The Mongrel

[Wolfchild]

Decided to do a bit of writing for my own pleasure, so here t’is. I’ve put it in this section because contrary to my usual tone it is non-participatory for other people. Feel free to read it if you wish to; I’ll update as frequently as I can.

The early breeze was a sweetened blend of unbroken sunrise and night’s reluctant end. Hesketh relished the scent of meadow grass that danced beneath his nose, diluted amongst unsavoury pipe smoke from his father, as each looked out upon the undulating landscape; a tended patchwork of gold and greening fields. His hands toyed with a pair of dice clattering on the cold grey flagstone, one of three descending monoliths that sat reservedly afore the oak doorway. It introduced their stone lodge in a modest, uncomplicated light. A structure which had risen from the earth of it’s own bidding, there was not a piece comprised that could not be sourced within a mile. It sat like like the villagers in a world ready made.

The boy’s thoughts were elsewhere, hidden in the valleys of birdsong or below the river stones. As the wind tugged playfully at his waistcoat of mottled sheepskin, it took the amulets from around his neck and pointed them in a direction he could follow. Leaning upon an old walking stick that masqueraded as a crook, he rose on bare, unstable feet. The warmth of the earth against his soles preceded the first beam of light across the plain. All at once the land was washed in a glow that banished the shadows beneath groaning eves, and awoke those who had not yet risen.

“Keep safe.” A wooden voice creaked. The embers of the voice plumed with fog, his bearish demeanour an impression of age and wisdom. Stained amber eyes withheld the sights of their years, but burrowed deep beneath the folds, and gazed upon life like antique burls. Hesketh nodded, and a weak smile combed his jaw. He stood back, onto the road that would take him away with the dust. The dice which still shook in the cage of his palm were decanted to a pouch that hung with its kin on a belt built for broader bellies. The furrowed strip of leather grasped the end of a dirty linen shirt and the beginning of a patched pair of breeches. He pulled both edges of his waistcoat closer to his chest as a route meandered before him. The staff strode first.