Ring Out in the Morn'

[Fritz]

Date: 15 Jan, 2007 -- 19 Jan, 2007

Characters:
Ramla,
Mar, Beauceron Mix

Summary: Ramla discusses with Mar about her dreams.

[Fritz]

Softly, small clicks tapped on the hard ground in the winter doused forest, the snow clinging thickly to the trees like a babe to a mother's breast. Scuffs of long calloused paw pads resonated through the seemingly empty land of the Death Stalkers.

Click click click tip tip click shff...

It was just morning when Ramla came out into the seen world, her thick winter coat keeping her from feeling the heavy fog that left crystals of wet on the tips of her beautiful pelt. The moonlight shone down still from dawn's stretching fingers of purples and pinks, making the tans of her fur show silver, and her white glow with a feel that seemed nearly spiritual.

For once, the femme was at ease, peacefully walking paw after paw through the trees. Ramla looked down at a puddle between her forelegs, staring at herself in the wet mirror. Shaking herself to free any hitchhiking leaves, the dog lowered her maw and sank her muzzle into the puddle, sliding a parched tongue down into the chilled liquid. She drank lightly, not caring for the dirt aftertaste. But it was something, she wasn't expecting it to soothe her soul.

Suddenly, Ramla stopped, her features tightening into a loose frown. "Why don't you come out?" she called, knowing he heard her. It was rare the Ramla was at peace with things, and this caused her to wonder why the brute had followed her.

Waiting for him, she leaned back onto her haunches and scratched at her old leather collar with a hind paw. Ramla then turned her sleek face in the direction of the male she had spoken to. The femme's face seemed so delicate and gentle at first glance, which is what made her dangerous, even deadly. But this time, oh, this time little Ramla was not wanting to ruin her mood with a spat. Which meant one thing, she had had a dream.


The fog hung thickly in the forest. It dampened senses and cast an even eerier mood across the heart of the Death Stalker lands. The dark shadows of trees rose up suddenly, often unexpectedly, forming disturbing shapes and hunched figures. The snow freely contributed to the sharp contrast of gray and white. The cold air bit and snarled, as menacing as the inhabitants of the lands it traipsed across.

Ramla's voice was heard, but not replied to. Out of the same damp veils that had hid him, Mar padded from. His tail was carried at a comfortable level, but there was an air about him that suggested dominance. He had become an Elite and had grafted to the position wonderfully. It suited him.

Dark mahogany eyes turned to the smaller dog and he gave a simple nod of greeting as he slid beside her. Familiar company. He noted her usual lack of tension and fierceness. Something had happened that night and Mar knew it wasn't another male...

"Did you have a good night?" The Beauceron asked in his usual dry baritone. It was a question that had several answers, but really, there was only one that Mar was looking for. He had been around Ramla long enough to realize when she had had one of those dreams...

((blech.))


The female sat straight as she heard his heavy paws trace across the ground. She shook her coat to ward off some of the wet and cold. Then, the brute sat next to her, the warmth from his body wafting to hers, as her heat went to him, keeping the two warmer than they had been by their lonesome.

Ramla looked at him sideways, her muzzle spreading into a grin that was nearly a sneer. "I certainly did," she replied, looking at his paws rather than in his eyes.

"It seems that those who walk with hell on their paws will experience something that haven't before. One who can slip past."


Mar, likewise, didn't make eye contact with Ramla, instead keeping his gaze fixed ahead. His jaw was set firmly as she began, and he carefully ignored her sneer. Their interactions this morning would be all business. Though he had the rank now to do whatever he pleased, he was not in the mood for anything else Ramla might offer...

The Beauceron had given to checking in periodically on the femme. It was her words that intrigued him and kept him returning. And though that wasn't her only asset, it was her dreams that he considered the most valuable.

"Those who walk with hell," he murmered, echoing back the mutt's own words. He had gotten good at figuring out her little riddles, and the first part proved to be of little challenge. The Death Stalkers. The next part was more difficult.

"Slip past. Slip past the Death Stalkers?" It didn't make sense. Slip past... He gave a small shake of his head, as if casting away the problematic thoughts for the time being. Like Man's Sphinx, Ramla's riddles were often meant to never be answered, and Mar had categorized this bit of information into that list. For now, of course.

"Was there anything else?"



This time, she glanced into his eyes for but a breath of a second before casting her gaze heaven bound.

"Two who are held high give this one rank. This one will be important until the worth is gone. The pawsteps are not known until the day committed, and then the payment owed will be cut out in the hue of dawn's slaughtered red. This will lead to great things, great power and great rumors. But the reality behind may never surface."

Ramla closed her chocolate orbs softly, her delicate muzzle slowly breathing the cool air as a poor soldier slowly savors the last taste of water in his dry canteen. A fair, strange, beautiful, and confusing creature.

She opened her eyes again, looking out past the trees. "I do not know more. That is all the realm of nighttime visions has allowed me to gaze upon."


The femme then changed her expression, her features not quite readable. "But.. there is another thing.. you, my elite, are a key figure to this charade of justice. It is you who carries out the debt's orders."


Mar's tail tip flicked at all of this. It was certainly -- what's the word? -- interesting. It would be of more interest, though, if Ramla's words were clear, or at least understandable. None the less, though it annoyed him to no end that her prophesying was spoken in riddles, his own superstitions kept him from casting them off as mere babble.

"It is you who carries out the debt's orders."

The Beauceron quirked a brow and gave a side-long glance to Ramla. This was new.

"Is that so?"

He would have to keep an eye out for the one that would slip past, as well as the "payment owed." This new bit of information was safely pocketed away, adding to the number of things to mull over later. A charade of justice...hm.


The mutt nodded. "Indeed."

She murred softly, a gentle rumble coming from her throat. "It's simpler than you realize."

Ramla still looked at his paws, not knowing what else to say.

The wind blew gently through her pelt, chilling her slightly.


- Fin-