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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


    i’ve been both a saint and a viper; jenger pony
    #1
    It is silent in the deeper, murkier parts of the forest. Even the crickets do not play their nightly melody among the dense parts of the underbrush, their voices hushed as the evening begins to grow richer and darker. The chill of autumn has scrubbed away the once bright green of the forest, bringing forth profound colors of maroon and brown, with streaks of brilliant gold and orange thrown in. A mist, lazy and unmoving, hangs near the trunks of the towering pines, creating a scene that is both beautiful and haunting. Beneath the thick cloak of dried, brittle vines and the harboring cloud of mist, shrouded beneath the heightening obscurity of nightfall, the scattered boulders and rocks give way to a great, yawning blackness. The cavern is small, hidden by the thick bracken and foliage that surrounds it. 

    Within the looming darkness, he stirs. A rattling sigh can be heard as he exhales, his breath clouding before him as it leaves the blackness of his lips. He lumbers forth, from somewhere deep within the caverns’ stone cage, carefully emerging from the darkened world around him with slow, yet deliberate steps. His hooves click against the smooth, damp stone beneath him, accompanied by the soothing sound of water dripping rhythmically. 

    Drip, drop. Drip, drop.

    He still lingers within the protection of coiled darkness that surrounds him, his figure barely traceable within the shadows that soothingly press against his blue mottled skin – but he is there; his searing blue gaze attempting to stare out into the world beyond, though his pupils do not allow him to see much. Even within the night sky, the world outside of the cave it is still too bright, and he is far too vulnerable.

    A breeze alights against his face, the cold and frigid air entering his dark tomb and running quiet, icy fingers through the tangled mass of his thick mane and tail. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, the scent of the forest and crisp, outside air filling him. Memories flood him, distant and blurred ones, of a forest – they’re almost unfamiliar in his mind, like they were someone else’s memories all together. He attempts desperately to place the distorted faces that flash in his mind, but the details are all too hazy. 

    All he knows is the darkness, is the caves. 

    His memories fall away as the breeze dies. He is met with the darkness once again, crooning shadows that are like family to him, twisting and turning lovingly between his legs with soothing strokes, coaxing him to stay. He wonders what the sun feels like. What of the ocean’s salty spray? The stinging rain of a thunderstorm?

    The warm touch of another?

    It’s been so long…

    His distant gaze clicks back into focus, a single ear flipping backwards to listen to the stirrings of another behind him. The black stallion, his companion, lurks somewhere in the darkest parts of the cavern, uninterested in standing at its mouth and dreaming about lakes and meadows and mountains, too preoccupied with their need for darkness to even consider how the sunlight might feel like against their damp, cold flesh. 

    Every night, the blue roan stands at the great opening, still completely enshrouded by the darkness that the cave brings him, but close enough to stare out into the forest, longing for something that he cannot even put a name to.

    --
    once the king of beasts but now they feast
    on the thoughts beneath his vacant crown.


    @[jenger]
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