"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
There was only one willow left within the depths of the forest, a young one not so far outside it’s springing sapling-hood. One reborn from devastation, as he had been. One reborn from the shattered remains of a tree split and torn from its trunk by the most raucous of beasts in all of the reaching kingdoms – the Nightwalker of course.
And it is at the sprouting young willow that the wraith-king finds himself at, velvet black lips lipping at its pliable boughs as thundering laughs rumble from his chest at the passing memories. He, a wild thing bullying his way through life had been found tangled and helpless within the willow’s limbs by none other than the yellow-marbled Amazonian queen herself, her title a thing unknown and unheeded by him. And with their titles unbeknownst to each other the two had become the closest of friends, their friendship furnished by the laughable absurdity of his situation laying the grounds of their depths.
Vanquish had worn his crown too many years and his skin bore the scars of too many wars to not walk amongst the Meadow as if he was not who he was – a king, a lover, a friend, a father, a fighter. The Percheron allowed his wings to drape down his sides, talons clawing into the moist grass beneath him as Deserts’ oasis water slithered from his pores and danced across his black flesh to trickle down into the roots of the willow that belonged to Quark and the king.
Screaming like a siren, alive and burning brighter.
Hot damn, triplets are exhausting. I don't know how anyone manages them alone. One mouth to feed is a lot of work, but three? My daughter and I have been sharing the task, but I'd forgotten how much milk a newborn belly needs. Now that the first few weeks have passed, we are able to take shifts more, giving each other time to wander while still leaving the girls with a readily available source of their next meal. It's my turn, and with a quick kiss goodbye to each of my little loves I sprout dragon wings and take to the sky.
God, I love the silence up here, the way the sky swallows all sound but that of the air rushing past my ears and my heart beating like mad to keep up with the demands flight puts on it. Oh, I could reshape myself, let my limbs melt into something built more for flight than a heavy draft horse; dragon or bird or hell, anything that comes with wings would do, but the burn feels good, feels...alive. The way my lungs heave for enough breath to keep up with the churning of my wings through the air, the way my heart races in my chest to pump all that oxygen to cells not built for flight, it's such a rush.
And I've been needing a goddamn rush.
Still, I can't afford to push myself until I'm utterly exhausted and unable to get home. So sighing, I head back toward the ground, zeroing in on the Meadow as the nearest, most obvious destination given my trajectory and how much free time I have. And when I touch down, those lovely leathery white wings of mine melt away, reabsorbed into my back like they never existed. I don't know that I even want to talk to anyone, so much as just appreciate the freedom and the space. I just walk, letting my feet take me where they will for a while.
Turns out that “where they will” is a familiar place, and one with happy memories instead of weighed down by old sorrow and haunted by ghosts. And I'm not the only one to find myself in the shadow of a lovely young willow tree. “Did this one sass you too?” I ask, walking up behind Vanquish, stepping into the space between the edge of his draping wings and his broad black side, and laying my head across his back. “Looks like a mouthy fucker, doesn't it? Bet if a little bit of wind picked up, it'd whip you with those branches you're playing with. You're lucky I came along when I did, love, or who knows how much trouble you'd be in.”
