In Regards to Home

[Citadel]

beneath the eyes of the gods,

Arriving at the place which he believed to be Centro Beach, Citadel tried to orient himself in his mind on his position, remembering waveringly the crudely plotted maps of his culture. Drawn as a lumpy yellow smudge between the blue-green smear of ocean and the jagged squiggles of what were supposed to be mountains, this place seemed to fit the bill. From his perch atop a grassy hill beneath a rugged granite cliff wall, he looked down at the view: the grass faded into gravel, the gravel into sand and the sand into crisp blue seawater. The place stretched to the horizon in either direction, boasting small peninsula-type pieces of land which jutted out into the ocean, waves crashing against their rocky edges. He was pleased with himself for identifying the place, and even more elated at the fact that it seemed to be uninhabited. This beach would be a good place for him to thrive as it boasted many food sources in the sea and vegetation aplenty, as well as shelter under the cliff edges from the bitter sea air.

Having come from a nomadic tribe, and now considering a more stationary lifestyle, Citadel had a lot to think about in regards to making a home. With the few items he carried in his pouch and the naturally occurring materials, he would have to build some sort of shelter, bring forth fire and stockpile food, tools and other luxury items. The task was grand, but he felt undaunted. Being deeply religious, as all in his subculture were, he only hoped that the gods were on his side. They would decide what came to him and whether he would thrive or starve.

A coal-black hoof lifted, the bag thrown over his shoulder adjusted. Cato started down the hill toward the sea. The sky was clear, with only a few clouds dotting it. Winds gushed forth from the horizon in great bursts, seabirds riding the swells of air. He judged by the sun that it was mid-afternoon. A sigh. He would sleep outside tonight, yet again, as his shelter could not possibly be finished before the light had left his company, but a fire would certainly suffice for warmth.

Where the gravel began to turn into fine, yellow sand, Citadel dropped his bag. It hit the ground with some weight to it, revealing the contents to be a few stone and metal tools, maybe some beads or small stones. The centaur’s great body stooped to gather driftwood, the substantial and therefore useful ones being chosen first and the smaller pieces simply being tossed toward the crumpled sack behind him to dry. They would be good enough for firewood in a few days, as long as rain did not come and spoil his stock. If he could, Citadel preferred not to cut down the trees. This was especially true here on the coast, where there were so few. His beliefs stressed a oneness with nature, and activities such as cutting down trees or hunting required drawn out rituals of thanks. It was easier to just gather what he could and say a prayer than take a life and have to bend over backwards in redemption.

Eventually, when a large selection of wood, stones and strips of seaweed had been gathered together, he began to task of taking the materials back up the hill. Under a rocky ledge, he placed all of his spoils and came to rest, allowing his massive body to lower itself to the ground. Citadel pondered on the place a bit, knowing that the bordering land above the cliff, the Uchipe Range, had already been claimed. He imagined it to be some small band of horses, barely making a life… but there was no telling what it really was until he encountered them. Understanding this, he allowed himself to fear for the worst. He knew, however, that he would likely never stray onto their land. It was against societal code.

A bit in the distance, a small patch of trees stood, their roots flimsily clinging to the sandy soil beneath, the breezes making them sway. They were not a prime choice, but they were what he had, and he knew he would have to find a way to utilize either them or the rocky ledges in order to build some sort of shelter. Perhaps, though, he may have both… so that when the harsh sea winds uprooted one, he would have refuge in the other. It sounded to him a good plan, but a plan to be executed another day.

The decision made, sleep was pondered. The sun had all but gone away and the cold air bit at his exposed flesh causing goose bumps to rise up. He set to work stoking up a small fire, using chunks of granite he believed to have fallen from the crumbling mountain above and some of the drier driftwood he had gathered. It kept him warm enough, and he let himself pass into slumber.

here lies the littlest of lambs

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[WaT]

What could she say? The mare was a wanderer and always had been. Still even though she now resided with Aderalle that odd young stallion Salma found herself wanting to check up on her beaches. Now and then. Making sure everything was alright and no one was destroying the years of work she had done. It was early morning when the mare came across the faint smell of fire and ash. How odd. Fire in the middle of winter?

This had to be investigated. So the unicorn picked up her gait, weaving here and there inspecting things at a glance. Everything seemed normal...except this very unusual scent. Salma hadn't smelt anything like it; that she could remember. Following it at a walk, her head hung low to pick up whatever grass there was. Soon the girl got distracted and began grazing for a few moments. Keeping her eyes peeled,she found strange tracks as well. Stamping her hoof beside it, they seemed similar but yet different. Though the unknown being's seemed bigger. Flicking her ears Salma couldn't quite put where she had seen these before.

Well...whatever it was, she was sure of herself. Even if this animal was as big as an elephant it would come down easily if it posed a threat. They seemed to lead up to a cliff. Peering up she couldn't quite make anything out, but then there were a few rocks blocking her sight. A look around provided nothing to help identify this unknown horse. It had to be a horse or horse like thing. Carrying on her way Salma walked up the rocky path that lingered with the scent. These days she wasn't quite so surefooted and the soil seemed to be soft; or maybe she was just old. What short climb it was.

Finally she could safely look up at the ledge and saw what looked like a human. A human!?! Her ears pinned back and she snorted harshly at the thought. How could a human be living here? After all Salma thought she had searched every crevice, beach and gorge of this island for such a thing. Nevertheless, it had to be dealt with and a closer look to be taken. What little foliage there was seemed to be blocking the rest of this beast. Taking a few steps she peered around, to see the body of a horse underneath it. Looking at the ground she tried thinking back to how that could have happened.

Her eyes blankly searched the ground as she thought for minutes on end. Oh yes...that explosion. Well they were trying to fuse the two species together anyway. Apparently there had been more than one or they were not completely sterile. This male didn't look anything like the humans she had seen or met. Still she felt drawn toward him. Maybe it was the human half. Yes, something she remembered that seemed caring. Still this creature was two species and she wasn't quite sure how to communicate. Did she nicker or say hello? Normally humans couldn't understand it when horses talked to one another. Salma guessed it sounded like a bunch of snorting, wickers and nickers to them. Of all the things she could do the mare couldn't speak human. Taking a few steps forward, a nicker called out. More of a greeting really. It still seemed to be sleeping and she didn't want to startle it. A safe distance of fifty feet should be enough..

[Citadel]

beneath the eyes of the gods,

Over the course of the bitterly cold night, Citadel’s hulking body had migrated what little it could afford toward the fire he had built. Said fire now dwindled pitifully within the ring of charred, granite chunks. All but the glowing embers had left, and they popped and stung him slightly whenever the breeze picked up. His weathered skin was obstinate enough to ignore the biting ash, and his body laid sprawled on its side, equine legs spread lazily out, spine curving around the edge of the fire pit, an arm engaged to prop up his skull away from the gravel floor beneath him. Occasionally he stirred in sleep, but never woke entirely.

Her approach was unnoticed in his slumber, but her nicker would not fall so ignored. Eyes snapped open, his back to her, and for a moment he did not move. A million questions plagued him. Had this place not been open to conquest? Was he about to receive a very rude welcome? From the sound that echoed in his ears, the later seemed implausible. The sound had not been in anger, had it? It was not a sound he heard often. Deciding it was rude to lay here in vulnerability, Cato soon pulled himself into action.

Human torso twisted, arms propping it up in an attempt to aid the equine half of him in righting itself. His eyes fell on the questioning mare in the distance, questioning her silently in return. Unsure of how to deal with her, he only continued to right himself, eventually pulling his massive body up from the ground and onto all four hooves. He maintained a non-threatening stance, but found it difficult because of the size and oddity of his form. What human-made nicker he could muster was offered in return. It had been a long time since he had seen a horse, not since his youth had he found himself in the means of conversation with one. It had been a decade. It was difficult, he remembered, to speak with them. However, he had known of a few who seemed fluent in the task. It required some sort of hybrid language, something as creole, two languages blending into some mysterious, elegant, mutant concoction. Cato imagined neither of them were equipped to the task.

A large, feathered hoof was lifted in tentative advance, hands held in a submissive posture, fearing frightening the mare into flight. By her actions, he guessed she was unsure of him. The feeling was reciprocated. He spoke softly to her, understanding well that she would likely have no clue, but finding it his only avenue of proposing submission. He looked not to belittle her, but could figure no other way to prove his gentleness.

here lies the littlest of lambs

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OOC: I figure we may have to make up a language right quick.

[WaT]

Some feeling had told her that the thing might be dead, she couldn't really see a pattern of breathing. Where was she to look though? Snorting the mare tossed her head forward, taking a step or two back. It wasn't an elephant's size but surely bigger than her. Taller at least. It might even be able to outrun her. The girl found herself staring at the ground thinking again. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

This intrigued her though. For once in awhile, she feared for her life, even if it would not end. A sound brought her attention back to the thing. She should come up with a name for it...or its form at least. What was the word? She couldn't remember. More sounds came from this man - something she would call him for now. It was easy to remember and half human seemed offensive. Snorting she slowly closed the distance between them. Salma didn't get too close though. She was more interested in the shiny things that seemed to be weaved into his tail.

A look was all that was needed. More human things that she didn't understand the meaning of. Pretty though. A snort of approval. If only she could fasten such things in her tresses. More gazes brought more curiosity. Still standing off to the side of him proved to be a good vantage point. you're very strange. I can barely remember the last time I saw something similar... she didn't mean to be rude but it was the truth.

Any human that didn't know of this island or its history would think both of them to not exist. Even if he was only part human she found herself being a little friendlier than normal. The mare always had seemed to be a little too friendly with humans. She had to remember not everyone liked being licked on the face and a few times she had stepped on some feet. What was the word? Clingy?

Pawing at the soil, she grew a small patch in front of her. She was still hungry after all, but chose not to eat just yet. Maybe he couldn't even understand what she had just said. In way this was good...

[Citadel]

beneath the eyes of the gods,

Citadel suddenly found himself under inspection. As fearful as the mare seemed, she also held curiosity within her, which he found strange and intriguing. Perhaps this quality would make her easier to handle? Perhaps it would make her less prone to flight? He, too, was curious of her, however, as he had never before seen one with such a mutation. Of course, he had become familiar with the concept through his studies, but had come into contact with very few horses in living, breathing condition. Most had been roaming colts kicked from their herd, searching stupidly for a new home among those who did not welcome them. Citadel’s herd had been a group of beings, closed off and unfriendly, even among themselves. He did not miss them, for there was no redeeming quality to them of which he could miss.

Allowing his stance to relax, he still felt awkward about her curious gazes. He knew he would be strange to her; half human, the human part not even true to its original intent, tail docked short, metal shoes affixed to broad hooves that were as plates. Her sounds felt awkward to him, as though he should understand. Cato felt as though he could pick apart bits and pieces of it if he tried, but shrugged the feeling off as craziness for the moment. The sounds were in his genetics, muted from him over a century of breeding and genetic dilution. He was predisposed to find them in time, and his curiosity almost assured that he would seek the knowledge out. The idea itched him, nagging. “I…” he shook his head, face portraying a feeling of frustration. “I don’t know, girl.” Hands were pulled up in a defeated manner, a sigh. He himself spoke a language that was not common to any human culture nor the equine species. It had once been more like both, but time had wrought its own decay. Or was it evolution? He knew not how to classify it.

“I wish I knew.” Eyes were downcast, watching the grass sprout up between them. It was more a desire for knowledge than a desire to know her. He did not figure she would be of much interest. I mean, what interesting things did horses do? Eat and roll in dirt? He thought them silly beasts.

In a moment he turned, stooped, reached for a branch collected the evening before. With it, he stoked the fire slightly, bringing forth six inch flames on the coals which remained. They lasted only a moment or two. He gave up on the pursuit, using a large hoof to kick dirt over the remnants of warmth. The sun would replace it soon.

here lies the littlest of lambs

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[WaT]

Sighing she took the time to scrap the tip of her horn against the soil. In her actions she had drawn a line between them. Deep and yet shallow. Taking another look, she noticed how short his tail seemed to be. How could that swat at his sides. Maybe he drove them away his hands. Hmmmm...yes that seemed to be the right term. He spoke and she raised her head as if what she was hanging off his every word. A huff. Salma couldn't understand a word of it.

Lowering her head, she plucked a few stems and chewed thoughtfully. Having the grass grow around the male she continued eating. The mare wasn't sure what exactly he ate. Surely all things there were horse ate grass. In some form at least. More words or mutterings as she heard them. She watched him for a bit poking the pile of ash. If there was only some way she could help. He must be cold, being almost half naked. She didn't exactly want to make it obvious. Males seemed to be creatures of pride. I can't understand a thing you're saying dear. might as well give him a pet name. Until they found a better understanding way of exchanging names. That was what she would call him. It's what her mother would have done..

Licking her lips, Salma noticed shiny metal flecks in the beast's feet. This was certainly odd or at least she made it appear to be. Snorting she ventured over head lowered looking at them. So much so now she was within reach. Her curiosity seemed to get the best of her at times, even with the humans. Like a cat underfoot she never could truly be shooed away, if she wasn't done investigating. Carefully a hoof picked up and gently scraped against the flecks. His hooves seemed to be enough to allow this. Either way this was pretty odd behavior but when you could live forever everything out of the blue had to be learned. Still while she gawked at his feet, tiny patches of moss grew over the dirt in the stone circle. Nothing seemed to happen so she let it catch on fire. It was small though and the moss quickly blackened, but it would thrive for a few minutes at least. Enough to give the man time to add more or put it out.

Pulling her head back, she peered down toward what seemed to be the meadow. I...can show you were the water is.....if you like.... she said rather loudly as if he was hard of hearing. Turning around she walked off, turned and beckoned to him to follow if he wanted. If not he could find his own way.

[Citadel]

beneath the eyes of the gods,

He watched her quietly as she scraped her horn in the ground between them, penetrating the gravel-type layer to find the softer soil beneath. For a moment, the human portion of him almost became overwhelmed with the symbolic nature of the action, almost leaning to guess that her little line was an act of indifference toward him. Did she detest him? Was he acting out of line? He wondered if he should apologize. But how? And for what? His feelings of insecurity were quelled when she acted again.

The patch of grass swelled around him and she grazed calmly from it. This act alone was enough to prove that she held no malice toward him. She would not act so comfortably if she wanted him gone. Seeing her graze did, however, remind him of his own hunger. Grass was a considered dietary option among Citadel and his centaur companions, but only in harsh times. Not only was it unpalatable in almost every state, it was an awkward thing to gather, requiring one to kneel or lie down and then reach stupidly out for whatever blade was chosen. Thusly, Cato tended to live off of a more protein based diet. Small birds, seeds… pretty much anything was fair game, including horses and rival centaur… but those were usually beasts that had been killed for trespassing or some other wrong and eaten out of necessity.

She spoke to him, much to his misunderstanding, and he wiped his hands together in an attempt to remove the soot from them. It seemed a useless task, as the soot was almost the same color as his skin. It hardly showed on him, but the gritty feeling was unpleasant. He pursed his lips together, silently cursing their lack of communication, thinking that the only way to cure it would be to venture back to his clan, ask about for anyone who still retained that knowledge. He refused to do so at the moment. This was his time out on his own: a return would be seen as a disguised failure.

As he thought over all this, he hardly noticed her advance. When her hoof met his, he reacted by lifting it slightly from the ground in a more relaxed state. What did she want? Was he standing on something? Human torso craned around to look down at the offending hoof. He saw nothing. She continued to inspect it. He picked the hoof further from the ground, trying rather awkwardly to see the bottom of it. Then it hit him. What a dolt! She knew nothing of his culture. How could he expect her to find him normal?

Amidst all of this, the fire sprouted up again. The wet, living moss caused the smoke to come from it to be odiferous and black. Anything would do, however. He would need the fire throughout the day for a multitude of tasks. When he became hungry, thirsty, anything. Today’s first bit of agenda was shelter, however, and he would go about that in the traditional way. Again, he returned to stoking the fire, leaving her for a moment to gather a few of the strips of driftwood from the night before. Arranging them in a fashion he deemed pleasing, fire licking his fingertips here and there in the process, was found necessary. Soon, one strip caught fire, then another, another. Shortly, the whole pile crackled with life once more.

She turned to move away from him and he watched intently, sensing an offer in her beckoning. She moved off, turning back toward him again. Slightly frazzled and unsure, he looked to the fire quickly, trying to determine if it would survive his absence. He was unsure, but quickly grabbed his bag, threw it over his shoulder and picked up a, perhaps too zealous, pace, trying to catch up with the mare. When he did, pace was allowed to match hers. Cato felt himself unsure as to how he should treat her. As an equal? She did not speak his language! He felt tempted to interact with her as one would with a pet. It was the only logic he could muster, the only way he could find some sort of language between them.

here lies the littlest of lambs

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[WaT]

What a strange creature this was. Normally any horse would welcome the sight of grass but he seemed undeterred by it. Either way she didn't really care. As long as he wasn't going to try to eat her, everything would be fine. She knew very well what the metal specks meant. She herself had worn horseshoes at one time. Even in the chaos just before they had left, the humans did take pity and remove the shoes from those that could be caught. Those that ran were condemned to a painful short existence. It was hard to throw a shoe these days and so they usually ended up dying of some infection a few years later.

At first being barefoot felt odd to the mare but she quickly got over it. Licking her lips an eye occasionally glanced over at the creature. He seemed to walk almost the same way as she did. Even more odd he was now carrying something along. Salma wished she could carry stuff of importance with her. Turning to the left continued onward. That pond had to be around here somewhere. She herself had created it so why couldn't she remember? Maybe it was because her own thoughts and maps had mixed with another beach. Now they were just wandering in the small meadow. That's right she hadn't worked that much on this stretch of land.

Snorting at her own incompetence the mare sprinted off. A suitable place for a water source had to be found. Whether he followed or not it didn't matter much right now. Someplace that was easy to reach. Reaching a hill she stopped abruptly. Peering down at a dry sandy circle. So...she had created something just left it to dry up. Why not? No one had tried living here before.

Sighing she shook her head and walked casually down to the sand. It wasn't that long of a walk. Looking up at the cliff it was within sight. Pawing at the dry sand the mare hung her head in defeat. Unless this 'man' drank saltwater something would need to be created. It was hard creating water sources without a natural spring underneath it though. No...she would have to reroute a river from one of the forests and bring it down here. That would take days. Snorting feathered limbs carried her to the center and pawed at the billions of grains. Soon the girl was digging a small hole. As difficult as it seemed to be, she continued. Three feet down there was still nothing.

The sand wasn't even the slightest bit wet. It had dried a long time ago. Oh well sand was good for something. It had to be. Hopping out of her small trench Salma looked behind her trying to find the creature but gave up. Hunger was too great and so she took the few steps onto the green yet crunchy grass. Only a thin layer of frost here. It was fresh and crisp in her mouth. Sighing she guessed her day would be spent here trying to figure out this creature and making improvements. After all who was going to stop her? This beach was hopeless. She hadn't explored it that much as it was close to the mountains and to bring a river from her beloved orange beach was out of the question. It was just too far.

[Citadel]

beneath the eyes of the gods,

They wandered the meadow and he looked about him, hoping to find anything he could gather from. A bush or tree that held fruit, maybe? The time of year was not exactly suited to such things, though a few winter berries could be searched out with time. It seemed he would be living off of shellfish pulled from the coast, fungi from the forest and grass from this meadow, possibly seaweed and other such things. He would try to stick to a vegetarian lifestyle, but it was not something he was accustomed to. A few squirrels or birds might have to give up their lives for the satiation of his hunger. His stomach rumbled, but it had to be ignored for the moment. Who knew where this silly mare was leading him?

As he thought all this over, she left him suddenly. Was she abandoning him? He imagined so, until she stopped and gazed down at something he could not see from his vantage point. Citadel wondered what she had found, but as she had not called for him or goaded him on, did not make any quick moves in order to follow her. He kept his eye on her, but casually divvied up his attention to focus on food as well. A scrawny bush was located on a hillside a few dozen yards from her, shaded beneath two equally scraggly looking trees. Within its frostbitten branches he managed to locate and dislodge a few small, unripe, purplish black berries that had been the casualties of winter frost. He rolled them around casually, squeezing one or two between his fingertips, popping a couple with his blackened fingernails. Some of them, he found, were too rotted for consumption. Others, though, would be suitable if boiled down and mixed with some other, more palatable things. As well as food, he considered the possibility of dye. The pouch he ritually carried upon his black was of pale tan leather. It could use some color. He was not sure if purple would be the color of choice, however. It was… girly. In the bag they went.

Eventually, she disappeared in his distraction, falling behind the hillside she had once been atop. He moved to relocate her, but not before inspecting a few fallen seedpods scattered among the exposed roots of the trees. He deemed them unusable and moved on. Down his hillside, up the one she had been on. At the top he looked over and found her digging a hole in the soft, sandy earth. If he had understood her intent, he would have likely tried to help. He moved back down the side of the hill opposite to her, inspecting a small animal’s burrow and a few dried, crumpled mushrooms within the vicinity. He took his choice of the mushrooms and tossed them in the sack, noting the animal’s nest and considering coming back to it later. If the creature within it was not serpentine, he may have a good meal in store.

He strode a bit and found that there was little else in the area. Sweat was beginning to form upon the equine half of him, frothing up and creating a layer over his slick black coat. In contradiction, his naked human half showed goose bumps that came and went in waves. It was an awkward feeling which he found no solution to. The idea of clothing had never really been a pleasing answer to him, even though a few of his clan did wear such articles.

His mission for food abandoned momentarily, he again went to find her. Returning to the top of the hill, he found that she had moved off a bit. He hauled himself down the slope in her direction and came to her as she stood grazing, again considering the vegetable matter which he despised. He threw the sack on his shoulder, the sound of reclaimed metal utensils bombarded by hard berries carrying from the depths of it. Much of what he “owned” was well over a hundred years old, antiques scavenged from ruins for use in various centaur settlements. There were only a few of them, but some trade did occur. I’ll take your copper bowl, and give you three dead rabbits in return! Make it four, and you’ve got yourself a deal. Sometimes you ended up getting your own belongings back in a later trade because there was so little of it to go around.

Saying nothing, but being within her reach, he simply moved to keep himself occupied. Turning his torso about as far as he could, hands reached for the strip of mane that sprouted from his lower back. Readjusting the beads and pushing them up the strands, he hoped to secure them. They were something he lost frequently and had a hard time replacing. The glass came from shards found along the coast which were broken and painstakingly drilled through with tiny metal implements. There had been only one in his group that took the time to do as so.

He smacked his lips. “Seems the ocean is the driest place.” Truth, he could boil that water… filter it… but that was so painstaking. “May have to go up the mountain into the Range and haul water back…” he thought allowed, considering for a moment the possibility of rerouting a creek over the cliff’s edge. It would be a nice advantage, but impossible for him.

here lies the littlest of lambs

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[WaT]

This grass a bit bitter. It would have to be burned in the summer to allow new regrow. Unless it was just winters cruel take on such a thing that could be sweet. There needed to be more shade here really. It seemed to be too open for herself but she didn't live here. Hmmmmm maybe he wouldn't mind the redecorating. Scraping her horn against the soil again Salma cursed her obsession with keeping it short. Though by others standards it might be considered long. In the groove a sapling began to grow and the mare backed up as it got bigger.

The mare wasn't sure exactly how she could make things grow so fast in the prime of their time but she could. Soon the apples formed and a few fell from the branches. She didn't take to eating them though. Water was on her mind as now she was thirsty. Prancing back to the sand she began digging again. Why was she digging again? Hopping out she stepped back onto the grass. Having the sand part and move to her will it rumbled a bit. Until finally it stopped and she peered down the hole. There seemed to be no water here and the sand fell casually back into place.

Snorting she pranced off toward the mountain range or beginning of them. The humans had made pretty waterfalls for their own....pleasure. So water had to be there right? Enough prancing. He wasn't of her species and it was a waste of energy. The man wouldn't understand anyway. A few moments passed and she stood at the top of a cliff. There wasn't much she could do. Moving this would ruin whatever ecosystem was here. Still it wasn't that far of a drop, there had to be water down there somewhere. Her quest was not just for him but for her as well. Sighing her ears flicked back in frustration. She had promised him after all...

Looking to the left she found the small trail that led down. Good thing as she was considering jumping. This was narrow and the rocks scraped against her body, until finally she seemed stuck. She couldn't back out nor go forward. Huffing she tried pulling her front half over the rocks. Maybe she could push them or something, they looked like dulled spikes though. Even if she could mountains, Salma tried t only use her powers when needed. Well the elemental ones anyway. Flaring her nostrils she found something peculiar. A cat? How could that be? Sure the humans had them as pets, but wouldn't they have died out?

Judging by the tabby who was staring at her from a distance away, she guessed not. A distance away she could hear the waterfalls. So she had been right...sorta. Sighing she tried to remain calm about the situation and leaned against a rock. Which gave way almost instantly. By instinct and nature a distress call rang out as she lost her balance. A thud and a grunt. In the fall her face had brushed against another rock. Making a rather nasty gash. Trying to get up she steadied herself, noticing that a good size length of her horn had been broken off as well. Exactly what she needed to look as shabby as a horse could get. Well maybe not but she felt pretty awful about it. Now the absence of her horn seemed to bother her.

[Citadel]

beneath the eyes of the gods,

Citadel felt far from deterred by the mare’s redecorating. He saw nothing wrong with the improvements that she made, but still something irked him. She was more powerful than himself, and he therefore felt a bit threatened. If she could grow trees and start fire, could she not fell a tree or set him alight? She probably could. But, as of this moment, he felt rather sure in her gentleness, stability. She seemed goaded by curiosity, and it was something he could respect.

She. The mare. It. The horse. The beast. It all got rather redundant and awkward in his mind. Had she not a name? Of course she did… unless these heathens went without! He thought it possible. Still, there was no communication of such between them, and he would have been hard pressed to make something up. Cato boasted no creativity in anything but the hunt. Regardless of her title, a tree did stand before them, fruited and lush. He thought on it, then on her return to the sand pit. His blessings came that she would achieve whatever it was she found so pertinent, but he was unsure of what he was trying to convince the gods to do. She was as a swine, searching vainly for truffles or as a child in search of something lost in a place where it would never be found. He wondered why she dug, if she seemed so versed in the powers of the Uchipe creatures. Perhaps she did not hold that skill. There was no way of him knowing.

She stopped, her gaze meeting the empty pit in a way that made him pity her, as mankind so often loved to do. “What are you looking for?” The words were more for effect than anything, in hopes of maintaining his calm persona. But, she ambled off fancily without regard for him. Even so, he followed her cautiously, afraid that she was retreating into a place where he would be unwelcome. She seemed undeterred, however, and he kept on but at a distance. Halfway up, his grey eyes peered up to find her perched at the top. When she turned to come back down, his trek was abandoned and he waited, expecting her to return with haste.

When a few minutes had passed without sight of her, Citadel began to grow anxious, even slightly upset. Had she just left him here on the side of this wretched hill? He fumed for an instant before pulling his body into motion, intent on figuring out what had become of his company. His journey was begrudging and slow until the sound of her anguish echoed down into the valley below. A quick change of direction, a hasty change of pace. It made him breathe with slight discomfort. He decided he would have to do more work to make up for his recent laziness.

Agile as he was, it still took him what he deemed to be an unreasonably long time to get to her. When he did however, he was unsure of what to do. A slumped body. Blood. Much to his relief, she pulled into motion and rose up even as he continued his advance. Horn broken, she seemed a pitiful beast. He would have to at least try to help her. The wound upon her face would not go untreated if he had any say.

“Hey…” he spoke quietly, afraid of her spooking after such an incident. Knowing he would have to try to get her out of this place, he began to calculate which rocks could be pulled from behind her. A few were small enough, around her hind end, but many seemed immobile. He tossed his bag away a few yards and set to moving the ones he could… a centaur body is not build for great lifting power.

here lies the littlest of lambs

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[WaT]

Her head low the mare stood there seething. How could she be so foolish to try and find a normal way out? No from now on in situations like that she was going to use whatever means necessary. Ears already pinned back caught the soft tone of the man. He seemed to be trying help her out. There was water here though, she could smell and faintly hear it.

Licking her lips Salma noticed that the blood had ran down from the wound. She didn't dare brush the liquid away, it would only sting and burn. Snorting she carefully turned around to face the creature that was trying to free her. Flicking an ear she sent most of the rocks rolling away to form a pile nearby. It had not been her intention to test him but this act of concern or kindness was noted. Soon though the wound had healed and nothing looked out of place. Except were the blood had fallen victim to gravity. Rubbing her face against a foreleg she only made the drying cells smear over the surrounding fur.

thanks...for trying at least. she said a bit angry. Not at him but at herself. Still. Spinning around she trotted off in the opposite direction. The one she had been traveling in the first place. As she passed the cat ran under a nearby bush. Good. The thing had some sense to get out of the way. Looking up she still missed the sight of the spiraled horn. The tip had healed over though now and a few months from now would be a bit longer. It would take a few years for it to grow that long again. Something she ironically looked forward to. Thinking about other things, her hooves soon splashed in the cold water.

Stopping she looked around, finding that it was almost exactly like it had been left. Natural. Backing up Salma lowered her head and drank greedily from the pool. One of the only things that could be counted upon was that the humans had not tampered with the water. They all drank it so naturally it would all eventually be mixed and they did not want the side affects from their own doing. Lifting her muzzle the damsel once again spun around and moved back to the creature.

Water dripping from her lips she stopped at the bush the cat might still be hiding under. there's water if you want some she said blankly. There had to be a way of communicating better. She knew not of such a way though. Salma had never come across a human that could speak to her and know what was being said.

[Citadel]

beneath the eyes of the gods,

Water was not his main quest, nor was the rescue of this mare. Still, he was bound to help her by the tethers of his own religious beliefs. Or, he believed he was. Horses held no ties to mankind. Did they have to be saved? Did the gods even care about them? He was not sure whether or not it really was required, but did not figure it could hurt the chances of him falling in their favor. Maybe, just maybe, he would be blessed in return? It was a vain hope, but he figured it was worth the effort if he could have a good fishing season or harvest ahead of him. This winter would be brutal on him along the lashing sea coast, whipped by the sea winds and salt. It was worth a try.

Before he could do much good, she acted out, and his attempts were forcibly abandoned. The rocks rolled away with a relative ease. Again, he wondered why she had labored so hard to dig the hole in the sand pit below. It did not matter, did it? In the end? He decided not, and that he was being silly for pondering on the topic so intensely. He would never know what her intentions were, so why bother? Her words fell on deaf ears, again he wished to understand. That would be the labor of his time spent here at the beaches. He would find a bridge between them. She turned, trotted off. Gathering his bag, he took off after her, concerned for the accident-prone beast. Water splashed, he slowed.

The pool was not near enough to his chosen home to be entirely useful, but at least it would be there in times of great need. He would have difficulty hauling what he needed back down and around the cliff, and there was no chance of him being inconvenienced to the point of running up here every time he needed to wash himself or have a drink. Or, maybe there was… it all depended on what else he was able to locate.

She drank, returned, spoke in her unfathomable language. He looked on at the water and at her before approaching the edge. Black-fleshed hands dug clumsily through the leather pouch as it hung on his shoulder, eventually grasping and retrieving a rather aged Mason jar, the copper colored lid of it dinged and patina-wrought in its age. Kneeling and twisting the lid away, he filled it and drank. The second time he filled it, the lid was sealed back into place and the jar returned to the depths of his bag. The weight of it was pleasantly laced with dreams of a meal. “Hmm.” The sound was that of one who was pleased.

Eventually he returned to her, then passed her, his great black body controlled by a mind that thought airily about the return back down the hillside. Not just yet, though. He wanted to look around a bit, find whatever resources could be found. More berries were located, though these of a kind he found unfamiliar. He was unsure of them. Poisonous? Assured of his own strength, one entered his mouth. He rolled it over his tongue. It split, releasing horrible bitter juices over his tongue. Either this was poisonous, or wanted to act it. He spat the greenish berry out, wiping the spit that dribbled from his mouth on the back of his forearm.

A whistle in her direction, trying to get her attention. Would she know? He had no idea how to ask her… but figured he could judge by her reaction toward them.

here lies the littlest of lambs

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[WaT]

The girl was far too interested in inspecting the plant the cat had hid under to notice the male had gone behind her. Toward the water hopefully. It would be awkward otherwise if his intentions were less than pleasant. The feline creature had gone though and the man had made some whistling noise.

What did he want now? Grunting she pulled herself away and walked over. what? it might be rude but he couldn't understand her right? So she would take advantage of this for now. Though nothing wicked would he be called. Unless he did something foolish that deemed him such a name. Looking around she found the berries and snorted at them. So....she was the guinea pig? She thought not! Annoyed she pushed pass the bush and began exploring the small area on her own. He could eat them if he wanted. Salma hardly ate berries anyway so how would she know of their texture or taste? Brushing against the somewhat smooth bark of a birch tree, the mare sighed and lowered her head.

There was more moss here. That could be lit on fire. Salma never really used fire unless it was needed. It was unpredictable and dangerous. All she really had to do was imagine the plants around her on fire and soon a spark could form. Then carry on to devour anything in its path. No a better more constructive idea was thought of. She moved off back toward the water. Salma didn't need to pass him to get where she was going. Honestly did he really expect her to eat something she did not do so on her own? Pawing the bank she tried lifting part of the clay bottom up. It was hard though. With the weight of water on top of it. So it moved, reveling what she was trying to do. Eventually it rose in a ball of some kind, dripping wet. She made sure not to hold it over her....or that man. This was tiring though. Soon it flew through the cold air and hopefully landed in that circle of sand.

Only one way to find out. So trotted back up the rocky path to find she was just off her mark. By a few hundred yards. Oh well. It sunk in, creating a concave shell in the soil. Sighing her rear touched the ground in a sit. Sweat covered her body and so now she rested. Hopefully he wouldn't want her to try eating a pine cone.

[Citadel]

beneath the eyes of the gods,

A guinea pig was the last thing he had intended upon making of her. Being a curious being, he simply strove to find the answers to his endless line of fleeting questions. But, if she would not be so polite as to help him, he needed nothing to do with her. Her body pushed past him. His crudeness broke the surface of his emotional whirlpool. He did not coax his body into allowing her past with ease, nor did he stop her, however. A dinner-plate hoof stomped in dismissal. A few of the green berries went into his bag. Then a few more. If they turned out to be pleasant he did not want to be without.

Disgruntled with her, he did not pay much attention to her musings by the side of the pond: her digging nor her levitation of sorts. In fact, he had wandered off a bit. She was unimpressive to him. He knew many that could commit the same sort of acts. A bit in the distance, he stood digging through the bag, having realized that the berries he had tossed in were mixing in an unsatisfactory manner with the glass beads that floated among his possessions. Such intermingling was intolerable to him. It seemed… filthy. Blackened fingers pulled form the bag, clutching between their worn, jagged fingernails a few white and pale blue beads. He had no use for them and they had been toted along for quite some time. Cato was kind of a packrat at times. He sought the inevitable strand of thread that also formed the wad of possessions, pulling it out and proceeding to string the beads upon it. Meanwhile, he thought of the mare’s position again. She was nowhere to be seen!

Continuing to string the beads up with his large, clumsy hands, his body began to roam a bit, slowly for his attention was spread thin. When she was nowhere within sight, he retreated down the hillside in the belief that she had gone on home and left him there. He did not really care. Citadel had become used to doing everything alone. He cooked for one and ate for three. The brute enjoyed his life this way.

Eventually, with the strand of twenty or thirty beads tied around the strap of his bag, his gaze lifted and he found her a ways ahead of him. A rock blocked his chosen path and he jumped over it heavily but with little effort. Hooves slid in the gravel on the other side. Composure regained, he found his way into the grass of the hilly area once again. He decided not to follow her path, straying to the side, heading back to his own home. Unlike her, he had not eaten today, and he felt starved. She could stay here and go about her petty musings if she liked. He was going to go fish.

here lies the littlest of lambs

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[WaT]

Snorting the mare stood up. Minutes had passed and now water was finally in the small pool. It was maybe chest deep. Most able to walk through it but not so shallow that it would dry up quickly if a few hot summer days came around. Sighing she sipped at the surface. This wasn't really for him but for anyone else here.

Speaking of him was he? Looking around she wandered toward the beach. It wasn't that much of a walk and after about twenty or so minutes Salma found herself within sight of the sea. The water seemed calm today compared to what it usually was. Not that it mattered. She didn't swim much in the ocean. Sighing she tried holding the water back by a few inches but it seemed to much. It was nice to know that she couldn't do everything imaginable. Well, without rest. Soon the grass circled around her, in a thick green carpet. Most of it was washed away but more grew away from the waters edge. Here she chose to graze again. It wasn't that bad to eat near the ocean. By summer this grass would have been blown away.

The mare paid no attention to the male. She was still slightly offended from the situation from earlier. Who knows if they could communicate better maybe she wouldn't feel so aloof with him. Pawing at the grass it easily was uprooted. More of it grew and quickly. Spreading down the beach like a bush fire, making it green and easier to see from a distance. Though it meshed in with the stems from the meadow next door. Flaring her nostrils pulled her head up from the meal; looking back at the lone apple tree. Well if he liked berries why not add a few that she knew were edible? As usual they grew as if it mid summer. Its bounty ready to be picked and eaten. She knew not of their names just knew some were blue, black or red. Maybe even a few purple ones as well. In all about ten bushes had sprouted around the tree.

[Citadel]

beneath the eyes of the gods,

Citadel ignored her as she grazed and sprouted futile little wads of grass in the bed of inherently unstable sands. Eventually, though, he did look up and out to the sinking tides. A soft, mocking snort left him as he watched the lapping waves take the tendrils she created out to sea. He stood about thirty yards away and, from his vantage under the cliff’s edge, knew that he was well out of her influence. She seemed ignorant… or maybe just lackadaisical. Why would you continue to do something that would not succeed? He saw no logic in this. Cato was not the type for whimsy.

He threw his bag down by the abandoned fire pit, the flames that had once licked crudely at the granite surrounding were dead and forgotten. He needed nothing from the pouch at the moment. It could stay here - he was tired of carrying it. He shook his head roughly, dislodging long strands of coarse black hair from his face. Having fallen from his usual tied-back style, they now maintained a much less strategic position in his line of sight. No amount of shaking would fix the problem, no matter how many times a day he tried. Thick fingers pushed the strands behind his ears. He thought for the millionth time of shaving his head bald. It would never happen.

Walking out to the water’s edge, but maintaining his distance from her, Citadel thought fondly of a meal. Black hooves eventually met the water, the mass of his Shire-like feathering sticking to his legs in the most disgusting of fashions. He was used to it. Water and twigs and dirt. Those feathers were a magnet for annoyances. For a no-nonsense fellow, Citadel had been born with a lot of frills. His body pushed onward into the waves until they crashed upon the sides of his equine half. He was unsure of what exactly dwelled in these waters, but prayed feverishly that the gods lend him something useful. Nothing poisonous, nothing gigantic.

It was only the draft blood that saved him from toppling as the water continued to engulf more and more of his body. He was not really looking for anything specifically, just kind of wandering out to sea. He would regret the salt water later, only being visible as a human torso for the moment, as it would chafe his skin horribly.

here lies the littlest of lambs

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