~ Expression of a Diffferent Sort ~
by Talim Ra
Ambrose the child wasn't afraid to show what he felt.
He laughed at the antics of the local circus troops until
he was rolling in the dirt. He pouted at the mention of studying with his
tutors. His movements were exaggerated around his father, in hopes of even an
approving glance.
But children have an amazing freedom and their actions are
often laughed away by adults. The argument was that they didn't know any
better.
But as Ambrose became older, his tutors and family let him
know the realities he now had to face. Young men of the noble blood couldn't
roll around on the floor. They couldn't escape their studies, and they must
keep their movements small and sharp. You'll look like a clown otherwise, said
his etiquette tutor.
His father certainly wouldn't have any clowns for sons.
"We control our land, our wealth, and our position," Ambrose's father
stated sharply during one his many lectures with his youngest son. "What
kind of man would you be if you can't control something as petty as
emotion?"
Ambrose could hardly keep the tears in after these
lectures. To make them stop, he vowed to keep his emotions to himself. Easier
said than done, but after a while a cold, austere Ambrose started to take form.
He was soon sent regularly to the royal court, often
flanking a beloved Dreu. Nevertheless, people took some notice of the
impeccable, well-mannered youth. He secretly feasted upon any complements that
came his way while outwardly he nodded and gave quiet, refined thanks.
He decided to double his efforts. There was little chance
he could surpass Dreu anytime soon, but he could carve out another high
position at court in the meantime. Might as well have a front row seat when
observing his brother, he reasoned.
All his actions became works of art. He accepted a passing
waiter's offer of wine with either a light nod of thanks or a small wave of
dismissal, declaring that he'd already had too much. When he escorted a lady of
rank to her quarters, he used only the finest language and stayed a respectable
distance. While dining in front of others, his appetite shrunk. Raising his
glass to his lips, he was careful not to slurp.
And so Ambrose grew up, and quickly too. Everyday was
another opportunity, and Ambrose kept an even tighter lock on his emotions.
So when the King requested Ambrose to accompany the King
of England's gift, Ambrose was able to keep the joy in him, which was filling
every part of him like water does to a leaking ship.
And so began what he thought was the journey that not only
would overshadow his brother, he could also gain the King of England's favor.
But even has his ship was attacked by a phantom pirate and
his rotting crew, he kept composure, although all those around him had abandoned
their composures back at their bunks.
Even when he admitted that it was now not about the gift
to the king, but now about their own survival, he did it smoothly and with only
an impassioned utterance.
The attack by the wolf-creature, to his party's surprise,
didn't make him lose control either. For a moment he let himself have one
horrific scream of pain -- but he quickly quieted and somehow managed to limp
to the sidelines while the rest of the group took care of the creature.
Not long after however, Ambrose began running out of
options.
At one point he had been the least affected by the current
events. Now the others kept a wary eye on him and while he was injured,
required the help of the others to do simple things.
His emotions, once much like a demure dog on a leash, now
were threatening to break loose. Ambrose didn't even know if they were angry,
sad, mournful, happy, joyous, or content emotions -- they seemed to have
combined themselves into something fiendish, something bent on making him show
his true self.
A few days later, it was over.
He woke one morning, unable to move, though he was dirty
and smelled beyond belief. He was trying to remember a dream he had -- a dream
were he ran free, though he couldn't see were he was going and everything
looked as if through a thick veil.
He was forced to however, when his companions shouted at
him to get up. He went outside and nearly went sick when he saw carcasses that
knew had to be their horses, though they were almost beyond recognition.
The group was horrified. First their horses had been
mutilated, and then Ambrose steps out looking like he'd done it.
But a farmer came by later and accused them of
slaughtering his livestock. They couldn't really deny it either. Bloody tracks
led right to where they were staying, and he shook at them shredded pieces of
cloth that went perfectly with the holes in Ambrose's clothing.
He really didn't notice the argument that ensued. All he
could think about was that feeling of freedom, that weightlessness he hadn't
felt since he was a child.
He couldn't deny it -- he wanted it back.
And he didn't have long to wait. He changed into a wolf in
front of all his companions not much later. He felt the jerking and bruising of
his body as he changed; he heard screams and curses from his companions.
But then -- nothing.
He was alone on the fields surrounding his family home; he
was a child again.
In reality, he was standing in dead grass and branches on
a cold night.
He only felt and saw thick, tall grass in the middle of a
perfect summer day. He decided to run.
Ambrose the wolf charged at his companions.
The child laughed and shrieked as he tripped and rolled in
the cradle of grass and heard the adults nearby chuckling at his antics.
The wolf heard his companions scream and panic.
Ambrose would awaken later, somehow knowing he wasn't the
same. His companions confirmed that. It would take along time for Ambrose to
see any good in his predicament, but he did.
He came to realize that he had now truly distinguished
himself from Dreu. How many lupine noblemen does one meet in a life time?
It wasn't something that the nobles would find charming,
and he could only imagine his father, thinking more about the hurt to his
reputation than his son's agony. But Ambrose, after much soul searching,
decided not to care.
How could he? Expressing himself released the curling knot
of emotions in him; he was able to laugh, to cry, and for Angelina's sake, to
love.
Everyone had to pay a price. His lupine alter ego was it.
For now, truly and forever, he was free.