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To Save the Last: A Parable of Echo and Lore

By Darkkin · Jun 17, 2022 ·
  1. dog-ge9504febe_1280.jpg


    Catch the Last: A Tale of Echo and Lore

    Racing roughshod along the hemlock shrouded shore, he came,
    a sloe eyed boy, elusive and mysterious as his oft repeated name.
    Echo, astride the fabled tocking Lore, gambling along that shore
    when first they heard it, an echo, the whisper of a wounded lore.

    Knee pressed into ribs of brass, Echo made for the gloamy wood.
    Dense and deep, delving through the trees as fast as they could.
    Looming through the gloom, countless secrets the shadows keep,
    reaching to snatch, scratch, and snare. Fear making hearts leap.

    Ears pricked, Lore lifted his tarnished nose to the brackish breeze—
    Iron and salt. Blood, a fresh spill glimmering beneath the trees.
    Echo knew the case was bleak, as gore shone mercurially bright,
    spatter leading down a path circling left before turning hard right.

    There in the deep fold of the tidal wood dell, the last unicorn fell.
    To her, came Echo and faithful Lore in accordance with their spell.
    Smears, bright as moon kissed snow streaked her tattered hide,
    flowing down from a series of tears, savage rents along her side.

    Fleet feet no long flew, innocence the Wendigo sought to slay.
    Echo, face pinched and white, knelt down where the unicorn lay,
    hoping against all he held dear willed this creature: Please live!
    With all he was, would be, Death’s Echo lent all he could give.

    Binding the wound with the lush flow of his sister’s seal pelt,
    he gathered her close, slowly rose to quashing the fear he felt.
    Lore, beside his boy bowed, shoulders even with the ground,
    as the wind shifted weighted in warning, a mourning sound.

    With the injured lore slung before him with the Selkie cloak,
    Echo, settled deep, bone skimming bone, his seat hard as oak.
    With knees and toes, he sprang the gears, signalling Lore—Go!
    Otter paws pounding, Echo bound for places he shouldn’t know.

    Ride the ripple, chase the tide to save the last—Catch the Gannet.

    Round of the Clockwork Hound

    Between the trees, Lore, paws stretching long, Echo leaning low,
    clutching tight to the unicorn bound, riding to catch a moonflow.
    For with the moonflow, he came each night, Winkken the 1st ,
    sower of dreams and a knight against nightmares at their worst.

    Echo, the boy without a voice, tugged the ear of his good hound,
    and mighty Lore began to bay, calling to all—Pass on the round.
    From the woods, o’er the wolds, along the cliffs, across the sea,
    the voice of the hound, carried calling to the Gentlemen Three.

    Plunging through a hemlock hedge, Lore at the crumbling ledge—
    The sea churned, breathing, seething, flinty blue, gunmetal edged.
    Echo, bony toes digging into heaving ribs of brass, pressing deep.
    Faithful, tocking Lore, so foolish with his trust, took the final leap.

    Spine stretching, toes reaching—Echo balanced, holding on tight,
    as calloused otter paws touched down, a stride, smooth and light.
    Quicksilver kiss across the waves, that hound, a runner on the sea,
    his toes tossing him onward in the wake of the Gentlemen Three.

    Ride the ripple, chase the tide to save the last—Call the Gentlemen.


    Between the Left Hand and the Ebb Tide

    Coils sprung, Lore stretched in a soul searing run. Faster, Lore…
    The toes of the boy implore. The Left Hand has declared war—
    As in a moment of weakness, a foolish mortal tell Echo peeked,
    a swift glance cast back and saw it closing, a Wendigo seeking.

    And on the horizon, Turtle breached a Gibbous waning, the gale!
    A moonglade and with it, Winkken and the White Pelicans sailed.
    Echo released a hand, his left and raised it high, one finger aloft.
    The One Antlered Wendigo, walloped by the Lollop fluffy, soft.

    Astride his Pelican, his pulse keeping pace with each wing stroke,
    Winkken knew Echo’s straits were dire, an oath to Ebb, he broke.
    And just behind the White Pelican Flight, the wings of Death soar,
    even as the Wendigo closed on the tireless, tocking hound—Lore.

    It was a moment of need or cede—an unspoken call a fox heeded.
    Fennec, unfolded his pocket, and with him came the help needed.
    Lollop, a bunny quite boneless, a battle standard, a Rippling Hare!
    Fennec’s paws whispered that odd pocket tossed him here to there.

    Right onto the rump of unsnatchable Lore and the unicorn he bore!
    In a deft wink, Fennec winkled his pocket—Echo taken from Lore.
    From the hound to the back of Pelican bound, Echo in a fox pocket.
    And Lore, with his Echo safely away, wheeled in a groan of sockets.

    Ride the ripple, chase the tide to save the last—Lore on the Ebb Tide.



    Lore and the Left Hand

    Upon the withers of a great tocking, clockwork hound, he saw a glow.
    Unicorn blood, the Last was bleeding out, a death so agonisingly slow.
    Malice shone in embittered eyes, as Left Hand leapt across a tidal rise,
    and Lore, his paws devouring the distance between bound. Surprise!

    Alabaster flashed, ivory bore—Into demon flesh, the bones Lore tore.
    End o’er end, backward into the wave with Left Hand, Lore soared.
    A arctic bite about his throat silenced the Wendigo’s howl of surprise
    as the currents carried them to a place from which Lore could not rise.

    Knowing he had done what he could, Lore let his clockworks unwind,
    A quicksilver wrinkle, a dreamer’s precious twinkle, Lore left behind.
    And Echo, held back by the hands of his good friend Winkken, cried…
    Quiet agony that causes life to still as happens when a good dog tries.

    Battling against Winkken’s hard hold, Echo felt his whole being go cold.
    Lore, a hound so faithful and true, Echo wondered at the cost now told.
    From the fierce gunmetal waves down to the creature he still held tight,
    Was it worth it, was the last unicorn worthy of Lore’s speed and might?

    The Left Hand and the Lollop Drop

    Mistral howled o’er the waves, a lament to a clockwork lost to the sea,
    even as Echo futility fought to break free. No escape from that agony.
    All the while, Winkken maintained a furtive search hoping against all
    that Lore had the strength to survive, to fight his way back from a fall.

    And Fennec his amber eyes bright, watched in the bitter moonlight—
    He knew Left Hand would return when Winkken drew Dark Blight.
    Far below the waves shivered and shook. Something broke free!
    Dread assailed them all as a single antlered head emerged the sea.

    Maimed and raging, Left Hand was primed for war, wrath roiling.
    The demon gave chase as Winkken retreated, no need for cajoling.
    Pelicans soared to the stars in cold, thin heights of an endless sky,
    the sea, a billowing sheet below, fell away in the blink of an eye.

    Onward, upward—Climbing ever higher, White Pelicans winging.
    And Fennec, with the bunny battle standard gripped tight, clinging.
    Patience was his art, here to there, not by way of want but by need.
    Tock, tick…Hold…Just a little higher…Lollop’s rumbled heeded.

    Ride the ripple, chase the tide to save the Last—Fennec dropped Lollop!

    The Lollop and the Left Hand Again

    Dropped by a Pocket Fox, Lollop, the Downy Toe Juggernaut, fell,
    a meteor, gallium bright steaking, ready to give the Left Hand hell.
    Nose o’er tail and toes, she tumbled, as she summoned her wonder.
    The Weights settled in her toes and bones, power, hers to plunder.

    A silver dollop, a lunar tear, Lollop held the tidal sway in her toes.
    Bones imbued by Sir Mirr’s strength, a secret only Lollop knows.
    And once more, she was prepared to fight for Impossible Things—
    Her weighted fall far more effective than a raptor’s bladed wings.

    Eyes on her hated prize, as the horizon and stars flew end o’er end.
    And that humble bunny, knew the how to break and when to bend.
    The sea rushed toward Lollop, a love long lost, homeward bound—
    Her target, Wendigo’s remaining antler, relic of their prior round.

    Toes on point, Lollop let the Weight of Wonder drop to her toes,
    Forepaws tucked tight, Lollop, a hailstone with a quivering nose.
    Stormtide ears a battle standard true and bright as could ever be—
    And in a blurring whirl of silver bladed might, Lollop hit the sea.

    Wallop! Toes weighted and wielded, a hammer brought to bear,
    Lollop slammed the Left Hand down—Head to water, feet to air.
    Down went Lollop. The waves bending beneath her cleated toes.
    As Lollop and the Left Hand rode the void down, the water rose.

    Ride the ripple, chase the tide to save the Last—And beware Lollop’s Wallop.

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