Of all the places he had seen over the years, the Tundra was nothing like any of them. Remote, desolate, cold. It was nothing he had ever dreamed of, yet it was a Kingdom he had never bothered visiting. It was someplace She would never go- that’s all that matters for now.
Days he has been there, merely observing, when change is upon them and a new King is brought to light. When the few gather the old one steps down, the new one emerges from a cave and it is said that he too should do such a thing. Well, Mother didn’t raise a quitter, one last bitter thought.
When it is Patchouli’s turn to enter, he does so with a smile. He doesn’t know what sort of thing to expect, perhaps the others had met some great bear within the icy depths. He was cunning enough to outsmart the animal, maybe even to fight it without losing his life- but he relished the challenge regardless, a trait that may or may not see him through this time.
It’s not so scary this cave, it is like any other, except where the walls were usually plain rock- these were slick, grey ice. He could hear a dripping noise somewhere within but he could not pinpoint its location. Likely the sound came from one of the many hanging stalactites, now those jagged formations made him wary- he wasn’t entirely fool hardy you know.
Hours pass as he stands in a wide chamber, lights glistening from some unknown source against the jewel-like walls. A pool of ice water lies placid on the far end, but he isn’t thirsty.
Nothing’s happening, perhaps the beast was tired, or too injured to carry on. Maybe he wasn’t worthy. At that his golden ears flatten against his skull, the lifelong thought something that still bothered him. He was a failure in his family so far, maybe he should expect to be nothing more here as well, another failed endeavor. He’d see it through at least, even if he had to wait days for his challenge.
A droplet catches his attention, ripples moving along the glassy surface of the pool. The first sign of movement besides his own fidgeting, the first sound besides his steady rhythmic breathing. Maybe he was a bit thirsty after all. No harm could come from a drink surely.
Bending his flaxen head to the water, he begins to pull the clear liquid in a long, relaxed drought. It tastes fine, it smells fine, it looks-
Opening his muddy eyes he sees his own reflection, but it’s different. Where his nose is relatively plain, a shock of white running up the snout, here it is covered in ivory scales. He snorts, looking at the water with uncertainty and surprise, and anger. When he tilts forward he only sees more to agitate himself, golden scales running up his neck, his shoulders. The reflection smiles smugly, tauntingly and to make matters worse it winks.
It is one thing to be first born son, it another thing to be first born son with no traits, without the mark of the serpent. Different from the rest, a failed heir, a disappointment.
Before he knows it, his striking the surface with his left leg, disrupting the calm of the pool and shattering his reflection. Too far though, he’s leaned over much too far- and he falls.
Head over hoof, hoof over head. Tumbling into an icy coffin, bubbles bursting from his parted lips as he sinks deeper into the liquid abyss. His chest is pounding as his body falls numb from the cold, the heat of the ice that is burning him. His lungs protest for air, roaring with a rage at none to be had or sought for that matter. It is with that angry scream that he again falls to the cave floor, soaking and shivering as a laughter fills his ears. Before him stands his other self, a scale covered picture of he wished he could be his whole childhood, his whole life. The voice oddly feminine, far out of place but he knows it- Mother.
“Oh Patchouli…” The voice as sickeningly sweet as it has always been, dripping with letdown. He smiles at himself, a haughty nasty grin. “Too bad you are nothing like I am, don’t you wish you could be? Come again to the pool, I’ll show you.” It’s too tempting, too coaxing to his liking as he lays panting on the snow and ice.
“You’re not real.” He growls, shakily finding his legs.
”I am real, in your heart. I am your deepest desires, let us not lie to one another Patchy.”
“Don’t!” he roars at the nickname, the laughter that accompanied the children’s voices as they yelled it, circling him while he could not cover his ears. Patchy, patchy, patchy A moniker his Mother had fashioned after his mottled coat, the burst of brown against what should have been pristine gold. The spots that should have been snakeskin but weren’t- they were just ugly brown freckles.
”I know what you need to feel better, to feel worthy and whole. Patchouli, come, come to the water I will show you.”
”No.” nares flared as he declines, the other self becoming clearly agitated.
”Come, Patchy” Voice rising, filling with venom.
”I said no Mother!” The declaration ensuing violence as the snake Patchouli charges for his weakened body, legs still trembling from the ice bath. Together they crash, the real Patch barely standing ground, forced backwards on unsteady limbs. He pushes with what little muscle he can find, trying to shove the other off of him, to find a better hold against the slick surface on which they dance.
It is with luck that he maneuvers to the right, slipping from the snake’s grasp as he moves forward and away- but nearing the treacherous depths of the pool. He’s also not dodged the well placed bite against his neck, the other’s blunt teeth pinching and bruising the amber skin.
They are at it for several rounds, each one giving the real Patchouli little of the upperhand and more bruising and scars than he’s seen in a long while. Over and over the mirror image of himself assaults him, hoof and tooth finding him again and again.
The snake turns, smiling as he has accomplished driving his prey closer to his trap. The real Patchouli, backs away, wide eyed and heaving. He gives a shake of his head to force away thoughts of death, to clear his heavy eyes from their desire to sleep. The movement sends a stabbing pain racing down his neck to his leg, resulting in a pained “Aggghhh”, but there is not time to hurt. Again the assailant is coursing for him, sprinting on the ice in unnatural form. Patchouli meets him with a rear, forcing his hind to support his weight, surging forward to connect with devil.
He barely keeps his footing, striking the snake in the chest as he too rears last minute, flailing wildly at Patchouli in retaliation. The animals own leg catches Patch just right, sending a trail of blood spilling down his face from a cut above the eye. He knows this is a fight of strength he cannot win, he’s never been made for War, not physically anyways. Patch does his warring with words and trickery- the only thing his Dam ever taught him.
He cannot win the fight in the physical sense but his wits remain about him and it’s high time he uses them. He heaves against the frosty floor, snake Patch cruelly glaring down at him as he shakes the soreness from his chest, growling from, the pain.
”Look at you, pathetic. No wonder you disgust even yourself.” A hiss to match the gentle glint of reptilian skin, a taunt as it braces for another round.
Patchouli continues nursing his weary body, limping forward, “Not as much as I disgust you Mother!” He doesn’t brace to block when the creature strikes forward, clearly intending to send him splashing once more into the water. Instead Patchouli dodges last minute, sending the other Patch crashing against the surface. The once water, shatters like glass, the twin screaming ”Nooooooooo…” as it tumbles back into its prison.
"That’s right Mother, No.” He gasps, as he lifts his head taking in a deep steadying breath. A burning sensation takes his left shoulder, a searing smell of burning flesh but no hot poker or brand in sight.
The palomino limps his way out, bloodied and half-frozen, smiling weakly at the others as he emerges. “Hey guys,” he says with a stupid grin, collapsing to the snowy ground unconscious, a puckered scar of a Hamsa blazing new against his left shoulder.
Days he has been there, merely observing, when change is upon them and a new King is brought to light. When the few gather the old one steps down, the new one emerges from a cave and it is said that he too should do such a thing. Well, Mother didn’t raise a quitter, one last bitter thought.
When it is Patchouli’s turn to enter, he does so with a smile. He doesn’t know what sort of thing to expect, perhaps the others had met some great bear within the icy depths. He was cunning enough to outsmart the animal, maybe even to fight it without losing his life- but he relished the challenge regardless, a trait that may or may not see him through this time.
It’s not so scary this cave, it is like any other, except where the walls were usually plain rock- these were slick, grey ice. He could hear a dripping noise somewhere within but he could not pinpoint its location. Likely the sound came from one of the many hanging stalactites, now those jagged formations made him wary- he wasn’t entirely fool hardy you know.
Hours pass as he stands in a wide chamber, lights glistening from some unknown source against the jewel-like walls. A pool of ice water lies placid on the far end, but he isn’t thirsty.
Nothing’s happening, perhaps the beast was tired, or too injured to carry on. Maybe he wasn’t worthy. At that his golden ears flatten against his skull, the lifelong thought something that still bothered him. He was a failure in his family so far, maybe he should expect to be nothing more here as well, another failed endeavor. He’d see it through at least, even if he had to wait days for his challenge.
A droplet catches his attention, ripples moving along the glassy surface of the pool. The first sign of movement besides his own fidgeting, the first sound besides his steady rhythmic breathing. Maybe he was a bit thirsty after all. No harm could come from a drink surely.
Bending his flaxen head to the water, he begins to pull the clear liquid in a long, relaxed drought. It tastes fine, it smells fine, it looks-
Opening his muddy eyes he sees his own reflection, but it’s different. Where his nose is relatively plain, a shock of white running up the snout, here it is covered in ivory scales. He snorts, looking at the water with uncertainty and surprise, and anger. When he tilts forward he only sees more to agitate himself, golden scales running up his neck, his shoulders. The reflection smiles smugly, tauntingly and to make matters worse it winks.
It is one thing to be first born son, it another thing to be first born son with no traits, without the mark of the serpent. Different from the rest, a failed heir, a disappointment.
Before he knows it, his striking the surface with his left leg, disrupting the calm of the pool and shattering his reflection. Too far though, he’s leaned over much too far- and he falls.
Head over hoof, hoof over head. Tumbling into an icy coffin, bubbles bursting from his parted lips as he sinks deeper into the liquid abyss. His chest is pounding as his body falls numb from the cold, the heat of the ice that is burning him. His lungs protest for air, roaring with a rage at none to be had or sought for that matter. It is with that angry scream that he again falls to the cave floor, soaking and shivering as a laughter fills his ears. Before him stands his other self, a scale covered picture of he wished he could be his whole childhood, his whole life. The voice oddly feminine, far out of place but he knows it- Mother.
“Oh Patchouli…” The voice as sickeningly sweet as it has always been, dripping with letdown. He smiles at himself, a haughty nasty grin. “Too bad you are nothing like I am, don’t you wish you could be? Come again to the pool, I’ll show you.” It’s too tempting, too coaxing to his liking as he lays panting on the snow and ice.
“You’re not real.” He growls, shakily finding his legs.
”I am real, in your heart. I am your deepest desires, let us not lie to one another Patchy.”
“Don’t!” he roars at the nickname, the laughter that accompanied the children’s voices as they yelled it, circling him while he could not cover his ears. Patchy, patchy, patchy A moniker his Mother had fashioned after his mottled coat, the burst of brown against what should have been pristine gold. The spots that should have been snakeskin but weren’t- they were just ugly brown freckles.
”I know what you need to feel better, to feel worthy and whole. Patchouli, come, come to the water I will show you.”
”No.” nares flared as he declines, the other self becoming clearly agitated.
”Come, Patchy” Voice rising, filling with venom.
”I said no Mother!” The declaration ensuing violence as the snake Patchouli charges for his weakened body, legs still trembling from the ice bath. Together they crash, the real Patch barely standing ground, forced backwards on unsteady limbs. He pushes with what little muscle he can find, trying to shove the other off of him, to find a better hold against the slick surface on which they dance.
It is with luck that he maneuvers to the right, slipping from the snake’s grasp as he moves forward and away- but nearing the treacherous depths of the pool. He’s also not dodged the well placed bite against his neck, the other’s blunt teeth pinching and bruising the amber skin.
They are at it for several rounds, each one giving the real Patchouli little of the upperhand and more bruising and scars than he’s seen in a long while. Over and over the mirror image of himself assaults him, hoof and tooth finding him again and again.
The snake turns, smiling as he has accomplished driving his prey closer to his trap. The real Patchouli, backs away, wide eyed and heaving. He gives a shake of his head to force away thoughts of death, to clear his heavy eyes from their desire to sleep. The movement sends a stabbing pain racing down his neck to his leg, resulting in a pained “Aggghhh”, but there is not time to hurt. Again the assailant is coursing for him, sprinting on the ice in unnatural form. Patchouli meets him with a rear, forcing his hind to support his weight, surging forward to connect with devil.
He barely keeps his footing, striking the snake in the chest as he too rears last minute, flailing wildly at Patchouli in retaliation. The animals own leg catches Patch just right, sending a trail of blood spilling down his face from a cut above the eye. He knows this is a fight of strength he cannot win, he’s never been made for War, not physically anyways. Patch does his warring with words and trickery- the only thing his Dam ever taught him.
He cannot win the fight in the physical sense but his wits remain about him and it’s high time he uses them. He heaves against the frosty floor, snake Patch cruelly glaring down at him as he shakes the soreness from his chest, growling from, the pain.
”Look at you, pathetic. No wonder you disgust even yourself.” A hiss to match the gentle glint of reptilian skin, a taunt as it braces for another round.
Patchouli continues nursing his weary body, limping forward, “Not as much as I disgust you Mother!” He doesn’t brace to block when the creature strikes forward, clearly intending to send him splashing once more into the water. Instead Patchouli dodges last minute, sending the other Patch crashing against the surface. The once water, shatters like glass, the twin screaming ”Nooooooooo…” as it tumbles back into its prison.
"That’s right Mother, No.” He gasps, as he lifts his head taking in a deep steadying breath. A burning sensation takes his left shoulder, a searing smell of burning flesh but no hot poker or brand in sight.
The palomino limps his way out, bloodied and half-frozen, smiling weakly at the others as he emerges. “Hey guys,” he says with a stupid grin, collapsing to the snowy ground unconscious, a puckered scar of a Hamsa blazing new against his left shoulder.
PATCHOULI
it is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles
okay so idk how i like this but its the best i got since idk what he is like yet. i figured he might have mommy issues being the eldest and only child born without snakeskin.
xclick-Hamsa
