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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


    Shooting stars cannot fix the world; Svedka
    #11
    I hope that you catch me, ‘cause I’m already falling
    Ilma

    Time is a fickle thing, is it not?

    The moment she wished might last forever (a feeling of satisfaction for telling someone, to cuddle him, telling without looking him in the eye because if she did she would shatter twice over, instead she likes to just feel his warmth caressing her), that moment is the shortest. Fleeting. The moment that follows, right after and which undoubtedly takes an equal amount of time, is one of the longest. She feels his heartbeat, she feels him tense in anticipation as his subconscious registers what his mind is not yet willing to accept, and she knows she has been relieved of her stain only to let him bear it with her. And she regrets telling, no, she almost regrets, because someone knows how she feels about it, and that someone is a someone she would have much, much rather shared her body with than with the wolf-stallion who simply took it from her.

    She’s not even realizing where that thought comes from, and dismisses it just as quickly. The point here is that Svedka would have been abke to give instead of take. But regrets don’t fix the holes inside, and she mindlessly moves about his fur, cleaning small bits of snow off his back, subconsciously from wanting him to not be so tense, to relax, it’s all over and done with. He talks to her then, and for the first time in forever, she smiles warmly, because she hears how much he cares.

    So she continues to groom - she has a sudden need to, wanting to overwrite the memory of another man, focusing on the one before (next to, under, above) her like it’s the last thing she will ever do. He tells her that darkness will not stain her forever, and she stops for a moment, thinking about what that means. With a small frown, she declines the thought that he meant she is stained now, impure or whatever, but accepts the meaning that the weight of the intrusion is upon her mind too heavily. And that he’s willing to share the load with her. ”Please don’t let it stain you instead.” she mumbles into his mane, the blue streaks on white, moving her head softly over his neck. She wants so much more for him. So much better. And she wants more for herself, too, she knows, and wonders why she did not want this on time so none of this might have happened. But she wonders what he wants, what makes him happy in this life. Because if what she wants doesn’t make him happy too, she doesn’t want it.

    don't let the fear of flying stop you from falling


    @[Svedka]
    Still secretly crushing on him, lol.
    Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
    Robert Jordan, Wheel of Time
    #12
    the secret of our world is written in the stars
    Though she smiles, though her voice is gentle and meek, there is great sorrow simpering beneath the surface of her eyes. She bears it gracefully (for him, at least), but he can see that the turmoil still loosely coils around her vocal cords, heavy in her throat and mind. He wonders how long this will plague her, a darkened and terrible memory sitting like a dense shadow in her beautiful mind. Svedka wishes above all else he could take it from her, wear the burden across his own back and carry it for her so that the pain is his, the memory is his

    The velveteen of her pure white mouth grooms him tenderly, touching his pallid gold and alabaster skin with mindlessness. It must comfort her, in some way, to pull at the tangled mess of his ivory and blue mane, ignoring the bitter pain that is lodged and hidden so deeply within her. He allows her this normalcy, this mundane activity between two friends (very intimate friends, sharing both closeness and tragedy), and begins to pick the flawless white of her mane with his own teeth, soft huffs of warm breath pulsing against her withers.

    “Whatever you carry, I carry,” he murmurs into her skin with the semblance of a smile in his baritone voice, “you won’t have to carry it alone, Ilma. Your child will not be alone.” The last phrase he says with finality, brushing the side of his face against her shoulder before beginning to lip and groom her once again. Nothing has been fixed or suddenly wiped away as if it had never happened, but there is comfort that radiates now - warm and palpable in the frigid air - and that was enough for him, for now. Svedka snorts softly, curiously, and then casually asks: 

    “When was the last time you slept?” 
    (be my escape)
    Svedka


    @[Ilma]
    #13
    I hope that you catch me, ‘cause I’m already falling
    Ilma

    Love is a fickle thing, too.
    Ilma can only reach and grasp what she can, but so far it seemed always out of reach for her, and she is left tangling in the empty air. She grasped a few hairs of Asshal, but it turned out that was lust. She'd tried to reach for Arithmetic, while perhaps she should have tried for someone else, someone like Svedka - but she doesn't dare break their friendship over it. No, a stable love like the one her parents had - that is something simply not for Ilma, as far as she believes right now.

    At least when it comes to the love of a man. Sure, she loves her friends - loves them dearly - she loves her family, whom she misses; she loves her daughter and she will come to love her second child, even if that may be harder to understand to an outsider - it's hers, the baby is hers and hers alone - you won't have to carry it alone, Ilma.

    She bites her lip, she almost cries, but they're the happy tears that well up now - because it's happiness now that he offers, a small tidbit of what she had been hoping for in the first place - "You'd do that?" she wonders aloud, surprised but, to be honest, the good kind of surprise, the very best kind. She wonders how far he'd go with that, because sure, being the male figure is one thing - though it could still range from uncle to full-on pretending to be the father, or stepfather - she thinks for the baby that might be better, at least, not to outright tell that he is not the father until they're old enough to see the differences.
    But she doesn't want to saddle Svedka with that burden, either. She knows he wants to explore. He can't stay at home forever, and she refuses to ask him to what level he intents to be around. She's grateful for just about anything he can give.

    She'll simply need a father figure to impress the right kind of playfulness and morality on the foal - to be honest, by now she suspects it to be a boy, because the littlest things are different from when she carried Tähti. And a boy would need a better figure to look up to than his own father. Or than the story of his own father, mostly. And Ilma will never know how to ever repay him.

    He said he'd fix it. He can't wipe it all out, but comes as close to fixing as anyone ever could.

    The glue will now just have to harden for a time.

    She rests her head on his back, when he pops the question as casually as one might expect should they have met on any day last summer. She must look awful - she knows, and she lets herself feel the humour of it. "That depends... do you count the nightmares?" she shakes her head. She slumbers at daytime to catch up. So could she sleep now? Well, yes maybe she could. There's a different kind of strength in her now, that although it feels like she borrowed it, she thinks she can keep with her for at least the coming evening. "Perhaps I shouldn't try out here in the snow, though." she mumbles, feeling silly suddenly for standing with him here for so long, in the icy layer of water that falls upon both their backs. He almost gets to be as white as she.

    don't let the fear of flying stop you from falling


    @[Svedka]
    Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
    Robert Jordan, Wheel of Time
    #14
    the secret of our world is written in the stars
    “Ilma,” he says with a gentle tone, tilting his head slightly and snorting softly, “I would do whatever you asked of me.” He smiles, a bit of a chuckle leaving his lips in a cloud of vapor. He doesn’t know why he’s offered her this, or why he is so willing to do it (he hadn’t even thought about it, really, it just came out and it sat well with his soul), but he knows it’s because of her. He knows that his doing this would ease her, comfort her, help her. And that was enough. He hadn’t been a father before, or even a father figure, or took care of children in anyway, but he would be there for Ilma if she needed him, because that is what family does.

    A small frown tugs at his lips as he steps away from her, feeling the cold rush in where she once had stood against him. He didn’t like thinking that she had nightmares, but he knows that there is nothing he can do to stop those from happening. Perhaps Kagerus, but those are artificial dreams compared to the ones your mind truly gives you, and Svedka didn’t like the idea of that either - not when Ilma is still plagued with such sorrow and grief. But maybe there will be new dreams now for her to dream, or maybe her sleep will be dreamless. He hopes so.

    “Come then, Ilma.” Svedka’s cold nose touches her shoulder now, huffing deeply into her ice and sky laden skin. “To the caves. I will keep watch for you.” 
    (be my escape)
    Svedka


    @[Ilma]
    figured we would wrap this up here? <333 can't wait for her to give birth!




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