The wind washes over the tall grass, extending its tongue over the tall green-yellow shoots and caressing the leaves on the trees until they begin falling like feathers... Golden sunlight bakes the bare patches of earth red and paints the many scattered rocks. Here, in this quiet place, a stag walks along a well used path. He is young, only in his first year, but his legs are long. Gold stripes stretch across his back and wrap around his neck. Not many deer are here but this one seems best suited for the place. His black flexible hooves tread over sharp rocks as if they were flat ground. A single layer of short brown fur covers his body, getting fairly lighter around his face. It can't be seen at all, hidden behind the long, curved mask that he is seldom seen without. He raises his ears and turns his head suddenly, as if he can sense that he is being followed.
Something white dangles from his ear; a paper star threaded through with a thin piece of blue yarn. It is dirty and torn and stained from the elements. Still, the star remains in it's original shape, folded paper from a letter that is now completely unreadable. It means nothing to it's owner now, only a reminder of things lost that will never be found. He flicks his ears and begins to trot. His destination within sight, he slows and stops at the edge of the of the crystal clear little pool before him. He sets his mask aside and looks around one final time.
With his eyes closed, the stag lowers his face to the water until he can feel the cool moisture on the tip of his nose. The wind blows past him, heavy with the smells of deer, of drying autumn leaves....of life. His muscles tense and with a breath, he opens his eyes...
The human face of his past stares back...memories take over...
Suddenly the stag is no longer a stag. He isn't in the forest either. He is in the body that the face belonged to: he is thin but not skinny, has bronze eyes, and ruffled brown hair that is gradually being plastered to his head with rain. He is cold, hungry, and tired. It seems that running away wasn't anywhere near what he thought it would be. His younger brother, identical to him in everything but eye color and personality, is huddled next to him on the floor of the subway station, right next to the tracks.
Neither can say a word, only they know where they are headed to. The youngest pulls out a cell phone, its battery just a few minutes away from dying. The older stares at him in amazement.
"Coran, how did you get that?"
"I took it from Dad's car."
"When?"
"Right before he left..." He looks down. "Maybe that's why he hasn't called us."
"No...No it doesn't matter...he would never have called anyway...a month is a long time to be wondering if you can find your phone."
"I know,"
They are silent for a little moment. Coran flips the phone open and looks at his brother.
"Who should I call?"
"Don't ask me, it's all yours."
"You mean it?"
"Of course."
"Okay..."
He thinks, and then frowns.
"I don't remember Zanny's number, Rowan."
His brother chuckles incredulously.
"Of all people, our pen-pal?"
"You promised everyday...and we can't write any more."
"Okay, okay...fine then..." He pulls out a sheet of paper folded into a little star and hands it to Coran. "Remember the area code."
Moments later...the boys hear a familiar voice answer....
"Coran?"
"Zanny!"
He lowers his voice. "I thought you and Row' were going to write like usual."
"Not for a little while," Rowan says quietly. "We're not going to be home, but we'll write at least every week."
"Oh okay... where are you guys going?"
"Rowan says that we're going to New York to find Dad."
"He's still gone?"
"Yes...you said your parents were on holiday too, right?"
"Well I don't know...they're supposed to be on their way."
"Maybe when Coran and me get close to where you are you could meet us."
"We could all go together?"
"Really Roe?" Coran looks at him with wide eager eyes.
His brother nods. "I don't see why not."
...Then the phone dies. Rain continued to pour down. Not so far away, Rowan hears the whistle of the train... He sees Coran stand up and toss the phone onto the tracks.
He hears the whistle...
Coran doesn't seem to care about it. He stands at the gravel edge of the tracks, and starts shouting out things he'd rather say to his father. Rowan doesn't mind, the boy is eight, he says many things he soon forgets. He holds out an arm, preparing to pull his little brother out of harms way the moment the train should come by... though neither of them have ever been near one. Their plan is simple, wait for the train to come by, hop aboard, and get on their way to New York.
Perhaps, had it been the old steamer they were used to going by...
Perhaps, had it been something small, something slow...
Perhaps, if Rowan wasn't so eager to prove to his little brother that he could do anything...
The stag awakes with a jolt, night has already begun to fall. He cannot stand immediately, his legs shaking beneath him. He cannot think about what he has just remembered.
Wow, Kitty. This is amazing! I LOVE the way it is all setup. And the beginning is just beautifully written. I like the detail with the paper star, just loving it. Did you make that eye and part of the face at the top. I really like it. :3 And the part with the train… wow.
The only thing I probably would have to poke at is by then Kozan would not have had parents. (His parents would have died at a point he could only barely remember them. When he was even younger.) The reason he moved so much was because he was shifted through foster homes. But other then that this is perfect. :3
*Confused* Why would you need to redo it? It does not have to be exact with current forestness and story written human-ness does it? We could 'catch up' with the humanz writens.
Continuation of This
KITTY!! This is wounder
Adam The Puppet Master
Why thank-you ^-^
O) < cyclops smile....FAIL!
Adam The Puppet Master
Wow. That looks pretty
Will you continue doing these? :3
I'm not sure, really.
Wow, Kitty. This is amazing!
The only thing I probably would have to poke at is by then Kozan would not have had parents. (His parents would have died at a point he could only barely remember them. When he was even younger.) The reason he moved so much was because he was shifted through foster homes. But other then that this is perfect. :3
YAY! Thank-you ^-^*hops
Yep I drew it a hand-cramp from mouse-using goes a loo-ooo-oong way, lol
Okay, I've no clue how old they are though...*thinks* any ideas?
Will get rid of parents soonish o.o
Well, the story age is
Aw x'( I think i needs to
I think i needs to re-do this to fit his age...or just think up another one. But after you. *sits*
*Confused* Why would you need
Oh no it doesn't , for some
Okay then, but...your turn to writes?
My brain is pooped o.o