"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
and I could easily lose my mind; the way you kiss me will work each time calling me to come back to bed, singing Georgia on my mind
His chance encounter with Auroraelis had resulted in benefits he'd thought impossible, before; due to his rapidly declining health, the three year old had delusionally believed that the plague had no cure, and that he may very well have been dying. When the healer gently pressed herself to his skin and released her magic into the sickly pores of his skin, Rhae had at first felt nothing; the suppression of his symptoms came slowly, but once it did, gratitude swelled in his breast.
Standing on the western coast of Tephra beneath the shadow of the great volcano, Rhae wishes that he could find the kindly peacock mare and thank her. As if to encourage him, the wind suddenly picks up and lifts the remainder of the boy's healthy feathers, consequently sending a shiver down his spine, too. It's been ages since he flew... Craning his neck, Rhae inspects first one wing and then the other, preening and pulling out dead feathers until only healthy ones remained. He'd lost about ten percent of his total feathers due to the contagion, though they'd started growing back since he met Aurora.
Feeling brave, foolish, and somewhat healthy for the first time in months, the stallion decides to go for a flight. If he finds his healer friend, he will be sure to descend and thank her; if not, it will still not be a waste of time. The summer sun warms his back and lends his muscles and mind the strength needed to begin his flight; snorting, Rhae trots west, towards the coast. When a particularly smooth patch of earth stretches before him, he unfurls his wings and gives as powerful a push with his haunches as can be mustered, given his disheveled state.
It takes longer than usual, but in the end, he does it, flying low in the air and grinning. Triumph looks good on his handsome face.
More at ease now that he could rely on the warm drafts to keep him afloat as he glided, Rhae momentarily scanned the Tephran soil before decisively heading west. He's yet to explore the newly surfaced islands which are Tephra's neighbours, and the white sand beaches of Island Resort look unbelievably tempting to his sore muscles and chilled blood.
The flight ends quickly, but as his hooves strike against the new land's sand, Rhaegor's breath escapes him. Trembling somewhat, the pegasus lowers his head to better open his airways, ears falling lamely to the side as he looks glazedly at the white granules before him. Perhaps today will be less about exploration, and more about naptime.
He was tired of not being himself. He missed when it was so easy to smile, to flirt, to show off how brilliant and beautiful he was. He'd gotten it all from his Dad and it was damn worth showing off. Just look at his pristine white over his body, laced through his sleek wings and in his hair. Look at all the gorgeous lavender that was so damn kissable. He looked damn good, and he knew it. It'd been a whilel since he'd felt it though.
The delicate silver chain necklace clinked softly as he walked, the medallion at its end thumping gently against his chest, reflecting the sun in flashes in sync with his steps. His grey eyes matched, silver and shining as he wandered casually towards the new voice in his mind in mild curiosity, a new impression he hadn't felt yet. He hadn't sensed anything that would cause alarm, only a young male out to explore. That felt safe enough.
"Hello," he greeted the other pegasus as he stepped from the shadows of the trees, sunlight bathing him in warmth. A friendly smile was on his face, crooked and handsome, and his white seabreeze-touseled hair swept over the side of his face. He'd grown some since returning home, still similar to an older teenager, but less lanky and awkward-looking. Now he was filled out a bit more, still lean and beautiful but with natural muscle tone and as tall as an adult.
"I haven't seen you before? I'm Kharon."
He let his eyes wander over the guy, taking in the gold and the dark hair, the lighter hair. His soft brown wings, too. Kharon didn't know many with wings. Just himself, and Umbra, his adopted baby brother and Tiphon. And a healer that came through every now and then. He'd heard his Uncle had had wings once, but only had the scars left in their absence instead now. His grey eyes passed over his hips, his flanks, and Kharon frowned softly as some strange marks caught his attention, still smiling.
"What are those from?" he asked curiously, gesturing with his nose towards them and taking a step closer.
I wish I could scrape away the dirt that's on my mind
and I could easily lose my mind; the way you kiss me will work each time calling me to come back to bed, singing Georgia on my mind
Ironically, Rhaegor misses being himself too; he misses the thrill of flirting and of meeting new people and of being handsome. While Chryseis satisfies many of his needs, the plague wears what remains of the boy quite thin; although a certain gleam still lights his eyes on the good days, those are few and far between. This much is quite obvious as he stands on the white sand beach, head swinging low and ribs expanding quickly and weakly. Rhae has seen better days.
But, he is yet young, and subtly immortal; so better days are coming, too.
The sound of another approaching revives Rhaegor, causing him to lift his head and to take a deep, deep breath. With this accomplished, he feels more himself, and sets about gauging the strange stallion. Lacework white atop a gorgeous lavender hue, a look common to many frequenting Beqanna these days. The Hyalinian prince vaguely remembers his Queen Mothers painting a political picture for him some years ago, about a convict of the Leviathan's and his many attempts at claiming a throne prior to that. Clearly, Rhae hasn't the most in depth idea of the medallion-wearing stallion comes from, but it is something.
Hello. The spoken word causes Rhae to dip his head in greeting, though only after he witnesses the other's smile. Something about the plague hardens the boy's heart against being immediately friendly; but the gorgeous violet seems harmless as of yet, and so he does give way to friendliness. In the silence that follows the stranger's greeting (to which Rhae pays little mind, being used to the awkwardness of every new interaction at this point), Rhae's cool brown eyes sweep across the other, watching the way his mane and tail fluttered elegantly in the wind. Mine must be doing the same. Next, he casts his eyes towards the lean and lengthy muscle lining the violet's body. A similar thought colours Rhae's mind.
I haven't seen you before? I'm Kharon.
Rhae only blinks, reminded immensely of his private encounter with Litotes... Private, indeed.
Figuring that his silence ends things, Rhae glances away to study the island; normally he might make more of an effort to communicate, but the sickness in his veins causes his energy to lag. Only when Kharon steps forward does Rhae start some, adrenaline spiking at the other's nearness; but he stays still long enough for the violet's question to find his ears, and for the violet's nose to find the blue of his leopard print markings.
Those? Rhae thinks, craning his own neck to look at the strange, shimmering pattern. His nostrils flutter delicately at his skin, and unconsciously also against Kharon's. From my mothers, he decides. Solace's blue, from her father, and Kagerus' leopard print markings which she inherited from her grand mother... Here, his thoughts trail off, meandering through some memories of his mothers. A warm smile colours his expression, one which might give a non-mind reader some kind of idea - but alas, Rhaegor is the one here with no idea.
He listened to the boy's thoughts as they looked each other over. Something about being a prince, something else about his mom-queen, and another thing about Leviathans and convicts, and really, none of it made any sense to him so he dismissed it easily as the usual prattle people sorted through as they drew connections and created memories.
At least his voice was nice.
He certainly didn't think he had any relation to whoever that convict was despite the boy assuming it. His father definitely wasn't one, and he had no idea what a Leviathan even was, and their family had no connection to any of Dad's relatives, thank goodness. He supposed one of them could've been that convict pretty easily. They were all pretty worthless, it had seemed so far. But they absolutely weren't from anywhere called Leviatha or anything. Never heard of it.
The rich ochre boy greeted him silently with a dip of his head, examining him back in kind until their eyes met - silver to golden brown. And yeah, his hair had been lifted in the breeze too, dark against the burnt gold of his neck. Kharon still held a smile, curious to know more about him and why he stayed so silent as he turned away as if they were done so soon.
Kharon's question caught him though, kept him here a moment longer and he was glad for that. Which was strange. He hadn't enjoyed another's company yet though save for his sisters' or his dads'.
Those? the boy thought clearly, as if he were answering aloud, as if he were used to speaking in his mind to people. Kharon frowned softly and pulled back to see better, tracing the pattern again with his eyes as the other explained silently. From my mothers. Solace's blue, from her father, and Kagerus' leopard print markings which she inherited from her grand mother... He was smiling though, soft and warm, and that would have to be answer enough.
Kharon mirrored it, smiling softly, a little crookedly. "You don't speak?" he asked him. He'd never met someone that didn't speak. There was only two outside of family that knew of his telepathy, a family secret of a sort, and so this may get interesting for them. It was a curse he kept to himself, practiced in the way of hiding recognition and reaction to other's thoughts. He wasn't about to change it just for this boy's daily challenge. He didn't even know him.
"Do you like it here?" he continued, glancing around and admiring the island. It wasn't Ischia, it wasn't home, but it was pretty damn close. It would suffice until the plague was cleared. Still had sand and beach and ocean, clear skies and sunshine to bathe in. "We're from Ischia," his grey eyes slid back to his quiet stranger, "but we're staying until our family estate is safe again." He'd been a prince too in a way, he realized. They hadn't viewed themselves as royalty though, just badass and beautiful and keeping the place clear of riffraff. But the title suited him just fine. A silver prince and a gold prince.
Maybe after the world was no longer so ruined he would be a prince again.
I wish I could scrape away the dirt that's on my mind
Truthfully, it is probably for the good that Kharon keeps his telepathy a secret. Although the boy Rhaegor has yet to summon the courage and the energy required to make the trek up the mountain to beg for that self-same trait, the idea still lingered obsessively in his mind. Besides bugging Kharon with his questions now, he would probably also come back to the Resort to find the lavender stallion, hungry for a mentor as he learned his way around the trait.
This all is hypothetical, of course, but then again, it really isn’t. Having multiple timelines going in multiple threads is really a bitch of a thing, is what I guess I am trying (and failing) to communicate through my speculative third person narration.
More presently, the handsome stallion before him smiles and speaks in response to Rhae’s silence. A question, which cuts to the chase and leaves Rhae pretty vulnerable and exposed. Pulling a face, the Pegasus lowered his head slightly in affirmation, eyes flashing away and then back to Kharon. He seemed kind enough, and at any rate, there was nothing Rhae could do to hide himself the way the other could.
Do you like it here? Rhae thought: well, it’s not Tephra, but it’s close. And it’s certainly not Hyaline, but it’s nice. His eyes flit briefly to the diverse foliage standing behind Kharon, and then he nods; yes, he likes it here. Cocking a brow, he guides Kharon’s eyes with a toss of his head toward the clearly visible volcano. I’m from there.
Kharon goes on to explain that he and his family, who are evidently not present, hail from Ischia. Rhae has never been to that place, but he knows something of it due to his involvement in politics; he wonders how the kingdom fares in the wake of Brennen’s descension, and exactly how much respect a man-whore like Ivar could really inspire in the remaining Ischians. Not having a true personal stake in those affairs, however, Rhae decides that he will tell Kharon that he is from Hyaline originally.
Not knowing that his thoughts would be answer enough for the violet, Rhae cleared his throat and stepped back, indicating with a look that Kharon should not follow. Peering carefully at the large expanse of damp sand sitting nearby due to the retreating tide, Rhae expels a relatively powerful beam of crystal blue light from his chest unto its surface, manipulating the direction that he sends them until a satisfactory image appears. Recalling the laser, the once-prince tilts his head to consider his handiwork, and must admit that his drawing really does look like Hyaline’s mountains and lake. This isn’t his first time doing this, not even close.
![[Image: rhae]](https://66.media.tumblr.com/c013fae479a9e0c775688ff921306b4e/tumblr_pivbqpgHuG1xsr748o1_250.png)
