|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Mon Nov 04, 2013 6:45 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Nov 04, 2013 7:11 am
shut up already
location oldcastle
time samhain, 1798
summary rob answers the loudly insistent call of the wardwood When Rob had mentioned off-handedly to Ollie that he felt a certain urge to return to Oldcastle, Ollie's face had split in a brilliant flashing smile. No, Rob had said, he wasn't sure why and he wasn't sure what he hoped to gain by revisiting the scene of the most awkward rendez-vous he had ever encountered but part of him was absolutely, unflappably certain that he needed to return. Positively. Ollie hadn't commented, only given him a knowing wink and a nod, and steered him to a stable when the Amaranta had docked in Northport.
The ride to Oldcastle was longer by far than Rob remembered it, and he had the sneaking suspicion that the gelding he had rented was disturbingly aware of just how uncomfortable Rob felt on its back. Convinced as he was the the horse would bite or kick him should he so much as look away, Rob spent much of the journey staring at the nag, until he was so familiar with every line of its slightly swayed back and crooked knees that he could have drawn it with his eyes shut.
Now, at the edge of the Wardwood, the gelding planted its feet and refused to step into the dark recesses of the treeline. "Git... ye bloody ingrate, get going," Rob growled behind gritted teeth, resorting to sinking his heels into the horse's sides. The gelding shook his head and backed up. The anger rose in Rob. Every step the stupid horse took away from the tree brought a sharper, more insistent tug from the Wood itself, as if demanding that he enter already, and what did he think he was doing, dillydallying around outside like a fool?
"Don't think I don't know!" Rob snapped at the ominously looming trees when it happened for the third time. "Relax, why don't ye, while I get this great fecking lump o' refuse going!" The pull subsided, still tugging but much less demanding, as if mollified somewhat by his words.
Between the struggle with the horse and the urge to enter, which intensified every once in a while until he stood and screamed at the Wood again, Rob all but forgot how much he dreaded entering the shadowy realm of the trees. When the gelding finally gave in, Rob's only thought was to reach the Ward Tree, buried deep in the heart of the forest. No amount of shade or twisted roots would stop him now.
When he finally saw it at the end of the day's travel, he all but vaulted from the saddle and strode to the tree, admiring its glowing runes and the small totems that hung all along its branches. Rob didn't have to wonder which one to take. UP. UP THERE. HERE. HERE. HERE.
"Hush," he growled, hoisting himself up onto the first branch. The frantic energy subsided to a pulse. He climbed up three more branches before turning to shuffle outward several paces, then reached up for the totem that had called him for so long and with such insistence. Its body was a gradient of black and silver, lightly speckled, white points, dark antlers and golden swirls. "You're like an anti-Taxes, aren't ye?" Rob said, looking down at the totem with fondness and amusement. "Well, you got me," he added. "Cheers. Here's to a good run, you an' me."
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
