Bards-Domain Adventure #1
"Write of a post-holocaust future world where magic has returned -
show the world through the eyes of a character"
I shift and stir in the hazy membrane between dreams and waking, lulled by the soft song of the dusk. The warmth of the day gone past cradles me, beckoning, and I shake it away only reluctantly as sleep slips from my grasp.
Slowly, I recall myself. Blood and bone, muscle and tissue, drawn from the fibers of deep memory. I sculpt them in thought, clothe them in life, slipping them on like a well worn set of clothing. The world becomes reality; grass beneath my feet and knees, the softly cooling breeze of dusk threading through the strands of my hair, carrying with it the scent of blossoms whos vibrant eyes are now closed beneath the light of the heavy moon.
I scoop up the strands of my hair, shaking it out, enjoying the feel of it. Stretching, I feel the heat of extended muscles, the delicious tingling pop of each joint as I rotate wrist and shoulder. To drift... to drift, dreaming, within the cradle of Nature's earthen womb is bliss. But the tiny sensations of physical life, the recollection of touch and scent and sight - there is still naught to compare it to, and so we return to it, as ever did moths to flame.
My companion stirs. His dreams reach out to me, lightly, the ghost of a polite touch skating soft across my mind. I reach back, gently prodding, and watch, pleased, as he draws himself forth from sleep to waking. There is a sensuous grace to his movements, a taut strength that hums beneath slender limbs. He shakes his head, as though to clear away the last clinging drowsiness, tiny grains of sand and earth falling away from the heavy locks of his hair.
I let my hand slip around his waist, bending to brush my lips across the warmth of his shoulder. He leans into the touch for a moment before drawing away, impatient. "Hunt," he says abruptly. Half turning, his eyes catch mine, the hint of a roguish grin touching his lips. "Let's hunt."
An invitation to play, harkening back to days long past. I let the smile spread across my face, let my teeth grow sharp in the moonlight. "The city isn't far. They always gather there, ruined or no."
"Then we hunt," he decides. His grin is lopsided, his laughter bubbling forth like effervescent humor that pulls my heart in time to its rhythmic surge. "We'll hunt, and feed..."
"And howl at the moon?" I offer, casting forth the memory of full throated wolf song echoing in the night.
There is the flash of tooth in his grin and the glint of deviltry in his eyes. "If you like."
Quick as thought he crafts it, sliding into it effortlessly, as though he has never known different. Tawny furred and rangy, with the lean suppleness of paw and tail. He turns to look at me, only his eyes unchanged, challenging.
I laugh, the sound bursting forth in delight. "And so legend becomes reality," I whisper. I take the image from him and craft it myself, slipping into it to view the world through another set of senses. Grass beneath my paws and the breeze ruffling at the silver of my coat. He drops his jaw in a lupine grin, the majestic sweep of his tail conveying his approval.
::Hunt,:: I remind him. In the eye of memory I can see the city as it was, bright even at night, a glittering wonder of the modern age with its neon and towering skyscrapers, its life that never slept no matter the hour. The hunting ground of paradise. Now... now the shattered hulk of it will be darkened, lit only sporadically by the meager fires that spit and hiss at the encroaching shadows, offering such dim protection to the poor mortals who huddle around them.
I can not decide which version of the hunt I prefer.
He nips at me, playful, and then in the scuffle of paws he is gone, a silent shadow amidst the deepening dusk. I voice my pleasure in a spiraling howl and then I am at his heels, loping through the darkness, two hunters together.