Post by Silence on Jun 7, 2010 23:16:02 GMT -5
...things have been peaceful...
for ever so long here. Ever since the first Wind Turners, the first Fire Spinners. Ever since the first Pact. This agreement, though tenuous at first, has held strong through so many centuries, so very many years. Friendship and trust flourished in the once gaping wound of death, the Hell that was before. It got so that a horse could trust a wolf with his life, his family, his children.
That changed last night.
In one deadly choice, the Pact has been broken. Shattered. In one simple decision, the easier of two, both made in quick and unthinkable succession.
A foal has been killed. The body, small and deceptively hidden, was found only because a single drop of blood was left on a leaf. Red against green--so obvious it was silly. And it wouldn't have been so appalling if that second, violent choice had not been there, in plain sight.
The foal was cleaned. Not picked at, as from a crow or a fox. The body was meatless; the muscles and sinew and sustenance had been stripped from the bones.
Someone has eaten the foal.
This thing that has been done, it is almost as bad as cannibalism. The horses, of course they know that the wolves used to love the taste of equine hide. And still the wolves prefer their meat to the plants all around them. But the Pact has been sealed for such a long time that it is unthinkable for such a crime to have passed. Sure, murder is a part of life, whether from passion or mistake it is not always told. But a foal, killed for someone's evening meal?
It is unthinkable.
And now mistrust fills the flighty horses' hearts. They can no longer depend upon their protectors, their friends. The wolves collect anger instead. They are furious that the equines could blame their entire culture for one madman's crime. 'It is bad, of course, of course!' They cry. 'But it is the deed of one, not many!' And while they stew and fret over what has come to pass, the criminal sits in wait. Laughing at what he has caused.
What I have caused.
Tell me, why should I cry?
for ever so long here. Ever since the first Wind Turners, the first Fire Spinners. Ever since the first Pact. This agreement, though tenuous at first, has held strong through so many centuries, so very many years. Friendship and trust flourished in the once gaping wound of death, the Hell that was before. It got so that a horse could trust a wolf with his life, his family, his children.
That changed last night.
In one deadly choice, the Pact has been broken. Shattered. In one simple decision, the easier of two, both made in quick and unthinkable succession.
A foal has been killed. The body, small and deceptively hidden, was found only because a single drop of blood was left on a leaf. Red against green--so obvious it was silly. And it wouldn't have been so appalling if that second, violent choice had not been there, in plain sight.
The foal was cleaned. Not picked at, as from a crow or a fox. The body was meatless; the muscles and sinew and sustenance had been stripped from the bones.
Someone has eaten the foal.
This thing that has been done, it is almost as bad as cannibalism. The horses, of course they know that the wolves used to love the taste of equine hide. And still the wolves prefer their meat to the plants all around them. But the Pact has been sealed for such a long time that it is unthinkable for such a crime to have passed. Sure, murder is a part of life, whether from passion or mistake it is not always told. But a foal, killed for someone's evening meal?
It is unthinkable.
And now mistrust fills the flighty horses' hearts. They can no longer depend upon their protectors, their friends. The wolves collect anger instead. They are furious that the equines could blame their entire culture for one madman's crime. 'It is bad, of course, of course!' They cry. 'But it is the deed of one, not many!' And while they stew and fret over what has come to pass, the criminal sits in wait. Laughing at what he has caused.
What I have caused.
Tell me, why should I cry?