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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


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    [open]  don't just sit with folded hands and become blind; any
    #1

    Brennen had trusted Maertin to stay in Nerine, while he went on to  help deal with the situation he could feel on the edges of his consciousness, something to do with Leilan. And usually, Maertin is a relatively complaint child, or at least middle-of-the-road, and would do what his father wished when it was this serious of an issue. But, well, it seemed like this whole thing was maybe something Maertin could help with, if only papa wasn’t so overprotective. So after Brennen disappears from the shores of Nerine, Maertin makes some lame excuse and slips away from the rest of his family, heading across the water to the island. It’s cold, but it’s easy for him to heal himself and he’s used to swimming in the deeper waters around Ischia, where it begins to grow truly cold.

     
    He shakes off the excess water on the other side, trying not to shiver, and already beginning to regret not bringing Blue along; she could have dried them both. Heck, she could have made it so they didn’t have to swim at all. It’s just easier to sneak around when it’s just one of them – when more than one of them are together, his parents are way more likely to keep track of them. 

     
    Something explodes in the distance and spooks him; he skitters sideways wide-eyed for a moment before he gets himself under control and takes a deep fortifying breath before starting into the depths of the island. Surely there is someone here he can help.

    Maertin

    don't just sit with folded hands and become blind

    Qaen & Maertin (twins)

    Reply
    #2
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    Unrest. Plague.

    His thoughts are unraveling, his patience wearing thin. From Nerine he flew to Hyaline, then to Icicle Island. Sabra is alive again, but he has her nestled on a rocky outpost off the coast of his home to protect her. Solace safeguards Hyaline. Their children – all of his children – are strewn across the disease-riddled mainland. He wants them all huddled in his embrace, but deep down he knows the dream will never be a reality. It does little to ease the nerves that have been firing for days now. The stressors of change are battering him day after day, minute by minute. His agitation is eagerly readable, painted across his face as he extends his travels, veering off course when he hears something – or someone – rise from the tide.

    Drenched and shivering, the boy has reached the island, but his coat weakly smells of Ischia. It lies twisted in his forelock where much of the hair remains dry from his travels. Curious, Castile addresses him with a swift change in course, moving quickly until they are a hearts breadth away from one another. With a mistrusting glare, Castile snaps. ”Don’t say you’re another damn idiot trying to take the island,” his lip curls into a snarl, his frost-kissed tail flicking in agitation. There have been a cluster of pseudo claims that the island’s status remains questionable and unknown.

    Honestly, it’s becoming more trouble than its worth.

    The revelation causes Castile’s demeanor to falter to a degree as he blinks then looks across his shoulder. It’s tempting to simply burn the opposition, but perhaps the others prefer more diplomatic efforts. After all, he did offer a fight that no one acted on.

    With a disgruntled sigh, he returns his hardened stare to the younger boy, a brow lifted. ”So, what’s your name, and why are you here?” A pause as he straightens himself, never letting his guard truly fall. ”And don’t even try to bullshit me.”

    castile
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    #3

    Even as he is still looking around, trying to get his bearings, someone approaches quickly. The weanling swings his head over, wide-eyed, taking in the pied stranger with his dark wings and bright mane and tail. He smiles, opening his mouth to call a hello, but the stallion is crowding into his space a moment later and the boy’s smile falters, an unsteady intake a breath further betraying his discomfort. His copper ears strain to catch the snarled words and he tilts his head, blinks in confusion. “Uh…no,” is his offering, and he steps back from Castile.


    His heart is beating hard in his chest, and the boy is rethinking his choice. Maybe, like papa had said, it would have been better to wait. He’d promised there would be people Maertin could help that would come to Nerine, too, but the colt was just so sure it would be better to go and find the sick people and help them. When the pegasus looks away, staring momentarily off into the distance, Maertin considers making a run for it. Of course, he doesn’t think he’ll get very far; the stranger is taller than him with longer legs and wings, to boot. Maertin just has his own still-growing legs, and he doesn’t even always win games of chase-me with his twin and his sister.


    He’s still wavering, inching backwards step by step, when the man’s gaze pins him again. The boy freezes, body tensing, but all that comes is more questions. He tries to smile again, tentative and sweet, hoping that if he looks harmless maybe the angry stranger will believe him. “I’m-m M-maertin,” he chirps brightly, despite the slight chatter of his teeth. He’s never known true danger, and that tends to make the young irrepressible. “I’m-m here t-to help,” he pulls himself to his full height, puffing out his chest, completely unaware that the shivers beginning to wrack his body ruin the image of strength and bravery completely. “I want t-to heal p-people.”

    Maertin

    don't just sit with folded hands and become blind

    Reply
    #4
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    The boy trembles underneath Castile’s stare, the cold burrowing past his skin and into his bones. For a long while, he offers no consolation or relief. His edged stare continues to bore into the colt, weighing the possibility of his situation. He could be a spy, a source of intellect for their expanding number of enemies.

    And yet…

    Yet he looks harmless with his bright eyes and quaking voice. What could he do to wreak more havoc on this small island? He is but a child shivering from the cold and stepping away from an intense stare.

    A resigning sigh escapes Castile, his entire demeanor softening with the exhalation. ”Okay,” because if he cannot defend against a colt then he should just bury himself now. Although still somewhat suspicious, the drake inches back to allow Maertin entrance into the cold island. ”Castile,” he offers his name as a confirmation of the peace settling between them, but hesitates to do anything more. Looking away, he half expects his search to find a mare to embrace the boy, but alas, they are alone.

    (It’s not our kin)
    (Kill him)

    The hissing voice of his counterpart echoes through him and sends a chill down his spine, but Castile remains otherwise steady in his movements and expression. Once, years ago, he would have gladly embraced the colt and welcomed him past the shoreline, but life has darkened and scarred him. He hesitates for a few heartbeats, watching as the colt still shivers even while offering assistance. ”Where are your parents?” It pains him to see the boy wash up alone, but Castile finally steps forward, pressing his abnormally warm barrel against Maertin. ”Let’s get away from the water. I’ll burn some wood for you to warm up with.” He doesn’t elaborate how or even why the sudden change. He just inclines his head and begins walking inland, his eyes sifting through the wintry scene for lumber.

    castile



    @[Maertin]
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    #5

    The stallion inches back, offering him access to get away from the water, but Maertin hesitates. He’s given a name, too, but Castile already proved himself a threat so he is not completely ready to trust the change of heart. Still, it’s really cold, so when the stallion steps towards him, he stiffens in a fear he can’t quite suppress but doesn’t flee. It’s a reward in and of itself that the black and white stallion is quite warm, and he gives up on his cautiousness and presses against him, shamelessly seeking the warmth. He comes from a quite tactile family, after all, and he thinks the man’s kind actions bely his gruff opening words.


    He walks alongside Castile as he heads inland, the contact warmth keeping his teeth from chattering so much. “Well mom is still in Ischia, I t-think,” he says after a moment when he thinks he can mostly speak normally. “But we live with Papa and Scorch in Nerine,” he’d tried out ‘aunt scorch’ at his father’s suggestion after the move, but it had never quite stuck. Scorch was more like a capricious fairy godmother than an aunt, despite that she was his sister’s mother. “I think Papa is here, though, somewhere. He said he was going to help.”


    He leaves off the part where he’d been told to stay in Nerine. He doesn’t think Castile needs to know that. Too much of a risk of being sent home before he can try and help someone. “But I can h-help too. I’m a h-healer.”

    Maertin

    don't just sit with folded hands and become blind



    @[Castile] I know this is way out of timeline now *hides* but I think Maertin is working on a serious case of hero worship here and he insisted I write a reply.

    Qaen & Maertin (twins)

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