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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    be swept away by this
    #1

    While cold, morning was patient, barely a cloud against the blue sky and the faintest breeze to push her along. The sun was bright, glowing yellow and orange but it wasn’t enough to warm her- winter was coming. She continued on, gliding in the skies above the field and drifting along with the occasional flock of birds. They were mostly headed south by now, off to the warmer lands and winds. Sometimes she thought about joining them.

    Praytell enjoyed that morning, stretching her wings in the cool air until the sun reached high overhead. The wind shifted, tossing about with a moaning cry. It threw her for a moment, heaving her to the east like she was a tiny sparrow. If she hadn’t been an experienced flier this would have likely spelled disaster, even death. As luck would have it, she was far from a hatchling, straightening her course and managing to land against the drying grasses. Her large wings pinned themselves to her sides, that was of the utmost importance and one of the first lessons she had received as a child.

    When the weather turned, find the ground and lock your wings to your sides. She had only once seen a filly caught by the strength of the winds, failing to observe the weather patterns and take heed of their danger. So far she had only had to worry to instill these teachings to one of her children, and boy, the fae were testing her. Tomb was likely the most fragile flier she had ever encountered. It wasn’t his fault, not really, butterfly wings were not meant to withstand more than gentle summer breezes. For the most part, she insisted he remain grounded on cloudy days, when she could smell storms in the air and trouble near. It was for his own sake and safety, even if she herself didn’t care much for walking as a means of travel.

    Autumn had made the grasses wither and the leaves brittle, they crunched beneath her hooves as she sought a wind block. Her black and white tresses, snapped with the wind, making navigating her way to such a shelter even more irritating. Praytell hated windy days.

    your eyes are black and empty
    your deeds are just for showing
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    #2

    show them the joy and the pain and the ending

    She had never been gifted with flight, though it is something her brother had often shared with her. While her feet might never have left the ground, she had seen through his eyes as he soared amongst the clouds. The sight had been impressive enough. No doubt the feel even more so.

    Even so, it has never been something she had any strong inclination or longing towards. She is comfortable with her feet upon earth. Her sight, when she allows it, can soar, but most often it is for purposes other than the experience. A bird’s eye view can be quite informative, a means of collecting information that few have. Even fewer have the opportunity to do so from as many perspectives as she.

    But unlike a horse, or even a bird high in the sky, no one will ever know she is there. Her intrusion can be neither felt nor heard nor touched. And unless she wishes it, it cannot be seen either.

    A true spy, one no one will ever discover.

    It is not her abilities as a spy that she puts to use today however. No, today she is making tracks to the field. It is a place she has rarely stepped foot in, and the last time had been to find a home for herself. Now the shoe is on the other foot, so to speak.

    She already knows what there is of the field, knows who is there, knows who she wishes to approach. It would be surprising did she not. The mare in question is near in age to her, black and white with feathered wings tucked neatly against her sides.

    Her course is unerring, brilliant blue eyes focused. As she nears the woman, she slows to a halt, a faint smile curving her lips. ”Hello,” she greets softly, curiosity and purpose in her gaze. ”I hope that you do not mind my intrusion. I am Heartfire.”

    heartfire


    i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts

    picture c Petrova Julia.N
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