alpharaposa (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alpharaposa) wrote2016-01-31 02:14 pm
alpharaposa) wrote2016-01-31 02:14 pm
Entry tags:
Demons and Spirits, part 2
More with Prince Detlef! Part 1 is here. Sharp-eyed readers may have noticed I've already given this story its own tag, demonspirits.
My irritation stirred me forth on a day where the sky was as grey above as the land was below. The clouds gathered low and sullen, refusing to allow any rain to slip away and water the brittle plants below them.
Home was particularly oppressive that day. The stones of the castle sweated, giving even the best furnished rooms a dank, sepulchral scent. I saddled my fastest horse, Rask, and fled down one of the wagon tracks just to find a breeze.
My brown stallion's instincts are always sure, so I gave him his head. I closed my eyes and felt his muscles move as he cantered strong and steady, nimble as a mountain sheep. He took the two of us to a modest hill that overlooked the main road. Many years ago, somebody had erected a small fort there, little more than a barricade and a place to sleep. The roof rotted away before I was born, but it's still possible to climb to the top of the wall. There's a patch of grass in the lee of the fort, so I left Rask to graze and tried my luck. The holes that once held wooden steps helped me most of the way, but I could not find a secure grip among the moss and grit at the top.
A raven noticed and pecked at my fingers territorially. He struck me hard enough to draw blood. My temper flared. I lashed out in anger, taking a deep bite out of his essence.
The raven fell forward with a croak, and my brief moment of anger died. But I already had its energy, so I put it to use in making myself lighter, like a bird. I hefted myself atop the wall and fought the instinct to perch there.
Great, I thought. If dad finds out about this sort of thing, I'll never get away from home.
I looked about and spotted another raven sitting on a next full of twigs and sheep's wool. It watched me with silent reproach. My unfortunate target was still breathing, at least. Given time to rest, he'd recover. I fretted uselessly at it for a while, wishing that I could give back what I took, but that's not how demon magic works. So I hunched on the top of the wall, full of guilt and misery, and stared out across the sloping ground around me.
That was when it began to rain.
I laughed. There I was, the picture of solemn misery, sulking on a crumbling wall amid a desolate landscape. Of course it would rain. It was practically required to rain on me to complete my suffering and woe.
I leapt to the ground, still light as a bird, and went back to Rask. “Come on,” I told him. “Let's go back.”
He set off willingly enough, but soon balked, ears pricking into the wind. “What do you hear?” I asked him.
He seemed to take that as a request, for he turned and followed the sound. It wasn't long before I could hear it, too. More horses, every step leaving a little slurp behind on the rapidly dissolving dirt road. I also heard the creak of a vehicle, so I urged my steed on a little faster.
We discovered a coach, plain but sturdy. Three men rode beside it, all of them bearing the same wheat colored hair that I share with my mother and sister. I waved to them, and was allowed to come alongside.
“Good afternoon!” I called, still amused by the weather.
“Good afternoon,” the driver of the coach replied, with a crooked smile. “Be you from around here?”
“Yes,” I told them. “I live in the castle town.”
“Good!” he said. “We're headed there, but I can't find the landmarks through this rain. Do you know the way?”
I chuckled at him. “My horse does. If we let him, he'll lead us all.”
He smiled. “Let him, then. What's your name, o well-dressed stranger?”
“Detlef,” I told him.
“Prince Detlef?” one of the riders exclaimed.
I nodded, a bit embarrased at being caught out all by myself. But then, it's not an easy task to take anybody by surprise on the heath.
The rider grinned. “You've cousins in the coach! They've come to visit their family.”
“Good!” I said, trying not to let my relief show. “Let's get them someplace dry, then!” I urged Rask on his way, and the whole crew trailed behind us. “Home by the shortest path,” I murmured to him. He flicked his ears as if he knew just what I'd said, and set a brisk pace for the other horses.
The vote was for him to visit his relatives, but we're not there, yet! Do you think he'll make it there soon, or will it take a while?
My irritation stirred me forth on a day where the sky was as grey above as the land was below. The clouds gathered low and sullen, refusing to allow any rain to slip away and water the brittle plants below them.
Home was particularly oppressive that day. The stones of the castle sweated, giving even the best furnished rooms a dank, sepulchral scent. I saddled my fastest horse, Rask, and fled down one of the wagon tracks just to find a breeze.
My brown stallion's instincts are always sure, so I gave him his head. I closed my eyes and felt his muscles move as he cantered strong and steady, nimble as a mountain sheep. He took the two of us to a modest hill that overlooked the main road. Many years ago, somebody had erected a small fort there, little more than a barricade and a place to sleep. The roof rotted away before I was born, but it's still possible to climb to the top of the wall. There's a patch of grass in the lee of the fort, so I left Rask to graze and tried my luck. The holes that once held wooden steps helped me most of the way, but I could not find a secure grip among the moss and grit at the top.
A raven noticed and pecked at my fingers territorially. He struck me hard enough to draw blood. My temper flared. I lashed out in anger, taking a deep bite out of his essence.
The raven fell forward with a croak, and my brief moment of anger died. But I already had its energy, so I put it to use in making myself lighter, like a bird. I hefted myself atop the wall and fought the instinct to perch there.
Great, I thought. If dad finds out about this sort of thing, I'll never get away from home.
I looked about and spotted another raven sitting on a next full of twigs and sheep's wool. It watched me with silent reproach. My unfortunate target was still breathing, at least. Given time to rest, he'd recover. I fretted uselessly at it for a while, wishing that I could give back what I took, but that's not how demon magic works. So I hunched on the top of the wall, full of guilt and misery, and stared out across the sloping ground around me.
That was when it began to rain.
I laughed. There I was, the picture of solemn misery, sulking on a crumbling wall amid a desolate landscape. Of course it would rain. It was practically required to rain on me to complete my suffering and woe.
I leapt to the ground, still light as a bird, and went back to Rask. “Come on,” I told him. “Let's go back.”
He set off willingly enough, but soon balked, ears pricking into the wind. “What do you hear?” I asked him.
He seemed to take that as a request, for he turned and followed the sound. It wasn't long before I could hear it, too. More horses, every step leaving a little slurp behind on the rapidly dissolving dirt road. I also heard the creak of a vehicle, so I urged my steed on a little faster.
We discovered a coach, plain but sturdy. Three men rode beside it, all of them bearing the same wheat colored hair that I share with my mother and sister. I waved to them, and was allowed to come alongside.
“Good afternoon!” I called, still amused by the weather.
“Good afternoon,” the driver of the coach replied, with a crooked smile. “Be you from around here?”
“Yes,” I told them. “I live in the castle town.”
“Good!” he said. “We're headed there, but I can't find the landmarks through this rain. Do you know the way?”
I chuckled at him. “My horse does. If we let him, he'll lead us all.”
He smiled. “Let him, then. What's your name, o well-dressed stranger?”
“Detlef,” I told him.
“Prince Detlef?” one of the riders exclaimed.
I nodded, a bit embarrased at being caught out all by myself. But then, it's not an easy task to take anybody by surprise on the heath.
The rider grinned. “You've cousins in the coach! They've come to visit their family.”
“Good!” I said, trying not to let my relief show. “Let's get them someplace dry, then!” I urged Rask on his way, and the whole crew trailed behind us. “Home by the shortest path,” I murmured to him. He flicked his ears as if he knew just what I'd said, and set a brisk pace for the other horses.
The vote was for him to visit his relatives, but we're not there, yet! Do you think he'll make it there soon, or will it take a while?