he disappeared without a word but the next night a coyote was heard
T
he more he thought of it, when they had asked him his skillset, he ought to have said booze.
Really. There was too much work to this soldiering. Tucson didn’t know war. Tucson knew the west, and that was the thing about the west. There weren’t no war. There was just full-blown anarchy. He’d heard plenty about petty turf wars and gang wars and cowhands going rogue, but that was just bound to happen back in the west.
He knew bounties and chaos and the anarchy of a land to large for law. But what he didn’t understand was how every goddamn equine in Dusk was talking about the end of the world that, and the end of the world this. A volcano! and a scary magic bridge! If they weren’t talking about that, they were talking about something to do with the Night Court Queen—was she a Queen? A Lady? Or just a damn governor?—and then there was that bastard… what was his name? Tucson couldn’t quite remember, but he knew he was apparently a bad man in the desert scaring people with a giant snake.
Quite frankly, Tucson didn’t understand any of it. And the soldiering was more work than he had bargained for. Get up at this time, go out on this patrol, practice sparring so-and-so. Tucson knew how to fight. Why did he need to practice? Clearly, there was no one endangering a the big empty field he was currently walking and, besides, what was out here for them to threaten? He found his mind wandering, again, from the task at hand.
Then there was the magic. The volcano. The strange bridge to the middle of the sea. The trick to avoiding magic? Tucson thought it was simple. Just don’t believe in the damn stuff, and if it was happening, well. It must just be an act of god or… gods. But he had tried to say that in the bar the other night, and the response was less than welcoming. So, since then, he had refrained.
Really, Tucson had been on his best behaviour. But somehow it hadn’t won him many friends, and he begun to feel somewhat alienated. He was longing for home, even, and home wasn’t even a place so much as a feeling. It was worn leather and sun, the threat of rattlesnakes, the sound of coyotes at night, and Shane’s tobacco. It was seeing a horizon that never ended…
While patrolling Susurro Fields, he could feel just a glimmer of familiarity… It looked this way, he guessed, on the rare occasion that it rained. Far ahead of him he spotted a large herd of deer, grazing in the twilight. The nostalgia had gotten to him. Without much hesitation, Tucson began to imitate the high-pitched, rising yip-yip-yip-yowwwlll of a coyote. The deer glanced up, briefly disturbed, and Tucson repeated the sound with more emphasis, more volume. A younger deer broke from the herd hesitantly, and then slowed. After several long moments, they resumed eating.
And after several more moments, a coyote answered him. Tucson’s ears pricked and before he could help himself, he smiled. However, it soon faded, and he began to contemplate the pros of being a bartender rather than a Dusk Court soldier.
Open for anyone! | "speaks" | notes: somebody please come play with my cowboy bab <3
Many a night Rhone had stood along the cliff side, watching as the sun finally slipped beneath the horizon only to be replaced by the fullness of the moon. He would stand on the edge thinking about his life, both past and present. He thought about his stent as king of the stallion band and of a traditional herd. He reflected about his two past lovers and the children he had sired with each of them. These memories were beautiful and painful and as much as he hated reliving them, he missed them.
Rhone was aging and he had come to Novus to seek a new place to retire. He would not be ruling any kingdoms, not fighting anyone else’s war. Here, he would retire in peace, to live out the rest of his days amongst the company of others. While he wanted to find someone to grow old with, he had a hard time imaging that ever happening for him. Most wanted younger more vibrant men, powerful men, or those with big aspirations. That was not Rhone. He had lived out his prime and made an absolute mess of it. It was high time he just sit back and be himself.
As he looks out over the prairie, he finds peace in it. The crickets are chirping, the does out grazing, and the fireflies lighting up the night. The moon is full and illuminates the fauna that is out and about on this beautiful evening. He finds it peaceful here, a way to relax and reflect.
But then something distracts him. The sound of a coyote (though not really) is projected over the stillness of the prairie. Eyes scan for the source, ears held erect to capture the sound. It happens again and Rhone can see that it’s coming from the far side of the field. He begins to meander towards the sound, curious as to who is mimicking the sound of a coyote and why they are doing so. It was a strange thing to hear.
But as he steps closer, he hears the calling of real coyotes and he looks back behind him. They are closer, much closer than he originally thought. And so, he continues towards the original sound, his feet picking up their pace as he crosses the tall grasses of the field. With his shorter stature, it isn’t hard to miss him coming.
When he get a little closer, he can see that it is another equine who is the source of the coyote calls. It is a winged boy, someone he has never met before. However, the closer he draws to him, the more he smells like Dusk Court. Perhaps he needed to get out more often than he did. "Good evening, sir!" He calls out softly, just loud enough to announce his presence as he comes up alongside the other. "Where did you learn to call out like coyotes? You are quite talented." Sure, it wasn’t the best of greetings, but it was something and he was trying.
he disappeared without a word but the next night a coyote was heard
I
f Tucson were a bit of a poet, there would have been much more to say about coyote songs. It was always about wolves—the lonely howl, rising among the mountain pine, contending with the jagged cliffs of alpine slopes. Yeah, the wolf’s cry. It was more known… more understood as a metaphor… but coyotes. The smile had faded and he was staring into the dark, hoping to see one of the rangy canines emerged from the long, long grass. Of course, none did. He did not answer again—he just let the echo of it fill him with a sort of aching nostalgia, a nostalgia he could not name, a nostalgia he brushed away with contemplations of bartending and soldiering.
The deer had wandered off and in the remaining absence of… of, well, anything, Tucson felt… melancholy. That was the word his mother might have used, years ago when he was a boy. This storm’s got ya melancholy again, Tuck, what’sth’about? And he didn’t know what it meant back then.
If he were being honest, he still wasn’t certain.
Before he could linger too long on his ignorance. The grass nearby rustled, caught by a flick of his ear. Tucson turned his head just in time to see a simple, dark horse emerged. It was not often, in Novus or elsewhere, that Tucson had seen ordinary looking horses… and he immediately distrusted it. There was no magic in his homeland, no, but Novus was stock-full of it and he wondered if at any moment the other might catch on fire, or something equally bizarre. Stranger things had happened, after all.
Tucson laughed aloud at the question. “I reckon’… Oh, I reckon’ I learn'd by listinin’. I could teach’a, quick-as-a-whip.” His eyes were alight with mischief. Tucson enjoyed these sorts of questions—why else would he be so boisterous? Without hesitation, he repeated the same high-pitched coyote yip-and-howl combination. He waited for a few, hesitant beats… and once again, the other animal answered far across the prairie. “I’m from a’place where they’ll sing’ll nigh’.” The cowboy drawled, rolling one easy shoulder in a shrug. “I’m Tucson, stranger.” He supposed he ought to ask if the other man were a member of Dusk Court, but despite his soldierly duties, that didn’t seem to be the greatest concern.
And he decided the night wouldn’t be so bad, with some company.
Open for anyone! | "speaks" | notes: somebody please come play with my cowboy bab <3
Plain and ordinary. That was the definition of Rhone. If his plain, ordinary bay color did not give it away, then his calm, cool demeanor did. Nothing seemed to phase him anymore. The longer he lived his life, the more he began to see that there were so many different personalities, so many different ways of looking at life. He was a kind soul, one who preferred to make friends over enemies. He was always on the lookout, however, for trouble, as he had been plenty privy to it as he aged. But Rhone always gave the benefit of the doubt, even when it probably wasn’t deserved.
He laid eyes on the rather unordinary individual that stood before him, he thought for a moment what it would be like to be different. While the other’s color was rather plain, it was his wings that made him stand out. They were large and in charge, overpowering his appearance. Not to mention, they were reminiscent of bat wings, not the fluffy feathered wings that he was so used to seeing around here. But if Rhone were honest, they looked good on him. If the wings were on his own body, they would look awkward. With his shortened stature, the oversized wings would swallow him up.
He asked the other where the other had learned to call towards the coyotes, observing that his skill in doing so was quite advanced. He had met some individuals that learned to call birds, but never coyotes. It was a unique gift, one that was entirely intriguing to the lone stallion.
He listened almost with awe as the other called the coyotes again. Ears flicked in the direction of the answering canines, a smile creeping across his lips at the sound. He listened with the same intensity when the other stated that he came from a place where they would sing and holler all night. What a place that would be! "What sort of place was it?" In all his homelands, never had the coyotes been so bold. In fact, he didn’t even remember them being anywhere. He couldn’t recall if they even existed. Surely they had somewhere at some point, because why else would he know the calls?
At the introduction, Rhone offered the other a soft smile, his steps bringing him just a little closer to the other. He hoped that with formalities out of the way, they could stand a little closer so it didn’t seem like they were yelling across the prairie. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tucson." It was an interesting name for an interesting creature. "I am called Rhone." It was a simple name, an uncommon one. His mother said he was named after a great shipwreck, as was her own namesake. It wasn’t much, but it was his own.
Eyes looked up to the full moon in the sky, the light illuminating the two stallions as they met unceremoniously in this place. It was a peaceful evening, the crickets chirping, the bats screeching as they flew by. Yes, it was a beautiful evening. "I hope I’m not disturbing you. I was simply meandering through, trying to get a feel for this place." He still considered himself relatively new to Novus. There were still so many places he had yet to see, so many places that he wanted to explore.
