((I like how you formatted that post, LittleStarWolf! Very nice to read, and it was interesting to hear them both cary the story.))
Musaleh (Max)
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Darkness still settled over the sprawling lands of
Maison d'Apparition. The current residents, calling themselves The Second Coming, had renamed the old federal style mansion, making it a figurehead for their movement. Squatting like a massive stone ant hill, the many pillars and brick were dim with neglect, and though structurally sound, the building looked tired. Here and there, windows had been replaced by heavy boards to keep out the wind, and iron gates drawn over the once airy courtyard. Little moved in the dim light, and the close-cropped grass surrounding the building was devoid of life. This empty space was known as the kill zone, and nothing larger than a rat could easily cross it unseen, allowing anyone who watched to do so from within the safety of the house. However, today was different, there were no shadows of guards in the windows nor the whisper of hushed voices. At the deepest part of the night, a great many of the movement had left in secret, moving deep into the city, lurking in the dark places where their hand-helt torches could easily blind any animal and allow them to be taken off-guard. Each one had their orders, and they were not discussed with the others, so where they all could have gone or why was known only by one man, and he now slept deep within the building's protection.
The interior of the over-sized house was just as still as the outside, yet not quite as lifeless. The soft sound of ruffled papers drifted from the back of the house, where a large library stood. Occupying the top two stories of the wet wing of the mansion, it was one of the few places where the original windows were still in place. Massive bookcases lined the walls of the cylindrical room, so tall that the only way to reach the top was with a clever little rolling ladder that would swing from one end to the other with a gentle touch. Lined with old books and lonely, haphazardly placed volumes, the held not order or reason to their placement, as though the previous owner had purchased them by looks alone. Silvered light from a dying moon streamed in through the high glass walls, spreading across the thick rug that covered the worn wooden floor. Settled into the middle of this lofty room was Musaleh, a large tome held neatly between his front paws with the pages spread wide to catch the light. His eyes were good in the low light, and though not as keen as the humans who had written the book he now read, he could see well enough to take in the words. It was rare for the great wire-haired dog to have time to himself like this, as he could not risk being seen reading when his master was about. It was simply impossible to find anything on purpose in this place, and he was the only one who frequented this room, as the humans were far to busy to spend time reading. Thus, he would come in and simply pull a book out at random, and judge its merits by going through it, and then sort it out by topic as best he could. Trying to bring some semblance of order to the chaos that littered his life.
This book though, had drawn the dog's attention more so than others, and Musaleh had laid for hours going over its pages. A volume of collected poems, the one that now held his attention was written by one Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, entitled
A Shadow.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote:A Shadow
I said unto myself, if I were dead,
What would befall these children? What would be
Their fate, who now are looking up to me
For help and furtherance? Their lives, I said,
Would be a volume wherein I have read
But the first chapters, and no longer see
To read the rest of their dear history,
So full of beauty and so full of dread.
Be comforted; the world is very old,
And generations pass, as they have passed,
A troop of shadows moving with the sun;
Thousands of times has the old tale been told;
The world belongs to those who come the last,
They will find hope and strength as we have done.
It was when he came across such things, that he wondered; were there humans out there who knew the end was coming, and what would come after? So many times he had read words that seemed like they felt the pull of the world beneath them, and wished to return to the earth. Yet, in practice, so few of them seemed to remember these words of forbearance, and stilled their minds long enough to let themselves be opened to the beauty and the truth that called them. Even those chosen few who had been chosen to inherit this empty world seemed to forget their gift and choose instead to struggle against the will of the heavens. Rather than accept that what they had so squandered had been spread out across all the peoples, they instead fought to take back the silly things they had created. He longed to speak with them, tell them that it was all for naught, and to listen to the others. There was just so much to be gained. However, he knew they would not hear him. He was nothing more than a simple dog. And yet, he felt and understood as he never had before, he knew their words and their ways, but where did that leave him?
During his travels before Musaleh had come to reside here with his new master, he had come across a book about dog training in an abandoned pet store. The first thing he had ever bothered to read besides simple signs and papers, he had been both horrified and fascinated by it. Immediately he recognized many of the techniques inside as those his humans had used when teaching him and his siblings how to hunt. Beyond that though, there was endless talk of domination and authority, lessons on how to lead and be the 'alpha' of the pack, to gain respect. Through respect came control and obedience, and with that, a well behaved dog. Had all of his kind been so humble and low? To blindly follow nothing more than a strong back and carefully portioned morsels of food? Needless to say, he was disgusted by the thought of what he had been, but as time passed, he began to read a deeper meaning in it. Beyond control and foolish tricks, it also extolled the virtues of positive reenforcement and a gentle hand. Quite simply, fear never accomplished anything, it was only through trust and cooperation that one could truly move forward in partnership.
Shaking his head as though to rid himself of his reminiscent thoughts, Musaleh nosed his paw to wet it and then gingerly turned the page. These human contrivances of fragile paper and leather may have been all fine and dandy for them, with their clever fingers and dexterous hands, however, they were difficult for him to handle with his clumsy paws. Had dogs discovered the written word first, books would have been made of something much sturdier, that wouldn't be so easily destroyed by teeth and claws. Suddenly, faint creaking made its way into the house, and Musaleh tilted his ears back to listen. This was a noise he knew well, and his familiarity with it was precisely why his master slept so peacefully in his empty house.
Quickly getting to his feet, Musaleh left his book and shook out his heavy brown fur. Not bothering to replace it, as he would surly want to return to it later, he turned trotted out of the room. Heading through the maze of darkened hallways to the front of the house, he put his front paws up on the window. Just as he had thought, the gate had been opened, and one of the several groups of hunters had returned. Dropping down back onto all fours, he turned and barked, the sound a pale imitation of the wordless call that used to encompass his entire vocabulary.
Knowing that this noise would be enough to wake the entire house, Musaleh quickly made his way to the front door and waited. Though he could easily have nosed open the board that barred the door, it was unwise to pull the handle without permission. This thought was two-fold. One, he was not entirely sure which humans returned, and they were likely armed. Anything rushing towards them on four legs was likely to become a target if they weren't careful. Second, and quite simply, he didn't want them knowing that he could get out on his own. Their thinking that he was confined allowed him some semblance of freedom, and he wanted to keep it that way.
Sitting back on his haunches, Musaleh didn't have to wait long before Joost appeared, wiping the sleep from his eyes. The human seldom slept very soundly, and was still dressed, so it was quite likely that he had fallen asleep sitting up in the map room again. Wagging his tail happily, Musaleh pranced on his front paws, waiting to be let out.
"Oh, who is it boy? Has someone come back?" Joost asked sleepily. Musaleh didn't answer he knew the question was rhetorical, and the human went to the window to squint out into the darkness. He was never going to see them, as they had already passed the bend in the road, and the shaggy brown dog let out a whine to remind him of such.
"Ok, ok, I'll let you out. Just be careful," he said, and opened the door for him.
Barking twice to let the returning humans know he was coming, Musaleh ran out to meet them, his long legs carrying him over the dew covered grass in a few strides. Joost followed a ways behind him, taking his time to see what the dog would find. Hitting the dirt road, Musaleh ran up to the men, his tail wagging happily behind him. It was strange, to stick to such simple forms of communication when he could of just as easily called out to them in welcome, but for now, he had to bide his time. As the training book had mentioned, this was a critical time, and he had only just begun to gain their trust.
Reaching the little group, Musaleh hopped around them, taking in the scents they carried back with him. From the stale oxidized smell they brought, he knew they had travelled the subway tunnels, and what's more, they carried with them the sweet smell of meat. The thought made him salivate, but that soon turned to revulsion when he caught a whiff of what else they had with them. Rolled up in their arms, they carried a heavy spotted pelt, and when he stuck his nose into it, he immediately recognized it as belonging to a great cat.
Stomach turning with anguish, Musaleh let out a low growl, startling the human carrying it into taking a step back. Stumbling back, he took a heavy seat on the ground, and a moment later felt a hand pass over his head, to scratch him behind the ears.
"Easy Max, take is easy," a voice said, and Musaleh tilted his head back to look a Joost.
"Don't worry boy, it's dead and won't hurt me," he finished, and Musaleh's heart sank even lower. Brown eyes wide and pleading, he looked up at his master, only one word in his mind now:
Why?Josephus Smith (Joost)
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The map room was a large and windowless room that once served as a game room of sorts. Essentially a large open box, the new occupants had cleared out the theater seating and now useless electronic gadgets, replacing them with a massive table. This table, so large that it had to be supported in the middle with a stack of bricks, held a painstakingly precise hand drawn map of New Isolia. It was no longer good enough to simply make use of the old road maps that littered the floor beneath the table, as the wildness had crept in and changed the landscape. The new map held more than street names and directions, it had landmarks and notes on where and when large animals were sighted, as well as where several of them were known to live. Of note was the library, the park and, as had been the most recent focus of their attentions, the theater. This building lay right in the middle of town, and two of the glass towers on either side had collapsed in around it, making it nearly impossible to move from one side of the city to the other without walking miles around it, or risking a trip through the subway tunnel. Should they be able to secure the building, they would then have a direct route across the surface, and it would be much easier to navigate the city. To that effect, Joost had sent out a scouting party to see what they would find there, grab anything useful and return with information.
Lit only by a few solar lanterns, their light growing dim from the extended use, the room was quiet and still. One might have assumed it was empty, were it not for the steady, deep breaths that came from one of the deep chairs. Unable to sleep upstairs, alone in the empty house, Joost had dressed and come down to study the map. There was only one thing that occupied his mind and consumed his waking hours, and that was the survival of the human race. It even invaded his sleep, in the form of nightmares and restless tossing and turning, so that he had spent many nights down here, planning and strategizing rather than resting. Last night had been no different, and he had eventually lulled himself to sleep while pouring over the map.
Further out in the house, an excited bark awoke him with a start, and Joost quickly pulled himself together. Max was a good dog, and would not have barked for no reason, so he hurried up to the front room to see what he was on about. Talking softly to the excited animal, he could see nothing outside the windows, but trusting the animal's keener senses, he let him out anyway. Should there be an some horrible beast out there, the big dog would undoubtably have it cornered before he got there.
Shifting his service pistol under his belt Joost set out after his dog, a smile spreading across his face when he saw the returning hunters, successful in their quest. Soothing the excited dog, he beckoned them to come inside.
"Don't worry, he's not growling at you. He just doesn't like the smell of that hide you've got there," he said, and together the group walked back up to the house.
Once inside, they all made their way to the kitchen, and pelt was rolled out for inspection. Raising his eyebrows, Joost let out a low whistle of appreciation that made Max perk his ears.
"A leopard? Nice work. Did it put up much of a fight?" he asked, running his hands through the thick, soft fur as though it belonged to him. The story was shared, and more kudos were given.
"Alright, well make sure you take it to the tannery out back, and then you can have the rest of the day off. You deserve it," he finished, enjoying the appreciative smiles they gave him.
The men made their way out the back door, and Joost retrieved a piece of the meat they had brought back with them. There was no sense in letting fresh food go to waste, and it looked as though it would make a nice breakfast. Stoking the fire for the wood-buring stove they had brought in, he put some oil in a pan, and set it on the burner to heat. Cutting off a few pieces of fat, he offered them to Max who growled again, and turned up his nose.
"Hey now, it's not like you to snub fresh food like that. What's wrong with you, Max? Don't you like cat?" he said in a cajoling voice, offering once last time before dropping the whole mess into the sizzling pan.
A few minutes later, Joost sat at the kitchen table, humming happily while he ate the first hot breakfast he had had in days. Now if only the group he sent out to the theater would return with good news as well, he would be all set to move forward with his plans. Glancing down to Max, who sat across the kitchen from him, looking at him with what seemed to be begging eyes, he scoffed,
"You had your chance, boy, don't look at me like that," he said, and barked out a laugh, finishing off the last of his meal. Today would be a good day, he thought, and leaving the dishes behind, he made his way back to the map room.