Post by Lirriel on Jul 26, 2016 14:21:28 GMT -5
I'm not a monster,
The red wolf shivered, a movement that traveled the length of his back and ended in a sharp swish of his tail, the ink-black tip dancing in the briefest of wags. He stood upon a small heap of jutting ground: a minuscule mountain, an enormous molehill. The White Forest lay beneath, pinned flat by his gaze and resplendent in its icy beauty. His breath puffed up around his snout, thick and heavy as the snow-turned-water that clung to his coat, darkening his vibrant reds to a bloodier hue.
Home, he thought, and the child shivered beneath his pelt. Disgust flickered in his eyes.
Once he might have bounded down the hill he stood upon, leaping fallen logs and reveling in the awakening of Spring. And yet, Rubedo stood rigid. His nostrils flared as he drew in deep the scents of the air. He had traveled far to return, migrating from the warmer Gold Plains to this abandoned forest where only ghosts of memories frolicked. His mouth dropped open in an angry pant, and he swallowed audibly.
No, he told himself softly, home is above. And with the thought, he turned his muzzle toward the sky. The sun shone above him weakly, barely penetrating the depths of his tattered pelt. It was so weak in this icy land. The jaws of Winterfang had driven deep into the northern lands when Rubedo first fled from this place.
"I'm sorry," he said softly now. With his fall the world had undoubtedly changed, the island beginning to succumb to its lifeblood ebbing away, frozen by the trickery of the icy god. The Betrayer. The child's lips began to lift in the form of a snarl as he remembered his own tumble through the stars, the skies, down into the Sea Mother's watery bosom. He had emerged not as a god, but as a mortal: a red wolf, no longer Flametongue, with the name Rubedo painted upon his lips and clinging to his mind as moss clings to a rock.
"I was, and now I'm not." But he could become a god once more. No longer one birthed of the All-Mother, but one driven into the sky through sacrifice and worship. He could once more wield the might of the sun, open his maw and spew forth the flames of wrath. Yes, it was a good plan. But a god required worshippers, and to once more become god, he must first become king.
His eyes slid once more over the landscape that lay before him. It was familiar to him, held the scent of a time before when he had run upon the snowscape with flames flaring in his wake. Once upon a time, when Winterfang ran beside him, and they were as brothers. But no longer. This land was his for the taking, with Winterfang's eyes directed elsewhere.
He cried out, his voice raised in a dominating howl that echoed in the quiet day: "In the name of forgotten gods, I hereby claim this White Forest in the name of Flametongue, fallen of fire and destined to once more be born through blood and strife. I, Rubedo Ranunculus!"
Home, he thought, and the child shivered beneath his pelt. Disgust flickered in his eyes.
Once he might have bounded down the hill he stood upon, leaping fallen logs and reveling in the awakening of Spring. And yet, Rubedo stood rigid. His nostrils flared as he drew in deep the scents of the air. He had traveled far to return, migrating from the warmer Gold Plains to this abandoned forest where only ghosts of memories frolicked. His mouth dropped open in an angry pant, and he swallowed audibly.
No, he told himself softly, home is above. And with the thought, he turned his muzzle toward the sky. The sun shone above him weakly, barely penetrating the depths of his tattered pelt. It was so weak in this icy land. The jaws of Winterfang had driven deep into the northern lands when Rubedo first fled from this place.
"I'm sorry," he said softly now. With his fall the world had undoubtedly changed, the island beginning to succumb to its lifeblood ebbing away, frozen by the trickery of the icy god. The Betrayer. The child's lips began to lift in the form of a snarl as he remembered his own tumble through the stars, the skies, down into the Sea Mother's watery bosom. He had emerged not as a god, but as a mortal: a red wolf, no longer Flametongue, with the name Rubedo painted upon his lips and clinging to his mind as moss clings to a rock.
"I was, and now I'm not." But he could become a god once more. No longer one birthed of the All-Mother, but one driven into the sky through sacrifice and worship. He could once more wield the might of the sun, open his maw and spew forth the flames of wrath. Yes, it was a good plan. But a god required worshippers, and to once more become god, he must first become king.
His eyes slid once more over the landscape that lay before him. It was familiar to him, held the scent of a time before when he had run upon the snowscape with flames flaring in his wake. Once upon a time, when Winterfang ran beside him, and they were as brothers. But no longer. This land was his for the taking, with Winterfang's eyes directed elsewhere.
He cried out, his voice raised in a dominating howl that echoed in the quiet day: "In the name of forgotten gods, I hereby claim this White Forest in the name of Flametongue, fallen of fire and destined to once more be born through blood and strife. I, Rubedo Ranunculus!"
it's in my bloodline.
tag: Mother Nature
words: Rubedo's claiming White Forest for his crazy plans
Photo Stock by Ami. B of DawnThieves
words: Rubedo's claiming White Forest for his crazy plans
Photo Stock by Ami. B of DawnThieves
