Pale rays flickered faintly through the pale mist which floated lazily over the awakening village. A scent of humidity could be sniffed in the air, increasing as the winter seemed to aproach with a cargo of white and cold presents. People walked back and forth, some mounted of old and tired horses, others dragging fiercely the stubborn donkeys and oxes and pulled their carts. Each villager paced, inmersed in their own thoughts, towards their destiny, towards their work places.
On the sky, covered with hazy clouds, the sun stretched, illuminating the green lands of the celtic north with a pale warmth which seemed to be unreachable. Strongly and fiercely did the moon deffend her position on the sky, and resisted the push of such strong oponent, not wanting to be retreated from the heights. She still mantained her pressence, although faint and fading, on the tops of heaven itself.
"There she is, envious and fighting to keep her control over her captured creatures!" commented one lady at the marketplace, while her hands squeezed tenderly one fleshy, bright and red tomato.
"Indeed this must be one precious one, for the Lady is keeping one long fight!" answered the shopkeeper, a plump woman who eyed the hand with mistrust.
One large, brown horse galloped, stomping the strong, black hooves on the ground. Moss was ripped cruelly from their roots, and muddy land was torn and left bleeding at the pace of the beast. The fibrous body rippled as each muscle moved to power the body forward. The glossy coat shone brighly, almost as if copper and gold built the beautiful body. It was a strong head, intelligent eyes, a gracious neck and elegant legs, as well as a slender and agile body. The animal responded with virtue and truth to the name of Stag, and as such he looked. He seemed to ignite the air with the flaming mane that set on fire when envious hands of light caressed it and brushed it.
On top of the beast was mounted a young man, on his early 20. He had a muscular body, trained with profuse exercise of a warrior and hunter, and was an expert jockey. He was dressed on a green tunic and leather pants, and light shoes to aid him on his ridding. His hair was the colour of night, splashed with luminous stars when the light reflected on its brilliance. He had well gained the nickname of Raven, but it was not his true name. His eyes were a pair of emeralds, green jewels that sparkled intelligence, courage and determination. His skin was pale, and his features were serious, reflection of pain and loneliness as nobody had ever known.
Shrieking with fear and running wildly before them was a doe, attempting to escape the cruel fangs of the predator that pursued her. Raven, the man, let loose the reins allowing the horse to increase speed. Gripping expertly with his legs, his hand reached out for the quiver. The bow was tensed, the features were tensed, and the tension itself was so thick that the female deer could barely rip through it. The man aimed and relaxed his fingers, opening the strong hand.
The arrow flew, whistling, sparkling with a murderous and unique fang. It tore through the air, breaking the silence, gashing open the tension, and splitting the fog. The deer shrieked nervously and flapped her ears when the howl of death reached her sensitive ears. Her eyes were wild, and her tounge lolled out between her teeth, and the slender legs made her jump in an attempt to evade the fatal shot.
Maybe it was destiny, maybe it was just the day, or had it been the fog, but the heaves had it that the arrow was to be evaded, and the head penetrated the hard bark of an alpine tree. Yellow amber, like gold leaked from the wound, and all sorts of insects fed on it, licking the sweet nectar.
Raven cursed, and in his fury he attempted to rip the arrow off its prison, yet only managed to break the wooden stick, hence recovering the eagle feathers that formed the tail. He kicked the animal's sides to urge him forward, and grabbed the reins once again to regain control over his horse. The doe seemed relieved, hence she didn't relax and continued her race with more vigor and strength than before. Before the young man was to regain his balance, the doe was out of reach, and faint blurr in the far depths.
He was not a man to give out easily, so redirecting the horse's paces, he galloped behind the moving bushes and the torn branches, and the gashes on the ground. He leapt clean over a moss covered log, and landed graciously on the humid ground. And the horse stopped dry, and reared up on his hands, and recoiled tossing his head with fear, and eyeing the ground with tremor. The man patted the neck of the creature and pulled on the rein to make him relax, sitting very straight he regained all control over the unpredictable animal. And then he saw the reason for his horror.
A wolf. Intelligent brown eyes observed the two creatures as if they were something she had never seen before. A sharp muzzle hid strong fangs and powerful jaws. The beast was covered with a sort of tan hair, bushy and fluffy, that made her look greater in size than what she really was. It was a silky fur, so bright it was misty in the morning light, yet it sparkled with the silver of the moon to whom she belonged.
The man was tempted to throw and arrow and return with such worthy price, for a wolf like this was very rare. He didn't, however, put his thoughts into practice, for his fascination for the wolf was such, he was unable to stop eyeing her. Their eyes crossed, venom green and wisdom brown, their strength was measured through their gaze. None moved, both too fascinated to even blink, and they secretly swore to find each other again. They didn't know why, but it was something they were urged to think and know.
The horse tossed his head, and neighed rather impatiently, stomping a hoof on the mossy floor. That startled the two creatures who tore the gaze apart, and lost their link from sight. Wolf looked at the vanishing moon, who had suddenly lost all the strength and was sucumbing to the fight. Eyeing the man for one last time, she retreated and vanished into the green depths, into the nature, fading and blending with it.
"Wait!" had called the man in a beautifully young voice, propper for an elf with such melodious tones.
But his yell was not to be answered, and the wolf was gone. But the man's heart was light, for he was sure that the animal who had captivated his heart was to be seen rather soon. He felt not disgusted for his thoughts, since his only intention was to admire the beauty of her being, and talk secrets with her under the stars.
Back in the village, a young woman dressed in peasant clothes reached one little table at the marketplace. On such table were placed all sorts of materials built and gotten from the goats and the sheep. Wool to be worked, virgin and fresh, or laboured clothes, milk and cheese, and various articles carved from the bones, like spoons, flutes and other items. The young girl smiled shyly, and lowered her head submissively, begging forgiveness as she approached the woman who was in charge of the shop.
She was pretty, but unoticeable under her clothes and her appereance. Her lips were fleshy and red like cherry, which played with a skin so rosy and pure like silk and snow, like the mist itself, and fresh like dew. Her hair was thick and bushy, and silky like velvet, a tan colour that floated hazily like a cloud. Her brown eyes were in an intelligence brighter than the sun, and they were proffound and deep like the secrets within night.
"Hermione! Late again? What do you do out there that keeps you from coming?" snarled an angered woman of a middle age.
"Sorry mother, it's just my walks are so precious that they distract me!" explained the young girl lowering her head even more, shy and ashamed.
"Well, then I will end up forbidding those walks if you are late once again. Now get to your work and start selling!" the woman growled eyeing the young girl, examining her with angered eyes that flashed in fury.
Hermione sighed and started her job, which consisted on attracting people to sell the material they owned. They didn't sell much however, hence the terrible mood of her mother, and the young woman could only find calm and peace on her daily walks through the humid lands of her kingdom.
Not long after there was a rather abrupt movement in the marketplace. Young women seemed altered, and their yells filled the air with joy and excitement. Hermione payed little attention for she knew the cause of their altered mood. They all retreated towards the other end of the street, where she supposed was the caused of all revolt.
The man called Raven by those who ignored his name was making an entrance in the village. Mounted on his horse, he pulled behind himself a fructiferous hunt, with two boars, a large stag and several birds, between those a large prey bird that was to become a decoration on the walls and shelves of his palace.
The girls yelled and extended their various charms to hook the young boy, and manage a date, or perhaps marriage with him. Some were thirsty for power and money, yet others were blinded by his looks, which were the most exuberant and noticeable in the whole town.
Other day the man would have made some steps with his horse, just to entertain the women that pursued him and, at the same time, just to show off a little before his friends. Today however, he chose not to dance with Stag, and urged the animal forward, towards his castle, where he viewed his closest future, and attemted to reach inmediatly.
Deceived at his departure, the women scattered and proceeded with their shopping and their doings. Some had just walked down in order of seeing him once again, but most had things to do before retreating into their living areas.
"Harry!" called a man with red hair from the door of his palace, waiving a hand vigorously in ways of salute.
"Ron!" called back the young man, Raven, waiving his hand, yet not far as vigorously, and rather weakly.
Before proceeding, we should mention that Harry is the son of a rather wealthy nobleman, Lord James Potter of Widgeton. His father was brutally killed in battlefield, being Harry just a baby. His mother, Lady Lillian Evans of Narwaryan, was a noble elven lady, of an extraordinary beauty, and such a noble character that made everyone love her. She chose to leave when, after her husband's death, his brother, Lord Jonas Potter of Widgeton, forced her to his pleasure.
Harry remained in the castle, in the care of a dear good friend of Lillian, one she had chosen herself to be the boy's godfather, Lord Sirius Black of Moorenyse. Lord Jonas was, gratefully, killed, found death after a hunt. People believe he fell off his horse, but the inhabitants of the castle know the elves doings in this event. Harry grew happy but lonely in a way, fresh in his memory the loss of his parents, and traumatized by the visions he had to support being just an infant.
But all was forgotten on this very day, by the sublime and blessed vision of a being of the very depths of magick itself.
"Geez Harry, sup? You look like you have inhaled the smoke of that herb that Sirius uses for relaxation!" Ron called, grabbing the reins and directing the horse towards the stalls.
"I have seen something so fantastic my friend, a vision like the heavens itself. Her intelligent, brown eyes, and her beautiful hairs was touched by the moon, for it floated like the clouds, in silky threads. We stared at each other, and I knew I had to see her again!" Harry explained, staring hazily into the distance, up the sky, and representing with profuse gesticulating the vision he had enjoyed.
"You have found a girl? Who is she then? You believe a wedding is to come?" bombarded Ron with a collection of excited questions.
"Relax my friend, I didn't say it was a woman, nor that I had romantic feelings involved!" Harry explained with an animated laughter, leaping off his horse, and patting the sweaty neck.
"Then what is she?" inquired the young man, rather nervous and slightly suspicious at the sanity of his friend.
"She is a wolf, the prettiest wolf I've ever seen, and her eyes were so human! I must see her again Ron, I will go tonight!" exclaimed the young nobleman, grasping his friend's shoulder, and smiling with a sublime look that was starry and hazy, and almost dreamy to a sane point.
"Harry, don't be stupid! That is a wolf you are speaking about, she will attack you!" the flaming haired boy barked, shaking his friend with vigor and strength in an attempt of pulling him out of his stupor.
"I know she won't! Trust me Ron, I'll go find her tonight!" Harry explained solemnly, placing a strong, determined hand on the man's shoulder.
Then, taking the animal's reins from Ron's hands, he dragged his horse into the stalls, to proceed into feeding him and cleaning him for his very own self.
Harry galloped on Stag's back with expert legs and graceful, back, as well as a gentle, but firm hand which directed power and control. His eyes scanned the hazy mista that seemed to float over the woodlands, gliding across the leaves like ethereal butterflies, swimming past the trunks like spiritual dolphins, misty snakes of uncorporeal matter sliethere under his feet. Stag snorted disgusted and nervous, and stomped lightly on the mossy grass, emmiting nothing but a numb silence, being absorved and drank the noise by the moss and the soft soils, thirsty of cachophony.
He saw that the moon, tired from her fight, had retreated to her bed, and her sleep was obvious in the brightness of the stars, which illuminated and vigilated each corner of the infinite for her. Their silent speech was to relate the tales of happenings in the world or mortals and inmortals, of phisical and ethereal, and all in general. Somewhat, Harry knew all mistycal eyes were placed on him, all glimmer of pale ice observed his motion, and all observant gaze examined with scrutinious search into the depths of his soul.
He kicked on his horse's sides, and urged him forward, yet holding a firm grip on the rein, in order to maintain him at a slow pace. And for long did he pace, but time seemed to had stopped as he penetrated deeper into the woodlands. The trees seemed to open and rise their tired and heavy branches up the air, in a way of clamor, oppening path towards some destiny Harry ignored. As a guide did the mist float before him, in the shapes of dolphins and mermaids, and serpents and manatees, and seals and all sorts of fish.
Then he saw the stars swimming in the depths of a mirror, and there, in the center of such crystal he saw the glorious vision that was to haunt him for eternity.
To Be Continued…
AN: Ok, introduction and boring first chapter, this wont be a long story, but I needed refreshing my mind from my most impressive one, THE WICCAN, I highly recommend it. Well, hope you like it.