's like me, I can be kind of mean to others when I want to." Cayne nodded. "They're fast in short bursts, too, like ambushes; I'm a good sprinter. They use body language a lot, like me. I'm kind of quiet and pick up on others' body language...though I guess wolves do that too. And...there's not much else, really."
She set that book aside and grabbed the next one, a book on birds. "I know you're some sort of bird of prey, like a hawk or falcon; I've seen them before. You're gray, with that yellow-black beak...a peregrine falcon." There it was, the images right in front of them, plain to see. "They're extremely fast, like I am; I can run fast, and I can do things quickly too, I love speed. They live nearly everywhere, too; I'm pretty adaptable to my environment, aren't I? They are very territorial when breeding, which is kind of like me being able to be vicious when I'm arguing over what someone did to hurt me. I surprise people when I sneak up on them, like peregrines do when they dive for prey. And I prefer to concentrate on one thing at a time, like how they go for one prey animal at a time."
At this, she paused. "I guess I am pretty peregrine falcon-ish, and kind of like the tiger and ocelot." "That's why I took these forms, sweetheart." She smiled. "Yeah, exactly. Come on, let's head back."
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