Honeyed Pasture for thou shalt not be cured

@Blackjaw

The coast held little of interest for the pious wanderer, and he was tempted inland by the way the light crept through the billowing clouds overhead; it was like the Lord was guiding him away from the cacophonous symphony of crashing waves for his own good. He found himself striding through a field of vibrant greens soon enough, and the undulation of the pasture spread out all around him. It was awe-inspiring, and Gilead looked to the heavens with a crooked grin on his dark snout as he gave thanks; surely the Lord had led him to this holy space for good reason.

There were imperious mountains in the distance, and as they rose they stabbed at the sky and vanished among the clouds and mist. The boy paused and observed this — and then, he felt a tiny fleck of something touch his cheek. As he turned his attention to the space directly overhead, a spitting shower began, and he let out a sigh as the rain grew in strength. If this was a test by his Lord he would surely succeed at finding a resolution; he had been brought to this place for a reason and no ill weather would counter that purpose, he was certain. But as he began to march across the grassland he found that the rain had grown in intensity, and soon the sky was a moody gray — and Gilead felt mildly irritated that the Darkness would try to taint these holy hours with its tricks.

the breath of autumn was thick against the wind. it reminded the swarthy creature of his home, and there was some portion of him that missed the wild cries of the crows as they flocked overhead. try as he might, blackjaw could not recall specific things from his past. it was in this lack of memory that he found himself plagued. for all the wandering, the aark could not manage to spark the recollection that lingered in the back of his mind. there was something distant that clung to the fibers of his flesh, but he could not quite touch it no matter how he tried. 

the aark had abandoned the wolf he'd met on the beach, after some short while of chatting. blackjaw had never been the type to take kindly to the prattling of strangers, but his mind had not been screwed on well enough for him to fight it away. for all the things that he tried to pull from the depths of his memory, the only thing that stuck to him was the girlish voice of someone called spiderleg. the more he drilled himself, the less he could remember of her. it was that way until he had come across the scent of another stranger on the air. blackjaw turned his crown in the direction of the passerby and drank in the aroma of a creature so foriegn. it was too late for him to flee by the time he had latched the molten orange of his stare to the other figure. 

blackjaw stood with his limbs stiff and his muscles taught; he waited to see what this creature of the wilds would conjure. 

There were segments of cloud trying desperately to retain the glow of the sun, while others rolled about in blue-grey pits, and others still looked more like the undulating ocean that fed them. He licked his lips and felt the cold rain on his tongue, tasted the salt there, and wondered if coastal rains were supposed to drift this far inland. Gilead glared up at the sky for a moment longer but eventually settled back to a natural pose, and began to hike across the pasture again. Every so often he would shake the excess water from his coat, or pause to inspect the dark streaks across his limbs; this darkness, trying its best to soak in to his every inch and correct the blessed whitening of his lower parts. A foolish notion to anyone not of the faith — but fully justified, according to Gilead.

He recalled a brief memory of his childhood while he milled about there; the elation he felt upon realizing his body was undergoing a change that was usually reserved for the elderly. His purification had begun when he was merely a year old, and even his mother knew she could not claim he was entirely corrupt. Not when the Lord had touched him and introduced this lightness to his vessel. Gilead snorted softly and a spray of rain splatted off his nose; he broke from these idle thoughts when he felt a warmth on the back of his head.

When he turned, he saw the ink-clad stranger watching him. Gilead's coat would have spiked with surprise had it not been soiled by the rain. Instead he narrowed his eyes and raised his head confidently, squaring his shoulders off in the direction of the interloper — he wasn't certain this was a mortal after all, or perhaps another manifestation of the Darkness. He finally called out through the sussuration of the rain, Who are you?

the voice that struck out over the sound of environmental noise was unfamiliar to him, but it did nothing to drop his guard. the jagged hairs along his shoulders and back seemed to come to life with rigid know-how; as though his entire life had been in preparation for this moment. had it not been for that single chuff of a voice, the fire-touched creature would have turned and departed as quickly as he had entered the scene. blackjaw knew that there was very little there to keep him, unless there was a peculiar turn of events. for all of the memories that had vanished from his mind, the behemoth knew the strength of his body well enough. 

"blackjaw," the aark responded in a baritone that hitched against the back of his throat and struggled to be emitted. there was no change in his facial features, though; he remained as steadfast as he had been upon his first arrival. "and who are you?" the behemoth then inquired with a slight canting of his skull. the jagged fiery fur along his neck and shoulders seemed to quiver there for only a moment before they held still and fast to their perch along his back. blackjaw waited to see if the stranger would respond, or if he would disappear from sight. 

Blackjaw. It did not sound like a god-given name, more of a description, but it was apt. The beast was a thing of blackness and his vessel seemed particularly fit, although Gilead wouldn't let his eye stray for too long across it.

He noticed the dampened topline of the wolf's spine and found it striking with its cinnamon tones, a direct contrast with the rest of him. That broad stripe of bright tones gave Gilead a lot to think about; he saw a symmetry between this wolf and himself, and again was left to wonder what his purpose was. If he was evil, he certainly had not given himself over to the Darkness quite yet — he fought a battle much like Gilead, with his fading.

Gilead, he answered after a moment of consideration. He was not keen on sharing his name most of the time but his thoughts were distracted. He added on hastily, a priest of the Light. And from that point, he watched for signs of understanding from this Blackjaw, and grew tense beneath the dripping sky. Perhaps the mention of the Lightbringer would cause a reaction — he had been taught that some words held power over creatures of evil intent, and he wondered if it would work with this stranger.

the words spoken did not make much sense to the behemoth. the light had never truly had a place in his life, but he had never really known what it meant to believe in such things. nothing holy had ever touched him the way it should have. he had seen the coming of the night and knew only what the darkness promised him. try as he might, he could not wrap his mind around the prospect of gilead's devotion. the beliefs of others would always be foreign to him. he had not grown with them the same way he had grown with the deep understanding of his own other-worldly experiences. 

the behemoth drew his brows upward just slightly to regard the other male with a careful expression. the molten fire tone of his gaze lingered for a moment too long on the features of the wolf called gilead before blackjaw forced himself to pull his sights from the greying muzzle. "and the light brought you here?" he inquired with a hint of disbelief in his tone. the savage creature did not bother to conceal it; he had nothing to hide from gilead. 

No epiphanies wrought the beast's features, but neither did he scowl or flinch from the mention of the Lord. Gilead was well taught; he knew not to wholly trust those that he came across but at the very least he could rule out a demon. Blackjaw was an ominous name, he finally decided. But there was light, too. The light of the Lord could be seen in the beats's eyes, and fighting across his spine with the darkness everywhere else.

And the light brought you here? The man's question rang through the air and Gilead knew doubt when he heard it. He liked doubt — doubt was purpose, doubt gave him reason to exist, for his role in this universe was to spread the goodness of the Light and one could not do that to wiling participants; those that knew the truth were already pieces of the puzzle won over, but where there was doubt, there was will.

The Light takes me where He wishes, and I follow. What brought you here, Blackjaw? Gilead intoned with a practiced confidence, a reverence, until he turned the question back upon the stranger.