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    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


    love was a country we couldn't defend, thorn
    #1


    For a time, it was the only word she knew – Prayer.
    And it had felt so important.
    She had felt important.

    But days bled into weeks which fashioned themselves into months and it had occurred to her that maybe she wasn’t so important at all. Her mother had loved her, certainly. Her strange mother who sometimes more resembled a serpent than a horse but who had told her how beautiful she was from the day she was born. And maybe she is. Or maybe she will be. Stark black and overtly feminine. But she is gangly now and sometimes uncoordinated and not always certain of herself or others.

    She has struck out on her own. It feels awkward, to be so firmly stuck between child and adult. She feels too old for the playground, or perhaps too mature, and too childish for the meadow. So she takes herself to the river and dips her feet into the water and the freezing temperature rips a breath of laughter out of her chest. 

    She shivers and grins down at the water as it crashes against her ankles. How desperately it wants to sweep her along with it and she has half a mind to let it, if only to see where it will take her. She is on the verge of taking a step deeper, surrendering herself to the pull of the current when she is startled by a sound behind her. As if caught, she scrambles backward away from the river’s edge and then turns to face the figure. 

    Oh,” she stammers and fashions up another grin, something caught between surprise and relief, “I didn’t see you there.


    p r a y e r



    @[thorn]
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    #2
    It is strange how Thorn has always felt like he does and does not belong equally. Living amongst his rambunctious sibling has left him with a happy heart, but not a full one, and he wonders what lives beyond the loving family that keeps him warm at night.

    Are there those out there that wish to leave him cold? Or those that wish to be the campfire to his cold winter’s night?

    The two year old smiles sweetly to himself, chin tucked shyly to his chest. It seems as if the world wishes to make him moody, but not a single shadow can blight the glow on his face. Thorn has kind eyes and a gentle step, even when furiously driven by his curious and hungry heart. As he steps from the comfort of his family’s nest in Tephra, he gets the sense that it is time he leaves for good; it is not that he feels he cannot come home, but that he is riding a year old, and it may be time to find a nook of his own.

    The river arrives on that warm thought, a dreamy tilt of his head leading his eyes skyward. He hardly notices the girl when he collides with her. Only when he rears back in embarrassment does he fully see her. His heart skitters in his chest, both from shame and surprise at such a graceful face.

    “You didn’t need to,” he blurts, then shakes his head. He takes a step back, peering at her with panic that slowly fades to wonder. “What - uh - what were you doing in the water?” he stutters, feeling the blush in his cheeks harshen.
    thorn
    under your skin, over the moon

    don't let me in, I don't know what I'd do

    roses are fallin', roses from fallin' for you, ooh

    Reply
    #3


    She burns where he touches her.
    But it is the most brilliant glow.

    It is different than the warmth that festered in her gut when her mother pressed kisses to her head, murmured kind nothings in her ear.

    How strange it is to be set ablaze for the very first time. It makes the tiny heart swell in her breast and the smile deepens until her cheeks ache with it. She cannot help the flutter of her pulse or the way she tilts her head and reaches for him as he skitters away. But there is nothing but the negative space that he wedges between them and maybe there is some small part of her that feels foolish for even trying.

    Still, she smiles. Because she’s on fire. And she glances over her shoulder at the river’s edge and considers it a long moment before she drags her focus back to his face. Expectant. Something that would be just as easy to fall into, she thinks.

    She takes a step toward him, lowers her voice as if sharing a secret. There is some glint in her eye, though there is nothing malicious or even mischievous about it. “I was wondering where it would take me if I let it,” she whispers. She turns then, angles herself so that they are side-by-side and turns her gaze back to the river. “It seems so hungry,” she murmurs, still grinning, “doesn’t it?


    p r a y e r
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    #4
    Thorn is a clumsy creature, one that stumbles over his words just as much as he stumbles over his legs. His lack of tact is made up for with the wild gleam of his smile and the roguish glint in his eyes. There is a feral boy deep inside of him, a handsome boy—a horse that draws upon the wolffish instincts he was born into. His mother taught him love, though—and his siblings taught him patience—and that untamed being snowballed down a mountain of unbidden, rosy love.

    The girl before Thorn reminds him of that warm love Wonder has always freely given. She holds that same fire his mother does, a kindness and a ferocity of equal strengths. His heart skips a beat when her gaze meets his—mostly because he has never had a girl look at him the way she is looking at him, but also because her secretive eyes seem depthless in their curiosity. Thorn’s mouth widens to match Prayer’s grin because he cannot help himself: such life is so infectious.

    Aware that there is little space between them now that the girl has settled next to him, Thorn holds his breath and catches glimpses of her face from the corner of his eye. He realizes all too late that her mischievous has gone unanswered, and he blurts out on the breath he is holding, “Well, let’s find out!” The colt then launches himself into the frigid water without a thought for his health, immediately regretting his decision as the icy temperature numbs his legs and underbelly. He peers back Prayer awkwardly, timid eyes glistening and remorseful.
    thorn
    under your skin, over the moon

    don't let me in, I don't know what I'd do

    roses are fallin', roses from fallin' for you, ooh

    Reply
    #5


    The heat he’d injected into the very center of her dissolves around the soft edges of her mirth until it is merely a warm glow. She studies him with a kind of breathless wonder as he grins back at her. It is not that she was reared by sorrow but there was a sadness in her mother’s bones that they were both powerless against. A kind of sadness that Prayer knew nothing about and would hopefully never feel in the marrow of her own bones. It’s hard to imagine sadness, though, when he’s grinning at her and her heart is pounding so recklessly in the center of her chest that she can barely breathe around it.

    They are standing side-by-side now and she is tingling with something unfamiliar. She offers up her answer like a secret and watches, wide-eyed, as he hurls himself into the water. She gasps and goes absolutely still for the space of a breath before she throws back her head and shrieks with laughter. It is such a delighted sound that it makes her dizzy.

    This is the first time anyone will ever do anything for her.

    She skitters down the bank of the river, shaking her head, giggling wildly as she goes. She loses her footing, shrieks again as she slides in the mud to the edge of the river. She can hardly breathe around her laughter as she tiptoes into the water, reaching out to bump his shoulder with her nose.

    Come out of there,” she giggles, shuffling backwards out of the water. “I like you! I don’t want it to eat you!

    p r a y e r
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    #6
    Her laugh is like a first spring bloom: colorful and so startling in bravery that it steals one’s breath. Thorn thinks she can melt even the thickest snow if she tries, with the way the sun orbits around her giggling.

    In his childish naivety, he falls, tumbling endlessly into blue of Prayer’s eyes. It is the cheesy whispers of romance that tickle the colt’s ears when he stares blankly at his new companion, smile sweet but empty. He is thinking of everything but reality: of brushing his muzzle abashedly across her cheek or warming himself with the close proximity of her body heat. All innocent thoughts, ones so perfect they can only exist in the genuine kindness of a youth’s mind.

    Alas, Thorn is shy, and all these picturesque fantasies go up in flame when he stiffens at Prayer’s touch. The unwitting failure of a boy’s inexperience: doing the exact opposite of what he desires.

    The way his face lights up and rises to her orders is like the tide follows the moon: inevitable and certain. “Okay!” he chirps in response, without even a thought of what he might want to do. The water surges against his legs and he stumbles on the uneven ground, but ultimately finds himself in the shallows, facing Prayer.

    “Uh . . .” Thorn mumbles out before bashfully turning his head to the side. His wings ruffle uncomfortably against his sides, a brief distraction from the way his heart pounds.

    “I’m Thorn.” This he states confidently before dragging his gaze back up to Prayer’s. “And I like you, too! What’s your name, though?” He grins like a fool, that boyish charm hidden deep within finding a special gleam in his teeth.
    thorn
    under your skin, over the moon

    don't let me in, I don't know what I'd do

    roses are fallin', roses from fallin' for you, ooh




    I wrote this while high please enjoy the typos and incoherency
    Reply
    #7


    She does not know how to be self-conscious.
    When he looks at her, all she knows how to do is flood with heat.
    Her mother has told her that she’s beautiful her whole life but she’s never thought to believe it. Not until now. Because he’s looking at her like she hung the moon and it makes her head swim.

    But her grin remains because she cannot help but smile beneath the discernible weight of his gaze. Because there is still laughter swelling and bursting in the long column of her throat, even when he stiffens beneath her touch in a way that should stop her heart. All she can think about, though, is the way that his skin leaves an imprint of warmth on her mouth that she can still feel even as she wedges space between them.

    He tells her his name without her having to ask and she quietly commits it to memory. Thorn. He is too soft for such a name, she thinks. When she’d touched him, there had been no sharp sting that told her that she should think better of it. She’d felt safe and warm. “Thorn,” she says and she smiles at the shape it takes in her mouth. Maybe she can make it mean something else.

    He smiles at her in a way that arrests the air in her chest and when she speaks next it is on the back of a sigh. “Prayer,” she whispers, dreamy. Until she blinks herself back to reality and finally flushes with embarrassment. She swallows thickly and tries again, louder now. “My name is Prayer,” she says and then smiles her own bashful smile as she turns away her gaze.

    p r a y e r
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    #8
    His name feels so special come out of her mouth.

    There is nothing like that first crush, at least to those not jaded enough to feel it. Thorn has had the luck so many wish they had: such a warm upbringing that this feeling blooming in his chest has ample room to grow. He feels it chase adrenaline through his veins and envelop all of his senses. Infatuation and discovery weave the stickiest of webs, and the winged colt is a more than willing victim.

    Of course, Prayer is his spider, but she only wraps him in that innocent obsession of youth. Thorn briefly wonders if she feels as enamored as he, and he draws his head back in contemplation. A stormy look passes across his eyes, but it is quickly wiped away by the sound of his name in her girlish voice.

    “Prayer,” he parrots back, savoring the way it tastes just as she did. He smiles a smile so dopey that even he can feel its goofiness. “Don’t look away! I like the way you look at me.” This he adds as if it the most normal thing to say.

    Water splashes into the snow when Thorn finally steps out. He visibly shivers against the cold air, tucking his monotone wings tightly against his sides. “I’m f-freezing.” He pauses because of his chattering teeth. “Maybe we should find somewhere warm.” The way he doesn’t even think Prayer won’t accompany is so pure, as if this is just another adventure with an old pal. He smiles and nudges her neck, then demands, “Come on!”
    thorn
    under your skin, over the moon

    don't let me in, I don't know what I'd do

    roses are fallin', roses from fallin' for you, ooh



    @[prayer]
    Reply
    #9


    In the earliest days of her youth, her name had felt like the most important word in the world.
    It was the only word she knew and she’d happily parroted it back at her mother and grandmother.
    She’d carried it like a stone beside her heart, whispered it to herself.
    It had meant everything to her because her mother had chosen it for her.

    She had grown to understand that a name was just a name. There was nothing all that spectacular about her name and it was not really of any great importance. The world had its way of dulling the shine of the things children believe and it had done good work in teaching her that, just because it was hers, that didn’t make it special.

    But he says her name and it feels like the most important thing in the world again. It fills her up. It feels almost exactly the same way it had felt when her mother had said it. But the warmth is different in a way that feels like a secret.

    He calls back her gaze and she provides it willingly, shackling her focus to his face with a shy smile that she’s never worn before. Because she does not know what to do with the warmth that floods through her when she looks at him now.

    She wishes there was something she could do to warm him, especially because it’s her fault that he’s in this position in the first place. But she cannot dwell on how willing he’d been to throw himself into the current because it would surely make her dizzy. So, she reaches out and touches him as if this will do anything at all except flood her with heat.

    She nods her agreement and then bursts out in surprised laughter when he nudges her and turns. She grins, scurrying up the river bank. She swallows her laughter and it becomes carbonation in her bloodstream instead as she tears toward the trees. 

    p r a y e r
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    #10
    Thorn remembers the sun he woke to everyday as a child. There were days that he relaxed beneath five feet long elephant ear leaves, watching rain drip from the overhead greenery as if he had nothing better to do. He was a relaxed boy, one that rarely found his heart racing; instead, that love of his only grew and grew until it felt as if his heart would burst from his chest—

    His heart is magic, that rush of love and dopamine extra potent.

    He feels like magic incarnate when Prayer’s eyes come back to his. The grin on his lips is made of pure sunlight. A burning thrum builds in his chest.

    Snow is white and only an inch deep when the pair set off. Thorn’s hooves kick up the light dusting, mixing dark brown dirt with the blinding ivory and sharp clarity of ice. As he runs he begins to warm, the working of his muscles sending the smallest amount of steam into the air. When he grows tired of their running, he comes to a sliding halt, dipping beneath a low-hanging branch to peer at the stark black of Prayer.

    The desire to take her to his home is sudden and overwhelming—he can’t get the idea of her smiling face looking up to meet Wonder’s out of his head. And his siblings! They would surely love her, too.

    Yes, he thinks, I should invite her home.

    “Hey, Prayer . . .” he calls with a cheeky grin. “Do you wanna come home with me? You’d love my siblings. We’re just a big happy family.” His heart swells, literally, as he imagines how she’ll fit in like a missing piece of a puzzle.
    thorn
    under your skin, over the moon

    don't let me in, I don't know what I'd do

    roses are fallin', roses from fallin' for you, ooh



    @[prayer]
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