faith, trust & pixie dust [P]

[Digg Haywood]

Digg swore up, down and five ways ‘til Sunday that he was born with a compass in his head. He sure as hell could find his way any which way blindfolded with one hand tied behind his back, or something. But what he said and the truth were, more often than not, two entirely different things. “I knew I shouldn’t a’ lost that map Tiny made me,” He mumbled, half to himself, half to the ghost of his future self who was probably looking down on him and wondering how it was that he’d got so lost; and how it was that Tiny got so mad she had to come find him again; how it was that this time, goddammit, was really, really the last time she was gonna save his ass. Yeah, that was probably how he was gonna die, come to think of it. Digg stared out at the vast, rolling expanse of the meadowlands, trying not to think too hard on how pissed Clementine was gonna be. He’d lost the map she’d slaved over just for him, a map small enough to be held in a small pouch around his neck. It was perfect. No way you can lose this, she said, it’s around your neck! Long story short, here he was, lost, without a map, pretty sure he wasn’t in Big Cat territory and feeling pretty good about that. He’d crested the top of a hill to try and get a better feel for where he was. Judging by the smell of things he was pretty deep into the Horsefields. It sure as hell smelled like horses, a smell that brought him back to his childhood – no, dang it, concentrate. From his vantage point, he could see a figure moving a few fields away. It looked to be a horse cantering back and forth, leaping wildly before tumbling to the ground with a gracelessness he hadn’t ever seen in a horse. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” he said with a shrug before traipsing his way down the hill. He drew close enough that he could hear the loud thudding of hooves, the crunch of grass, the whoosh of … wings?; a shrill whinny that sounded almost like defeat. It was definitely a horse, but it definitely had wings. And what looked like feathers growing out of weird places. He stood there for a good, long minute, wind buffeting at his beard as he contemplated the scene. “You one of them talkin’ .... uh, horses?” He called out, suddenly and without warning, trying to make sense of the creature flailing around in front of him.