The Morgrim Bow

[Aslan's_Cub]

Sorry this is short, I'm cut off and have to go. Tell me if you guys want more!
*********

The cold wind of the seventeenth winter since Aslan's victory over the White Witch bit at her nose in an annoying fashion, causing her to cup her hands over her nose and mouth and breath what warmth she could onto the tip of her slightly upturned nose, but there was naught she could do for her horse's body, chilled to the bone despite the constant witching of her chestnut coat. Sola gave her body a good shiver, swishing her tail dramtically to loose the thin blanket of snow that ad formed on her back. Though her upp-human body was well covered with furs and skins, her arms remained bare for fair movement during her hunt.

the ability of fair movement however seemed pointless, as she had not seen any non-talking game since the sun rose in the east. Now she as sure she would never again have fiar use of her arms due to frost bite; her hands were clad in worn leather gloves, but her fingers felt numb and stiff. It truck a stinging pain through her knuckles when she attempted to move the small digits. Huffing, Sola twirled on her hindquarters and set off at a slow canter towards her herd. She would have to ask for an additional Hunt Party; there was little she could hunt in this weather, as green as she was to the bow and arrow. She had only just turned on her seventeenth Spring some month ago; until then her family's bow, Morgrim, had sat on a pedistal far above her reach and gaurded by the Magic set down by Aslan himself. Her father had had a mighty hand in the Last Battle that had defeated the White Witch and her minions, and the bones of Morgrim, captian of the Secret Police underneath the White Witch, had been handed down to her father for safe keeping of his soul. His bones had been fashioned into a beautifully dangerous bow, the smooth contours of the weapon creating a deadly weapon that rarley missed it's mark. It had been said that Susan the Gentle owned a bow so simmilure in build and aim that all wondered what hers had been made of to create so finly tuned an aim. Both had been made by magic hands; or paws, in the Morgrim's case. Queen Susan's bow had been made by Father Christmas, his own gentle, skilled hands hewing and polishing the rich wood to a magnificent specimen of Oak Wood. Aslan had used the Old Magic, secret and itit's mysteries unknown, creating a thing that brought danger to the one that held it if used for the wrong reasons.
Upon gifting the bow to Sola's father, Aslan had warned that should the bow be used to kill for any other reason then necissity of food or defense, Morgrim's heart would coem alive again the bow, hungry for the death of the rightious.
Well the Morgrim would not be allowed to live again; not while it was witihin her hands. She had heard stories of the days when the White Witch ruled, and the very thought made her shiver with more then cold. She did not wish to give those days a chace to relive themselves in any way.

Pulling herself to a stop before her father, she pracned somewhat uncomfortably. The stallion looked at her with an expectant expression, but she shook her head. His face fell, but the large centuar quickly resituated his expression to a blank mask. Stallions and mares about the camp ignored her. she rarley was the centr of attention.

"No animals that a single hunter can find are out in this weather, Father," she said in her defense. "I am sure I can bring in some game, but not alone, not in this snow." Her Father looked at her gently, and his hand came to her shoulder.

"And more you shall have," he answered. "I'll not have my daughter failing on her first hunt."

[Aslan the Wise one]

Very nice I liked it a lot is there more to the story.?

[Aslan's_Cub]

OFCOURSE! LOL yep story is already writing itself! :)

[Aslan's_Cub]

Here's the next bit....it gets more exciting, i promise.
*****

Sola galloped her hunting party of five stallions and two mares, fighting to breathe in the freezing air that surrounded them like a cold blanket upon their lungs. Their game ran before them, oblivious to the harsh winter. The milk white stag skirted before them in great bounds that all but left them in his snow-dusty wake.

“Run, run, run!” Sola shouted, pushing her granted party harder. The sound of her ecstatic voice, the hope ringing within it, drove them forward relentlessly.

The sound of pounding hooves, one set much closer and lighter then others, vibrated the ground upon which Mr. Fox tread. He paused, one paw in the air and sniffed, then smiled his sly, but good natured, grin. He yelped in good jest as the White Stag cleared his head by feet.

“Bound away, Gift Giver! Bound!” he called after it. The great stag halted his leaping stride to look back at the red fox.

“Aye, I bound,” he called back in his deep, rich voice. “Never shall they ensnare me, Mr. Fox! They are far too clumsy!” His laugh merited with the fox’s lighter one, as Mr. Fox answered,

“Or so you say, Gift Giver; they close in about you! See! The first huntress ‘rounds the bend!”

“Ah, the clever trickster plays me for the fool,” the magnificent deer countered. “Well, your clever tricks shall not earn them a wish this day!” With that, the stag bounded off in one great leap, escaping the exposed clearing.

Sola smashed through the clearing at full speed, but was forced to stop short when Mr. Fox stood in her path, as though frozen with fear. Sola sighed in annoyance, shifting the Morgrim Bow between hands and she stamped her fore hoof.

“I know your tricks, fox,” she snapped before he could speak. “Which way did the stag go?” The fox chuckled in a light-hearted, irritating way as her party bounded in behind her, pawing and stamping irritation.

“He went north, my huntress friend,” he answered. “But your weak grip upon it reveals to me that you are new to so beautiful a weapon.” He eyed the Morgrim Bow somewhat uncomfortably.



Something about that bow gave the red-backed fox an uncomfortable feeling. The energy emitting from it’s grey bone shine reminded him of an old enemy. Shivering his coat once, he glanced back to the young centaur mare.



Sola sneered at him, grasping the bow in her strong arm and fixed a gryphon fletched arrow in the bow, meaning to frighten him into companionship. Before she could raise the bow to aim however, the bones hewn together quavered and shook beneath her fingers, growing warm to her touch. She gasped and dropped the bow and arrow in surprise, prancing back. Her following hunters looked at her with confusion, a few prancing back themselves to get clear of her backwards movement.

“That bow is dangerous,” Mr. Fox said in a deadly serious voice that none had known him to use since the defeat of the White Witch. “Far too dangerous for one so young.” He peered closely at her, looking for the resemblance that was nudging his memory insistently. “Ah,” he said slowly when the resemblance cleared in his mind. “You are a spitting image of your father, mare. I suggest you return it to the more capable hands of your father. The Morgrim Bow is not something to toy with my dear. His soul still hungers for the blood of the innocent and the true. To so much as aim but for dead need awakens that hunger.” He pawed up to the discarded bow as Sola glared at his insults.


Mr. Fox sniffed delicately at the demon-grey bone, twitching uneasily at the scent of Wolf; Morgrim Wolf. Pure evil that was rivaled only, perhaps, by the White Witch fouled the scent horribly. He tapped the bow with his claw, yelping and jumping back at the memories that flashed through his mind. He groaned at the phantom pain of wolf jaws biting into his abdomen.

“I don’t know who you are to attempt to sway my decision of holding the Morgrim Bow,” Sola bit out. “But you are a trickster not to be trusted. In the mean time, Sly One, we have lost the game of our lives. Do you know how fantastically rare our chancing upon the White Stag himself was? Gah!” She tossed up her hands in exasperation and stamped angrily. The fox gave her a look that made her shiver inside.

“Think what you will of my tricks, but I warn you there are two things I do not joke about: Morgrim and the White Witch,” Mr. Fox said solemnly. “I assure you of no tricks when I tell you that that Bow should be given back to your father.” Sola growled in annoyace.

“I could really learn to dislike you, Mr. Fox,” she said, bowing down to pick up the bow that still hummed slightly. “This conversation is pointless; tell us, do you know of any game?” The fox looked at her with an expression that said he would much rather watch her go hungry then continue use of the Morgrim Bow. Sighing, he sat on his haunches.

“A family of hares are living in a burrow not tow miles from here; their den is not hard to miss,” he said. “Take care not to kill any of the youngsters. Just because they are not talking creatures does not mean they don’t deserve a chance to live.” His entire mannerism seemed to have sullied completely and Sola had no doubt that he was not joking.

“I am not so cold hearted as to kill young hares,” she retorted with a rough air. “What need would I have of so small a game, besides?” She turned sharply on her haunches to look at her hunting party, all of whom stared at her with different expressions, none of which were happy. Grunting in annoyance, she cantered off without a word; her party followed her slowly, one by one.

[Rhyanidd]

Tell me more tell me more like does she have a car....wait that doesnt really fit...but tell me more? please?

[Aslan's_Cub]

LOL there will be more i promise! :)

[Rhyanidd]

when?when when!!

[Aslan's_Cub]

LOl perhaps tonight perhaps tommarow. one of the two

[Rhyanidd]

*scowls at Aslans_Cub* you want us to like your story yet you absolutely refuse to give us more??? where is the logic in that???

[Aslan's_Cub]

hey, i am SO not refusing! I said atleast by this morning- it IS mornign for me right no! LOl i juts woke up. i was up late last night writing on something else. I promise to ahve ti iup by thend of the day. I am writing right NOW.

[Aslan's_Cub]

Here you go! Sorry if it seems kind of... abrupt form one time frame to another. Its just the way the story is writing itself.
***********

Time passed slowly for Sola as she chewed upon the hare meat in a distracted way, glaring at the red backed fox that now spoke with her father, sitting on his haunches before the tall stallion. Her father’s brow was pinched as he argued none too strongly with Mr.Fox.

Just what made Mr. Fox think he had the right to say what he had? Did Aslan give his family the Morgrim Bow? Did Aslan trust his blood with the very soul of Morgrim? No. Then what did he think was right about his reasoning? Her father trusted her with the bow; why could he not? Growling, Sola swallowed the last bit of meat and pushed herself from her grounded position, her legs having been tucked neatly beneath her opening now in a wide stance that seemed particular to her.

Aslan had given her the nickname Wide Stance when she had been born for her immediate wide-spread legs. When she had attempted to stand, her legs and been locked out in all four directions as far as they would go in an attempt to keep herself standing. His blessing and giving of a nickname had been a kind action for her father; not many could say they had been blessed or given a nick name by Aslan himself.

Slowly, she ambled over to her father and Mr. Fox, who had made his way to talk with her father after having warned Sola about the Morgim. It angered her tremendously that he had done so without thought or consideration to her own arguments, although she was sure her father would hear her out. The stallion looked up at her when she approached; the fox’s quick glance telling her he had seen her coming quite early on but cared less, continuing to speak to her father in a low voice. Sola came to a halt when she reached then, crossing her arms about her heavily-fur covered chest, her once bare arms now wrapped in heated skins. She flicked her tail to show her annoyance without words, noting that her father took even that tiny detail into mind, and his expression grew considering.

“Mr. Fox,” she greeted tightly, now tossing her tail broadly in annoyance. She did not care if others saw her blunt disrespect for one that had also served in the battle against the Witch. This was no longer times when old heroes of the past were revered as they once were. She would respect them if they gained her respect.

“Sola,” the fox answered in a nonchalant tone; he had never been one quick to anger. “We were just-“ Sola scraped the ground with her fore-hoof in a sign among centaurs that she didn’t care what the other had to say.

“I know what you were discussing, Mr. Fox,” she snapped. “And I do not appreciate this discussion moving forward without me. The Morgrim is under my hand now, and I believe I should have some say in this matter, Sly One.” She turned her gaze to her father, the stallion’s gaze uncertain under her own, molten gold eyes. “Father, what so you on this matter? Surely you know me capable of holding this bow under hand. I am green in it’s power, but I will learn.”

Her father looked at her with his mahogany eyes that shone with a bright fire of confidence in himself. He had reason to be; he was a fine stallion. His body was large, well over seventeen hands, his horse-parts muscled and sturdy, his withers high and his rump strong, upon which his tail was well set, flaring out behind his as a banner even when placid. The coat’s blood bay sheen tinted red in the sun that did little to relieve the cold about them, a light dusting of snow shining upon his broad back, able and strong. His human parts were that of a strong man, well muscled, his skin a golden tan beneath his own heavy furring that had been wrapped about him. His face had drawn many a mare; her dam had simply been the lucky one.

“I say that you may well be too young to handle such a heavy task, Wide Stance,” he answered in his deep voice. Sola’s eyes narrowed at these words and her grip upon the Morgrim became tight enough for her knuckles to whiten. She stamped her fore hoof in disbelief of her father’s failure to believe in her ability to master the Morgrim.

“Father! I have watched you handle this bow all my years and have never once disobeyed your rules that demanded I not touch it until my seventeenth spring. I have kept my end of the bargain. I demand continued ownership of the Morgrim.” Her stance, if possible, grew wider, a bad habit she had of doing when she was angry, despite her father’s constant warnings that it made things difficult to maneuver about with her legs locked like that. Her father’s face turned stern with discipline at the disrespect in his daughter’s voice.

“I do believe I blindly mistook your ability to hand that bow, Sola,” he said. “Such behavior is likely that or Morgrim himself. Until you prove yourself more patient and able to control your temper, I will once again take charge of the bow.” He held out his large, gloved hand and Sola’s goldenrod eyes flicked from his hand to his eyes continually for a moment, before locking gazes with him. “Sola,” he warned in the voice he used only when he was most displeased. Gritting her teeth to leash back her urge to bite back at him with some rather un-mare like words, she forced herself to hand the bow over to him.

*****
Sola sat by the fire, warming her hands next to her dozing father, his large frame lit and shadowed similarly across him from the dancing orange light. Looking back to the fire, she stared into the flames, confusion ravaging her.
Her hand felt so empty without it; even though she had handled the bow only two days, it felt as if the bow had been part of her. She longed again for the feel of the smoothly hewn bow beneath her fingers, surprising herself. What was wrong with her? It was a simple bow; she had used bows all her life… but none as beautiful and powerful as the Morgrim. Her body shook slightly beneath her furs and she could blame the shivering of her coat upon the cold, but she could not lie to herself.

That bow belonged in her hands and no other’s. The frozen, set feeling descended upon her heavily, bearing down upon her suddenly, her heart constricting with the sensation of the want for the bow. This was not a hunger for killing with it; it was a need. A definite feeling that said she would need it one day and without it, her destruction might well be at hand. The intense desire to snatch the bow back from her father was hard-put to reign back, but she forced herself to stand and stumble backwards, then turn on her hind legs and gallop away into the forest that lay to the west of the camp. Her father’s voice called out her name, but she hardly registered it. Her body was hardly beneath her control now; flashes of images rampaged through her head as she ran, blinding her from moment to moment.

The trees about her warped and bent to her, determined to ravage her body. One branch raked harshly across her chestnut coat, drawing a thin line of blood. The moon above was cloaked by grey clouds that hung low and heavy, blackening the light.

The forest neared; she caught glimpses of that before she lost her sight to another flash of imagery.

Wolves ran at her heals, the sun beating down upon her, the reflection against the thick snow that lay about her was blinding. The sounds of the yelps and calls of the wolves brought her heart to it’s complete speed. A tooth grazed her fetlock on a hind leg as a pair of jaws snapped at her.

The trees welcomed her, seeming, thankfully, to move out of her desperate path. The snow beneath her hooves thinned and her legs’ movements were easier to complete, her muscles no longing having to strain for their freedom of demand.

A great grey wolf stood before her, hackles raised, teeth bared. A cold air about him that told of the hunger for death that ravaged at his heart. He was not quite there; it was a ghost of an image, slightly transparent.That did not stop her heart from feeling as if it would explode with fear. Without warning, the wolf darted towards her.

The visions stopped as soon as they had started. She was running with a clear vision now, dodging in and out of trees, the sound of disturbed squirrels reaching her ears. Finally, heaving for breath, Sola stopped and knelt to her knees, her horse’s body slamming heavily down. She must get that bow back. She must.

[Rhyanidd]

n then.....?

[Aslan's_Cub]

I take it you want more and that you liek it? I hope? LOL i will write more by tommarrow

[Rhyanidd]

orr maybe I am just pitying you?.....no, lol, j/k!! yes I do like it!............now freakin' hurry up!!!

[Rhyanidd]

*stamps hoof impatiently*

[Aslan's_Cub]

I'm sorry I'm sorry! Really! I have a busy time trying to write a phantom of the opera fan fiction that has over 20 readers that send me hate mail if I dont update daily, and am trying to work my own nvel in that AND write this... I am trying... try to be patient. It will be up by tonight unless something happens that prevents it.

[Aslan's_Cub]

well something did happen. my nanna ( kinda like my great grandmother ) had to go to the hospital... wow i think i cursed myself...

Look there is another fic I am working on that is read by many a reader. If you want to read hat, here's the link:

http://www.phantomoftheopera.com/modules/newbb/viewtopic.php?topic_id=8323&viewmode=flat&order=ASC&type=&mode=0&start=0

I also wrote another, rather grusome and not for the weak of heart or stomach fic, but if you want the link to that here it is ( its done)... by the way both of this are phantom of the opera fan fiction:

http://www.phantomoftheopera.com/modules/newbb/viewtopic.php?topic_id=4921&viewmode=flat&order=ASC&type=&mode=0&start=0

[Rhyanidd]

I dont like the phantom of the opera!...sorry about you Nanna!....but please please hurry...*eyes tear up*....please!!....you see...I have develped(sp?) a addiction...and if I dont get some regulary I will go into withdraw...and have to be taken to the hospital and the doctors wont know whats wrong with me cuz its no physical drug!!!....so do you really really want me to go into withdraw and then die??? and still not get to hear the end??? gee thats so mean!!how could you do that?!...*pulls a Georgie Henely*I thought you were my friend!!

[Aslan's_Cub]

IM SORRY!! i promise to all the gods abovr i will continue!

but I promise to have some by the end of the week.

[Rhyanidd]

*starts to hypervenilate and family is calling the ambulance*

[Yoo1029]

.........tiny little, itsy bitsy comment here
have you, Aslan's Cub, read the LoTR series by J.R.R Tolkien? nearly everyone has, but i see a stunning resemblance between Sola and the Morgrim Bow and the hobbit Frodo and the one ring!
.......don't tell me that Sola is going to start calling the Morgrim's Bow 'my precious'? :D :D :eek:

[Yoo1029]

Also, I've started a fan-fic in the Prof's Writing Club main screen. It's the post Last Battle one
it might stink, but i haven't been writing long......
anyways, give me suggestions and such...please

[Rhyanidd]

I am sorry fantasyfan#### you cant post here, I have claimed it as my own since it was just Aslans cub and me for the first 2 pages....naw just kidding....and I do not see the resemblence between magrim and the ring!!

[Yoo1029]

Quoting the story, it said, "The bow belonged in her hands, and no others" and remember "She had to get that bow back"?
No ordinary hunting bow would make a person (sorry, centaur) have such a lust for it
...unless of course, the bow had magical powers.......

*cough, cough The One Ring to Rule Them All*

[Rhyanidd]

*good-natruedly* blah blah blah!! sooo................???? I get a 'lust' to shoot the bows my family owns.....I love to shoot them.....I wish I could aim....so are you telling me that my sisters bow is a real-life Ring???ahhhhhhhhhhh!!! I have been possessed to shoot the bow....somebody shoot me!!!!!...just kidding with ya Fantsyfan####

[Rhyanidd]

Aslans cub where in the world is the next part??? or did you just decied to end it right there???? You know I am probably gonna die and then where will you be??? You would have killed me!!! after all it was you who let me go in to withdraw!!!!