"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
BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING OF MOVING ON
They have a home and the taste of it is so sweet on his tongue and a lullaby to his ears. The mares, the children, the stallions – everyone – they’ve been granted a place of refuge. The wonderment of it still thickly crawls over him and prickles his skin excitedly. They are tucked away, so very safe, and he glances back over his shoulder with a smile after having alighted on the new soil. His wings, meager in comparison with those he was born with, stretch from his sides when he pauses to see the meadow. They accomplished that long flight, but even then his eyes glance back at them in mild disgust. They are foreign, so very strange, and he groans at the reminder how lowly – how normal – he is now.
He only knows to be an angel and to have such a strength and prowess that sets him apart, but the world saw fit to purge it from his blood like hundreds others. Beqanna is their puppeteer but they all had forgotten that. This cruel game is their reminder of how small and how replaceable they are.
But the world can be gracious, too, it seems. Beqanna loves its children and suddenly Tiphon feels like a reprimanded child when he looks down and sees himself as something entirely different. The strength of his body has drained, the luster that radiated from his skin gone. He is a shell of his former self and yet when he traverses the mountain he is alive again. That sweet nectar taste is a tease of what he once had and what he once was, but he can’t dwell on that. No, there is something greater in the making that scratches at his mind, and that is home on the island.
There's a song in your lung and a dream in your eye.
She feels so empty. Since the moment of her birth, she had always been a force to be reckoned with. Not as powerful some, but certainly not a mare to be trifled with. Even with the dark cracks splitting every inch of her skin (a terrible imperfection, but one she had made her own, weakness turned strength), she has never felt quite so incomplete.
And the Amazons, they are gone. Buckled into the earth by an angry Beqanna. The place she had made her home (she had been sent as a long ago, nearly forgotten deal, a trade, but she hadn't cared. No, she had made it hers, just like the cracks, and it had become a part of her).
It is such a bitter pill to swallow, but they had earned it, it seems. She had spoken against further conflict so very recently, but it hadn't been enough. Only one small voice amongst dozens.
But she will prevail. She always does, even against the most horrendous of odds (she wears the proof of it as a badge of honor upon her skin). Still, it seems she has no other place but the meadow to call home, at least for now.
So it's no surprise that she is rather irritable. She ruffles the feathered wings tucked against her sides as she walks, doing her best to keep warm. She is not accustomed to the icy winter temperatures just yet, which is even more galling.
That is perhaps the only excuse she has for not recognizing her father at first, despite her golden gaze resting rather blankly on him for several seconds. When his identity does register (he's different though somehow, less… omnipotent), her first reaction is surprise, then relief, which is swiftly followed by a quick burst of happiness.
”Dad!” A brief smile crosses her lips as she moves nearer. ”I'd say I'm surprised to see you here, but it seems the only place to be anymore.”
Joscelin
Tiphon x Elysteria
html c insane | picture c mikanicole.deviantart.com
BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING OF MOVING ON
That voice.
He knows it so well and yet the origin seems so distant in the reach of his memory. Tiphon blinks slowly, thoughtfully, before his eyes lift to see Joscelin cutting through the crowd like a knife. When she shouts his stomach clenches and his mind reels. He whispers her name and savors it before stepping toward her and pulling her into an embrace. His wings – as foreign and weak as they are – reach and try to hold her tightly. A rattled breath is drawn in and his face buries into her neck. ”Joscelin,” to say it again while holding her makes it tangible and the memories of her childhood suddenly play over for the first time in years. ”I was worried about you,” his admits when his head lifts away from the softness of her skin. His gaze sweeps carefully over her and take pause on her own wings. ”It’s odd to see you with those,” he manages a chuckle despite the lump in his throat.
”I had asked about you when I visited the Jungle, but it was right before all of this” and he turns his body to imply this virgin world, ”happened.” His heart had sank when the sisterhood couldn’t remember when they saw her last, when they confessed that she had been absent. Joscelin is – and always will be – a favored child of his, a prodigy that he has often boasted about. She is a beautiful combination of her parents, a tribute to her mother’s own elegance.
Oh, how he misses Elysteria.
Her absence claws at him day after day, but he hasn’t yet lost hope. Perhaps she will return to him again and they will be reunited as they always are. If – and he surely hopes not – he has seen Elysteria for the last time, at least he can look upon their daughter and see her in Joscelin’s eyes. ”My daughter, where do you live now? Please tell me you have a place to rest your head besides this place. I don’t yet trust this new world.” He wants to shield her, to always protect her, but he feels so feeble now. His body has dulled and he is just a mere shell of what he was, but his heart is at least still intact.
There's a song in your lung and a dream in your eye.
She has never considered herself overly emotional (indeed, few would accuse her off that anymore), has never been as sweet or sentimental as her often too kind mother. But in this moment, seeing her father whole and well, feeling his wings as they wrap her in a warm embrace, the press of his face against her neck, she feels a lump rise in her throat.
For a moment, she gives into the softer side of herself, allows the joy and sadness roiling inside her to reign as she leans into her father's embrace ever so briefly. But just as quickly, discomfort sets in. Not for lack of love for her father (no, she loves her family dearly), but because she is simply not used to displaying such sentiment. She has been hardened by her years in the Amazons, battle-tested and time-worn, and while her emotions might be real and true, she finds it a bit uncomfortable to allow them such free rein. So as much as she would like to tell Tiphon how much she had worried for him too, she finds the words sticking in her throat.
Fortunately her father seems inclined to move on to other, more easily discussed subjects. Ruffling the feathered wings, she glances at them in disgruntlement. Such heavy, clumsy things they are. ”They're even more odd to have, I assure you.” Still, better than nothing, right?
She is surprised to hear of a recent visit to the Jungle. Had she known he was there, she might have found her way out of those verdant depths (depths that had so easily swallowed her, so easily made her lose track of time, of life outside) sooner. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) she would never have the opportunity to do so again.
Offering him a small but genuine smile, one filled with as much reassurance as she can, she glances out at the surrounding meadow, contemplating it silently for a moment before turning golden eyes (eyes so similar to his) back to her father. ”You and me both,” she says, smile slipping into a frown as she speaks. But then, she's had trust issues for a very long time now.
”Not yet, but soon,” she continues in response to his concerned questioning. As always, the women of the Jungle had found each other, banding together into a cohesive unit. With luck (and a generous Beqanna) they would soon have a land to call their own.
”And you? Have you found a place?” She cannot imagine either of her parents without the Dale, but in this raw, strange world, she must. And it does not sit well at all.
Joscelin
Tiphon x Elysteria
html c insane | picture c mikanicole.deviantart.com
