'Cause, baby, I could build a castle out of all the bricks they threw at me
Ashy paws stumble against earth in an uneven pattern, an irregular gate gives away the struggling pup’s misfortune. Valencia is stunning to look at, she is tall and lean, even at such a young age, her fluffy puppy coat manifesting her lack of days spent in this world, but not her size. A startling hue of alabaster, clean and fresh as the first snow of the year covers this lass’ entire physique, leaving her striking and out of place in the forest, easily seen, this marionette was designed for Tundra hunting, to blend with ice and snow. Perfectly irregular ashen blotches mar this danseuse’s gorgeous fur, in little merle patches, the color dipping deep and fading almost as light as the rest of her coat they appear across her dainty little muzzle, and spread eagle wide across her sharp little triangle ears. Another patch is found on each of her front shoulders, each splash of monochrome is small, the size of a child’s fist on her body, and perfect, as if each section was painstakingly hand painted by the finest of artists.
As sui generis as this tiny young femme is to look at, even more startling are her eyes, they are a light smokey color, that matches some of the hues within her merle patches, however, if you lean in a little closer, take a second look, you will find that they are unmoving. They stare forward, always straight ahead, as if looking past you, somewhere else, into a dimension only she can see. Her pupils do not dilate in the light or widen in the dark to allow more light, for if they did, she still would only see blackness.
This is the flaw that her off balanced gate reveals. Paws never quite leaving the ground, pads always dragging the earth slightly, searching in her own, ineffective way of obstacles and barriers. The bottoms of her dainty feet are already tough and callused, unlike that of most children her age, the constant grind of dirt or sand or rock against her feet has made them tough, and despite their resilience, the long trek she has been making with her family has left the pads of her feet torn, blistered, and bleeding. Valencia does not understand why they needed to walk so far, or why their mother insisted that they did not need stop to rest. Just constant movement and her brothers playing around her. She could hear their feet clipping and clopping on the earth below them, the walk has not seemed to bother them, for they have kept up a steady place, sometimes running ahead and playing.
Brynjar has stayed close, while the others wrestle and play, chasing down small prey and circling back to their mother, he has scarcely left her side. The slender young maiden felt the occasional brush of the tips of his multicolored pelt, just as thick and fluffy as her own. He helped occasionally, calling out obstacles along their way, and nudging her to the side with his icy nose when she began to stray too far. Helheim, seemed unconcerned with what exactly Valencia was doing, or where she was going, and she never uttered a word when the girl ended up so turned around that the clipping of hooves sounded faint in the distance and the strong scent of her mother’s perfume was wafting away in the air. It was only Brynjar, constantly searching for her, one eye always on her path and where she was headed that kept the girl moving, and when they finally stopped? It was his teeth on the nape of her neck that caught the young femme and pulled her to a stop.
She is completely exhausted, dead on her feet and almost about to fall over when they reach.. Wherever it is that their mother had been leading them to. But Val can not afford to simply sit, and wait for whatever is going to happen next. Life, though short had already taught Valencia that she was at a disadvantage, and Bryn had started to help her make up for some of her deficiencies. The alabaster marionette slips into a sitting position, Bryn at her back, she knows that she is safe from behind. Tiny ears pricking up and forward, they stand tall, like satellites on her skull, rotating back and forth.
Valencia can hear the sounds of the forest. She can hear the trees rubbing their branches together gently in the lazy autumn wind. She can hear tiny toes scampering on those branches, of little prey running back and forth. She hears the gentling scraping of dry leaves across the ground as one of her brothers swishes his tail back and forth, and the crunching of them as another pounces forward. Focusing a little harder, she listens more intently, but she hears nothing. And then, all at once her mother’s voice, rich and powerful pierces through the air, a lonesome call, eerie and melancholy in the still air of the night.
Val turns to her nose next, tilting her onyx nares, and breathing in deeply. A multitude of rich aromas meets her at once, the most powerful, is urine. It is piercing and strong, overpowering almost everything else, as if someone had marked a clear line, separating one space of land from another. She chokes on the intensity of the smell, and struggles to move past it, because it is everywhere, they are literally almost sitting on top of it, and for a second, Valencia can hardly breathe. But she pushes through, with more discipline than most her age, and searches again, her nose wiggling in the air. This time she catches the scents of those around her, her mother, and her brothers, but also, another wolf, moving toward them? The smell is too far away for the young, inexperienced girl to decide if it is coming closer, or if it has simply lingered in the course of the day, but with some practice, as she ages, Valencia will be able to paint more accurate pictures with her nose, than most every will with their eyes.
Another deep inhale allowees Val to smell the forest around her, the stale moldy leaves that sit underneath the fresh crisp ones, the faint traces of the squirrels that are playing tag amidst the trees, and something she had not heard, a bird of prey, swooping low and quiet, searching for a meal. It is not until she hears a rustling of leaves in front of her that the marbled lass lowers her nose, ears pricked up and forward once again, as someone new, and unfamiliar enters the scene.
Word Count: 1,113.
Valencia | Caidir Olc | No Heart| Pup
