• 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


    [private]  now I'm terrified and restless but I just cannot escape, Tunnel
    #1

    CASIMIRA

    dragon-shifting daughter of ashhal and ryatah

    Being reborn is different than being born. 

    There was no warmth of her mother’s body. There was no twin curled next to her, her heartbeat always in sync with his. Being reborn was cold, and empty, and lonely.

    A single dragon scale, lost in the ash and rubble of scorched Tephra earth, is all that was needed. That single scale, planted like a seed, eventually grew and twisted and bloomed into her. She remembers opening those crystal-blue eyes, and blinking the bleariness away. She remembers, instinctively, that she thought of Cassian first, and then her mother, and then,there was the flash of the star-studded girl hurtling towards her on the battlefield. She doesn’t remember if the impact hurt. She isn’t sure how long she was dead for.

    She just knows that she wakes up alone.

    When she had first looked down at spindly newborn legs, she remembers how helpless she had felt as the tears streamed down her face. She wanted to find her mother and her brother, but something kept her from doing so. She doesn’t know why, but she feels ashamed for dying. She feels ashamed that she cannot control herself in her dragon form, that she had gotten herself into such a mess that someone killed her. Because now she remembers, in broken fragments, how her hunter’s eye had zeroed in on the golden stallion that day that Loess attacked. She would never forgive herself if she hurt her mother, or her brother, or even her half-siblings. 

    And so, she had quietly gathered herself up, and thankfully the tired kingdom was too busy to notice when the small girl disappeared.

    The forest had become her home, since then, even though she doesn’t fit in with the dark shadows. She is vibrant and white, with bright, ice-blue eyes that glitter and reflect like shards of broken glass, and there is something eerie, almost ghost-like in the way she slips through the trees. She should have been scared of the forest; she should have been scared of the alien creatures she had encountered with Evenstar, but they are so far in the back of her mind that she doesn’t think of them often. She can’t think of them, because then she will think of saving her sister from them, and then she will think of her brother, and then she will think of her mother, and then she will want to go home. 

    But she can’t go home. She can’t go home when this monster keeps growling inside the cage of her chest, and she can’t control it when it's unleashed.




    @[Tunnel]
    she's a yearling now, sorry I had to do some ~backstory~ in the beginning since I never wrote her being reborn.
    Reply
    #2

    At dusk his attention is drawn by a glimpse of white through the trees. A breath drawn and a taste of the air bringing him a scent he has run across a few times. Tunnel is impressed that nothing has eaten her yet, or savaged her and sent her bleating back out into the meadow. The mothers of Beqanna are remarkably inept, to keep allowing their pretty little children to go lost and frightened into the dark. How stupid they must be to let their precious things go astray.

    The forest is vast but he has seen her in the months she has drifted a pale spectre in the trees. As much as he might be bothered to he wonders how it is that she persists out here alone, what equips her to survive childhood in the forest without a parent or a guiding hand of some kind. He does not interfere with lost youngsters often, many do not suit him. These trees are full of the hungry and the deviant who might be more interested in a little white filly than he. After all he usually has enough to keep him busy with Shroud alone.

    He once again notices the quiet with which the child moves, deft enough to be a shadow except for the way she practically glows against the earthy tones of his home. Tunnel slides through trunks to intercept her, low branches sliding whisper-quiet over his strong back until he places himself squarely in her path, broadside angled to face the yearling girl. “You’re still alive. Why are you still out here?” Tunnel is not inclined toward curiosity often, but he has bothered to come inspect the child face to face so he might as well ask a question.

    TUNNEL


    @[Aislyn] ugh sorry he is being difficult
    the heart moving through a tunnel
    in it darkness, darkness, darkness
    Reply
    #3

    CASIMIRA

    dragon-shifting daughter of ashhal and ryatah

    She isn’t sure if she has seen him before. Maybe from the corner of her eye she has felt herself being watched, but never did she look to see who it was. She just knows that every time she felt eyes on her there was a familiar icy prickling of fear that shivered up her neck, and silently she would hope and pray that whoever it was would continue on their way. She knew she could shift, even in the middle of an attack. She knows there’s a good chance that she could annihilate whoever might try and take her, but she didn’t want to.

    She wanted to stop having flashing images of the golden stallion bleeding. She wanted to stop having nightmares of attacking the alien creatures. She wanted to stop having that feeling that something was trying to break it’s way out of her.

    He is suddenly in front of her, then, a shadow manifesting itself into something physical. It makes her heart lurch into her throat and leave her mouth as a startled, “Oh.” For just a moment the vaguely reptilian shape of her eyes narrow, and there is a rippling shimmer as white scales roll across her body like a wave, and she feels her teeth grow sharp against her tongue. But she settles herself, then, the porcelain-smoothness of her skin returning, and her pale blue eyes rounding as she stares up at him. There is nothing childlike or innocent in the way that she looks at him, and instead there is a clear guarded shield of distrust reflecting in her eyes. “I don’t understand what you mean,” there is a defensive bite to her tone, angling her head to look up at him in defiance. “You think I can’t take care of myself?”



    @[Tunnel]
    Reply




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)