Dormant

9

Big bad wolves can try to take you from me,
It don't matter,
If they sink their teeth deep into me,
I'll never let you go.
Ha, and I'm tellin' you all,
When you find it,
You gotta fight for it,
Harder than anything,
And when you get yours,
Hold on tight to it
Faster than anything.

-Walk the Moon, Big Bad Wolves

9

War grunted as he practically lifted the entire contraption in his hands up into the ground, out of the land that it was unraveling with every inch. Either horse that was in front of him whinnied, the more skittish one on the right bucking slightly and jerking. As the mare bounced in fear, the old man, John, frantically reached out for her reins, cursing and grumbling annoyance as he avoided her flailing hooves. War failed to notice if John managed to grab her; his foot slipped on the uneven ploughed earth and he tumbled sideways into the red clay for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

"Damn boy, you drive worse than my grandmother," called out John. "This is the thirteenth damn time that you've done gone and did this shit."

Mumbling to himself, War pushed himself up from the ground. He sat down as he dusted his hands free from the thick layer of clay from his hands in pure in frustration. With every passing moment, he was more than glad that he had decided to remove his armor and had switched to old clothes that Jessica had found somewhere buried in her house. Strife had been easier to find clothes from his armor; he was given a checkered shirt and a pair of what the humans called 'pants' -they were much too small and Strife had complained the entire time that he was around War how constricting they were. Even the boots that the White Horseman had been given had only taken several minutes of searching. Death wasn't even considered a problem since Jessica wouldn't allow him to leave the house (not that Death was planning on it; when War was with him, he was still unconscious and hardly responding to anything).

War was a different problem. Built thicker than his two brothers and taller, Jessica had taken one look at him and had mumbled as she shook her head. Apparently most human males didn't grow as large as he did. She had spent three hours searching through her house until she had succeeded in finding a shirt that had ended up being just slightly too small and some 'overalls' that he could wear with some certain adjustments. John had to give up one of his boots for the Red Horseman to wear, though those were too small as well. So now everything that War was currently wearing was too small. He didn't have to look in a mirror to know that he looked absolutely ridiculous.

"I don't see you doing any of this," War retorted as he stood.

John lifted an eyebrow, his mouth almost lost in his pearl white beard. "I've spent more time on that damn plow than the days that ya've been 'way from yore momma. I could work it with one damn hand if I had'ta."

"Damn old man."

"Least ya've ain't gone an' started cryin' 'bout how yore leg hurt or somethin'. A lotta people would already be complainin' their damn asses off an' I hate a man that complains," John remarked, giving War a warning look.

"There are more things worth complaining about than a few hours of work. I have done worse."

A small flicker of respect flashed through the old man's blue eyes. War grunted as he corrected the old plow into the right position for yet more work. They had worked for five hours nonstop already; the sun was beginning to slowly sink behind the hills on the farm and was casting weak rays of orange sunlight across the horizon. The routine was that John would lead the horses and War worked the plow. The old man's excuse was that 'a youngun as big as yoreself shouldn't be lettin' those muscles do nothin' at all.' After explaining how to use the plow, John had just left War to his own devices and shouting helpful hints over his shoulders whenever he deemed that War needed them. Otherwise he was telling stories or asking War questions that the Horsemen only gave a few words in answer. The horses, however, took up most of his focus.