"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
Abrus leaves the woods that he had first landed in, following the tug on his soul to explore more of this land - more of the forests here. The meadows and rolling hills towards the south do not interest him, and while he is naturally fascinated by the swirling mists that conceal the land to the west - even his abilities aren’t enough to part them and discover what is hiding there. He travels north, through the mountains, following an instinct that helps him navigate - in addition to the borrowed eyes of a possum perched on top of his head.
His raven companion scouts ahead and she is the first to see the pine forest where it stretches from the foothills to the sea. The moonlight upon the mist and needles sings through every cell of Abrus’ body and he feels satisfied. It had not been intentional to arrive at this continent or world, of all the ones that existed, but at least he could be sure he would not be disappointed or without power while he remained.
The possum is left unceremoniously at the edge of the woods - perhaps later Abrus will remember to return it to where he had taken it, or perhaps it simply lives here and must adapt to the changes in the world it had known. He is too distracted to focus on it, moving forward past the stunned creature. As he approaches the trees, wooden antlers grow from his head - just wide and strong enough to support the weight of the raven. She perches there and both sets of their eyes glow white as they take their first steps among the trees. Dawn is not far now, and as the creatures and plants awaken to greet it Abrus feels their energy awaken inside of him as well.
She had been raised on stories of the Chamber, and so it was no surprise that she had come to see it for herself.
Settled onto the thick branch of a large evergreen tree, her panther tail languidly flicking, she stares out into the forest with rose-gold eyes, taking it in. She could see why her father had liked it here—the darkness of the trees, the coolness of the needles underfoot, and the general quietness that only a forest could bring. She is not sure if it is the phantom beat of her father’s heart that she feels or simply her own pulse echoing back to her, but she is aware of it all the same. She is not sure if she will stay here; she has little interest in taking up her father’s mantle, in continuing the reign of the Chamber’s long-lost panthers, but it is not a decision she will hold herself to just yet.
There is always time to change her mind.
Somewhere beyond the tops of the trees the sky begins to awaken, though it comes as a nearly imperceptible lightening underneath the canopy of the trees. She yawns, white teeth glinting inside a dark mouth, but before she can lazily bring herself to stand she sees the antlered stallion—a raven perched there as if they were the branches of a tree—maneuvering through the trees. It’s the glowing white of their eyes that snags her interest, though, but the nonchalant way she makes her way to the ground betrays just how much her curiosity has been piqued as she lands with a soft thud on the forest floor.
“Good morning,” she greets the pair, and settles back on her haunches with her tail curled around her paws. She does not say anything else; the Chamber is not her home to welcome to or chase anyone away from, and instead she only watches them with her own rose-gold eyes.
Of all the things he had expected to greet him, this was not on his list. Abrus watches through his companion’s eyes as the black feline seems to extract itself from the early-dawn shadows, landing on the ground before sitting neatly. Although he has never seen one of these black cats before, the name is supplied by a collective consciousness from the forest he’s already greedily reaching his magic into - a panther. This name, for him, conjures up the image of a tawny creature - not this fascinating one with rose-gold eyes.
A shifter? He believes that she was not born this feline because he does not feel a connection to her the way he does with other creatures and features of the woods. If she were simply a forest creature he would feel… well, he would feel something from her. He is not aware of her the way he is the needles upon the ground where they shift under the hooves of some deer off to the west or the way the mist paints its presence on the bark of the trees. If he wanted to borrow energy from her, he’d have to put far more effort into it than if she were like the squirrel nearby who begins to descend down a trunk, sees the panther, and then quickly changes its mind and scurries back up into the canopy.
He keeps the connection to his companion’s sight as he stops and faces her - finding himself curious enough to not fall back into familiar darkness just yet.
“Hello.” He repeats the word back, and is in the process of choosing which question to ask when the raven shifts her stance in his branch-antlers and gives him an idea. “You’re making my companion nervous,” Abrus remarks with interest rather than accusation - before asking with obvious curiosity. “Are you a threat?” He won’t mind whichever way the panther decides to take it (a threat to himself, the raven, or a secret third option) - he believes in letting others impose their own limitations and assumptions.
His companion quietly seethes, thinking about how she has not been nervous a day in her life.
She had not realized how bored she had become until she found herself in the company of this strange duo.
Not that Iliana is typically unfriendly; she sits on a medium right between her parents, being not nearly as kind and agreeable as Ryatah, but also not quite as harsh and antisocial as her father. She was mostly surprised at how eager she felt to speak to them, to learn more about their peculiar eyes and the curious energy that radiated from the antlered stallion.
She flicks her gaze to the raven when he mentions that she is making her nervous, and she cannot stop the laugh that purrs in the back of her throat. Is she a threat? “Not today, I’m not,” she answers truthfully, and after a lazy, feline stretch, she shifts back into her equine form. Hardly anything about her changes, save for the physical shape. She is still the same deep black, decorated by rose gold rosettes and the same striking rose gold eyes, though now she bears similar colored markings on her legs and face.
She takes a few steps forward, the movement still somehow feline, and the smile she offers them is sharp without meaning to be. “But, that changes from day to day. We will have to see what tomorrow brings,” she says in that dry, teasing way of hers. “My name is Iliana. What brings you to the Chamber?”
