Spirit Walking Where the Fight Leads
The fields were quiet as they stirred, a light breeze danced across the tall grasses reaching only to mid-calf on the average man. The grasses bent in protest and swayed back to their alert position once more. They raised to absorb the Creator’s light raining down to fill the scene where boundaries seemed endless. A few hills broke the monotone greenery and rose up to bear witness to the scene. As if they knew the bloodied history split upon these lands, stood as a reminder. Silently, a figure tracked deeper into the center. He seemed unaware of the hills' hidden knowledge, or he didn’t care. In the end it didn't matter much. It might’ve been because his axe and karambit were held into their holders at his belt as he kept his steady pace into the God’s battle ground.
His name… was Ironhorse.
Being thirty, he was well built in the traditional sense for a man focused on strength. To many observers, he looked like a typical, stereotype Native American one would find on the paperback novel in the local book store. One on sell for a couple bucks and not even on the best seller’s list, a cheap fantasy for romance starved housewives. Though he often scoffed at the notion with an amused chuckle. He was only 5’10”, not 6’, after all. Unlike those fictional braves, Iron didn’t wear buckskin loincloth or painted himself up in war colors. He was too modern for that by wearing a simple white tee shirt fitted to his figure and jean loose enough to move in. Thick grass stains had formed during the challenges as he struggled to quell each one, sometimes spilling blood or others in a much less deadly.
So far, his journey had led him far. However, his story yet to come to to its end. So it was little surprise that Iron was growing tired of it and longed to be back home. His thoughts unknowingly reached his traveling companion. The thin, wiry canine with a blotchy black pattern over its back stopped, the narrow head pulled back into Iron's direction. It gave a snarl and growled in protest at his avatar.
“Retracing our steps isn’t going to make you stronger and pining to go home won’t make it happen any sooner. We’ll go home when you’re ready, so get that thought out of your head, boy.”Iron’s head to whip into God’s direction with a frown, his hand pulled back to scratch his neck. Brushing aside his black ponytail, his tone was clearly annoyed at his guide as he spoke. “I never said ‘retract our steps’, and not all of us can live to be over a two thousands years old. So stop calling me boy. It was your ideal to go on this spirit walk and since all I’ve left behind is bloodshed, it’s not unnatural to want to go back to a time where I didn’t have to always kill. Though you might’ve seem to think it was rather dull, I didn’t.”
Ignoring Coyote, the animal easily keeping track with him, Iron pushed further into the field. His bare feet easily kicking up a bit dirt with each thump into the damp soil and pushed him toward the other side. For now, he just wanted to move along before something else got his attention and likely bloodied his hands even more.
