Demons and Spirits, part 3
Feb. 11th, 2016 01:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alpharaposa(The writing continues. You can see all the posts in the story on the tag, demonspirits.
The coach stuck on the road once, and it took all the horses to pull it free. Rask did not appreciate having to do such menial labor, and I had to take a firm hand with him to keep him from leaving the slower horses behind once we were moving again. Thankfully, the rain stopped soon after and the clouds thinned enough to let the afternoon sun through. The tiny flowers that hide in the scrub opened up to catch the gentle light in little dots of purple and yellow.
The road dried quickly, so we had no further problems right until we made it to the castle. I was so pleased with myself for safely guiding someone back that I'd forgotten I'd snuck out when I left. My mother was standing at the gate, and one look quelled my cheerful greeting. Fortunately, the guests provided the best of all distractions. I slipped past while they were catching up on a long list of relations.
My father was waiting for me at the stables.
He doesn't look like a demon at all. He looks more human than I do, really. My sister and I have teeth that look a little long and sharp, just short of fangs, and a couple of big, dark birthmarks that get covered by our clothes. The only demonic thing we all share is our eyes. They're black. Mother and grandfather and the rest of the family say they're very dark brown, but that's not true at all. The closest color I know is the shiny black of some feathers birds have, that gleams a little blue in the right light.
Other than that, though, he looks just like the guy in the portrait hall. Well, not exactly the same. He's older, and he wears his hair longer, but it's the same brown as in the painting. His smile is just the same, no fangs. He has the same racehorse build, strong muscles and not much padding. He keeps his beard a little longer, too, which gives him a gentler look than the one in the picture.
He gave me a long look, but didn't say anything. He helped me unsaddle Rask and get him settled first, leaving me to my thoughts. The routine and the stable were familiar, the smell of horse, hay and leather a poor distraction. I chewed over my anger, at being roped to a building and a routine I didn't choose. I knew that was poor justification for my thoughtlessness, and that only made it worse. By the time we were finished with Rask, I wasn't in any better mood, but I was at least braced for the lecture I knew was coming.
My father dusted his hands and motioned me outside. “Your mother is furious,” he told me. “She'd been planning this for weeks. Your sister is annoyed. She wanted to go riding, too, and had to settle for trimming the garden. Lif wasn't going to allow both of you out of her sight at once.”
I glanced in the direction of the flower garden, even though there was plenty of castle between it and the stables. I hadn't thought of my sister at all.
It was unfair that the clouds were clearing away just when my mood was getting darker. I grit my teeth around the handful of angry protests and hunched my shoulders.
“Go apologize to your mother. And your sister when you can,” my father told me. He looked right at me, his black eyes gleaming. “And I noticed you smell like raven. Careful with your snacking, Detlef.”
I stopped right in my tracks and felt a cold chill skitter down my spine. Even after the ride back, he could still tell? I hunkered down, muttered an affirmative, and walked away as fast as I could.
#
My mother, Lif, has hair the color of ripe grain, blue-grey eyes that change with the weather, and a smattering of freckles that only fade during the coldest, grimmest days of winter. Sturdy as bedrock, she can handle any bird in the rookery, from the smallest to the largest. While riding at a full gallop. I've seen it.
She doesn't look scary, but that doesn't mean that I wasn't nervous. I slunk up to the courtyard and stood, awkwardly, waiting to be noticed.
“There you are! Come and greet your cousins properly!”
All eyes turned to me. One of the men laughed. “He looks like a whipped dog! Tell me you didn't get in trouble for riding in the rain, boy!”
I made myself laugh with them and joined the group. “No,” I said with a mournful face. “I didn't tell anybody I was riding at all.” They grinned and I dipped my head to my mother. “My apologies, dear mother. That was careless of me.”
She gave me a smile for my trouble and tilted her head to let me kiss her cheek. “You'd have been a lot sorrier if you'd missed the party,” she told me. “And now, names!” She took my arm and walked me through the group. Nali, Roki, and Kal were the three riders. Kapa drove the wagon. All four were tall men, old enough to have earned some scars on their hands and lines around their clear blue eyes. Roki exchanged cheek kisses with my mother, while the rest merely bowed to her.
Two young women stood by the door, in traveling dresses. The one bearing the name Kata looked to be about the same age as my sister. Maybe a year either way, at a guess. She had freckles like my mother, but her hair was even lighter and fell in loose curls that were barely held back by the wooden combs atop her head.
The lady who stood by her side as close as a guard was Thorgun. She was almost as tall as I am, with black hair held in straight braids on each side and hard brown eyes that were dark enough to draw a second look from me. But no, there was no smeary iridescent gleam there. It was a true color, and for the first time, I believed those who told me that my eyes might pass.
We're still at the castle! Darn these people! When will they be on their way? Tonight? Tomorrow?
Also, in a trope-filled setting like this one, obviously Thorgun must be important! Is she:
A) a love interest?
B) a magic using secret agent?
C) a competent servant?
D) all of the above?
The coach stuck on the road once, and it took all the horses to pull it free. Rask did not appreciate having to do such menial labor, and I had to take a firm hand with him to keep him from leaving the slower horses behind once we were moving again. Thankfully, the rain stopped soon after and the clouds thinned enough to let the afternoon sun through. The tiny flowers that hide in the scrub opened up to catch the gentle light in little dots of purple and yellow.
The road dried quickly, so we had no further problems right until we made it to the castle. I was so pleased with myself for safely guiding someone back that I'd forgotten I'd snuck out when I left. My mother was standing at the gate, and one look quelled my cheerful greeting. Fortunately, the guests provided the best of all distractions. I slipped past while they were catching up on a long list of relations.
My father was waiting for me at the stables.
He doesn't look like a demon at all. He looks more human than I do, really. My sister and I have teeth that look a little long and sharp, just short of fangs, and a couple of big, dark birthmarks that get covered by our clothes. The only demonic thing we all share is our eyes. They're black. Mother and grandfather and the rest of the family say they're very dark brown, but that's not true at all. The closest color I know is the shiny black of some feathers birds have, that gleams a little blue in the right light.
Other than that, though, he looks just like the guy in the portrait hall. Well, not exactly the same. He's older, and he wears his hair longer, but it's the same brown as in the painting. His smile is just the same, no fangs. He has the same racehorse build, strong muscles and not much padding. He keeps his beard a little longer, too, which gives him a gentler look than the one in the picture.
He gave me a long look, but didn't say anything. He helped me unsaddle Rask and get him settled first, leaving me to my thoughts. The routine and the stable were familiar, the smell of horse, hay and leather a poor distraction. I chewed over my anger, at being roped to a building and a routine I didn't choose. I knew that was poor justification for my thoughtlessness, and that only made it worse. By the time we were finished with Rask, I wasn't in any better mood, but I was at least braced for the lecture I knew was coming.
My father dusted his hands and motioned me outside. “Your mother is furious,” he told me. “She'd been planning this for weeks. Your sister is annoyed. She wanted to go riding, too, and had to settle for trimming the garden. Lif wasn't going to allow both of you out of her sight at once.”
I glanced in the direction of the flower garden, even though there was plenty of castle between it and the stables. I hadn't thought of my sister at all.
It was unfair that the clouds were clearing away just when my mood was getting darker. I grit my teeth around the handful of angry protests and hunched my shoulders.
“Go apologize to your mother. And your sister when you can,” my father told me. He looked right at me, his black eyes gleaming. “And I noticed you smell like raven. Careful with your snacking, Detlef.”
I stopped right in my tracks and felt a cold chill skitter down my spine. Even after the ride back, he could still tell? I hunkered down, muttered an affirmative, and walked away as fast as I could.
#
My mother, Lif, has hair the color of ripe grain, blue-grey eyes that change with the weather, and a smattering of freckles that only fade during the coldest, grimmest days of winter. Sturdy as bedrock, she can handle any bird in the rookery, from the smallest to the largest. While riding at a full gallop. I've seen it.
She doesn't look scary, but that doesn't mean that I wasn't nervous. I slunk up to the courtyard and stood, awkwardly, waiting to be noticed.
“There you are! Come and greet your cousins properly!”
All eyes turned to me. One of the men laughed. “He looks like a whipped dog! Tell me you didn't get in trouble for riding in the rain, boy!”
I made myself laugh with them and joined the group. “No,” I said with a mournful face. “I didn't tell anybody I was riding at all.” They grinned and I dipped my head to my mother. “My apologies, dear mother. That was careless of me.”
She gave me a smile for my trouble and tilted her head to let me kiss her cheek. “You'd have been a lot sorrier if you'd missed the party,” she told me. “And now, names!” She took my arm and walked me through the group. Nali, Roki, and Kal were the three riders. Kapa drove the wagon. All four were tall men, old enough to have earned some scars on their hands and lines around their clear blue eyes. Roki exchanged cheek kisses with my mother, while the rest merely bowed to her.
Two young women stood by the door, in traveling dresses. The one bearing the name Kata looked to be about the same age as my sister. Maybe a year either way, at a guess. She had freckles like my mother, but her hair was even lighter and fell in loose curls that were barely held back by the wooden combs atop her head.
The lady who stood by her side as close as a guard was Thorgun. She was almost as tall as I am, with black hair held in straight braids on each side and hard brown eyes that were dark enough to draw a second look from me. But no, there was no smeary iridescent gleam there. It was a true color, and for the first time, I believed those who told me that my eyes might pass.
We're still at the castle! Darn these people! When will they be on their way? Tonight? Tomorrow?
Also, in a trope-filled setting like this one, obviously Thorgun must be important! Is she:
A) a love interest?
B) a magic using secret agent?
C) a competent servant?
D) all of the above?
