• Logout
  • 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 feel a bad moon rising - rey, anyone
    #1

    I V A R
    i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take

    He has been trying to avoid the actual shore, but the thought of crushing the only thing that the pink girl has to offer seems somehow wrong. So he nods and smiles, following her enthusiastic lead back toward the water. The soft meadow grasses soon change to the tougher stalks of seagrass, and the terrain they cross has no discernible path. Cresting a final dune, the piebald stallion sees the wide expanse of sea spread in front of him, and he pauses.

    For a year there had been no draw, but during that year he had also avoided the sea entirely.

    It laps gently at the narrow shoreline, a yellow sand beach littered here and there with pebbles that have not yet been broken down by the endless tide. For a moment Ivar forgets the filly; his attention is entirely on the water.

    Just as abruptly he looks away – looks north – and there is the distant volcano spewing smoke into the sky. He comes back to himself, all of this in less than a minute, and he looks around for the pink filly. There she is, not far at all.

    “Have you ever seen a volcano?” He asks her, remembering his own first trip to the sulpherous land. He’d not been much older than the girl. “A stallion named Warrick showed me Tephra’s. A bit too hot for my liking.” A bit too strong-smelling too, but he doesn’t add that. She’ll find that out soon enough. As they’ve talked, they’ve continued moving north, and Ivar knows that this narrow river they’re approaching is the border to Beqanna’s western-most kingdom.

    “You never told me your name.” Ivar says abruptly, stopping to look down at the once-grey child. “I’ll probably have to introduce you.” He adds, because he’s not entirely sure what she might know of kingdoms and politics.



    kelpie mimicry | dragon scales | tactile hypnosis



    @[Rey] I decided to just go ahead and move the thread to Tephra with this reply Tongue
    #2

    From my breast the cold heart taking,
    Give it to Belerma's care

    For a short time, this shore was the end of my world. When I’d first grown strong on my infant legs I’d taken to stumbling here, dancing afternoons away over the soft-cresting dunes of this lonely beach. What or whom I had danced for couldn’t be explained; my life to this point had only been worth living for myself, and so I had lived it simply because the world deemed me worthy enough to be alive.

    Perhaps, someday, I might dance over the bones of those who left me forgotten in that den.

    Now, though, the granules and pebbles glide easily from underneath the tread of my step. I’m fluid, young as I seem to be, even on this uncertain terrain and soon I know that only the clouds will be my roads. In itching response to my thoughts, the transparent wings crossed over my back shuffle to test the salty wind. I inhale, deeply, and reply with, “There’ll come a day when I’ve seen everything Beqanna has to show.”

    He can’t know (sweet, beautiful Ivar) how much that lightly-spoken promise means to me, and to myself alone. We have an understanding, myself and I, and as Ivar leads us further than I have ever been before, I tell him here and there about my childish dreams and desires. Things like, “I want to fly through a lightning gale,” or “one day I’ll scale the mountain, just to see the fairies.”

    A lifespan in my eyes is more than enough time to check each item from the list.

    Eventually, though, Tephra’s namesake arches it’s smoking back into the sky and the weather seems to have a certain weight to it. Humidity clings in pools of sweat beneath my stomach; we draw blessedly to a stop. “You never told me your name.” Ivar suddenly realizes. It makes me laugh.

    “That’s because I’ve never had one.” I want to say, but I’ll be damned if he thinks me so worthless as to not even have a name. From above us, the hazy sun filters down through the cross-cross of clouds and I stifle my girlish chuckle. With the subtle flick of my eyes to him, I focus on the color of his dark skin, much like the color of the putrid cloud Tephra’s volcano spits up, and choose to fashion it to myself. A wispy, charcoal tone to replace the blushing pink will suit, I think.

    Beside him, carrying his coat-of-arms somewhat on my own skin, I feel like a King.

    “Rey,” I tell him, “My name is Rey.”

    Rey





    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)