~ 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.