"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
06-05-2017, 06:53 PM (This post was last modified: 06-05-2017, 07:01 PM by Halchon.)
halchon
sometimes quiet is violent
He was haunted, something he had long since established and accepted. Recently, it had become especially bad, and the ghosts living in his memory were wracking constant havoc on his brain. It always used to get worse when he visited the common lands (the Forest, the Meadow, the Field) and right now was no different.
The 'Hunting Grounds,' as they had so affectionately been referred to by his father. Not all of the ghosts had been from these places, but the herdless were less likely to be missed. More often than not, Halchon would be in charge of venturing into these lands to choose and determine the fate of the wanderers that resided here.
Today, however, he was here of his own accord. For seven years he had sat idle and conflicted, until the rumble that shook the earth and sent Pangea spiraling into the sea had woken him. That night he had risen and left the side of his father. Curiosity overcame him, and he was uncharacteristically eager to see what had become of the world since he had removed himself from it so long ago.
It was…quieter…than he remembered; the inhabitants active but reserved. Halchon chuckled lowly to himself, it would be more difficult to hunt now, if Raelynx returned to his old ways.
Good.
He had never truly relished in the torture as his father did, something that he had never admitted, even to himself. He was his father’s son, after all. He was supposed to enjoy it. There had to be something wrong with him if he didn’t.
The pain inflicted on him, that which he inflicted, the never ending stream of mares in and out of the Cove. He was expected to love it, to take pride in his work.
As his eyes roamed the familiar Forest, he could not help but asses and evaluate the oblivious strangers that surround him. Old habits die hard, he supposes, and his gray eyes track a filly that was weaving her way through the trees.
Alone.
She looked like would grow up to be pretty, she was without supervision, and she was substantially smaller than him. She made an easy and ideal target, and it would not be difficult to coax her to return with him.
Halchon cleared his thoughts with a low snort, and swung his powerful body around before walking decisively in the opposite direction.
oh, my love, don't forsake me. take what the water gave me ..
She is headed home, finally. Many nights and many more days have passed since she came to be washed up on the shore elsewhere and Circinae, the green-trimmed-navy mare, is more than ready for her semi-vacation to be at its end. The twins, tangling amongst themselves behind her, no doubt shared in her eagerness to be anywhere besides where they’d been. Everything new was exciting to children.
She had wanted to return directly to Taiga, cutting out the unnecessary length of travel between the River and her kingdom by teleporting. When she’d jumped, though, and found herself on the bank which divided the Forest from the redwoods, she only had one foal beside her instead of two. One could imagine how distraught she’d been. Her little breach boy had been left behind and was waiting worriedly when she returned to him, but it was how she learned that she could only take one creature at a time. Even magic had its limitations.
Reunited on the banks with her eldest twin she checks them both for signs of distress, nosing each of them carefully should she miss something with her eyes. She’s fretful (a new mother) and it shows. It’s only when the smell of something distinctly male nearby drifts on a passing breeze that she stalls and picks her head up, ears alert and eyes bright, to see who it might be. A dark stallion with his back turned, gazing intently at something she cannot place. Her ears shift, then her eyes, and from afar she can now see the lonely girl that seems to draw him in. His stance looks so … familiar.
Without even thinking about the repercussions she moves ahead, stealthily graceful on slender legs that support her stout, pony body. Circy’s twins trail behind, knowing instinctually to stick close even though she doesn’t order them to. Casually, her face molds back to the normality that it was before. A few strides away she calls out, “Hello there!” with a polite, unassuming smile to match, “You look lost, perhaps I can be of some help?” The three of them seem picturesque as they come to a rest but the little wolf doesn’t mind. If it seems to others that she’s no threat, then she’s doing a fabulous job of wearing her mask.
Circinae
ooc: So, not a Longclaw to Iset post, but almost as good, maybe?
He needs to go; to clear his head of all of the horrible thoughts he was thinking about the horses scattered here and there throughout the Forest. Of the dark recesses of his mind that he was delving into. The thoughts of how simple it would be to lure them to the Cove…how easy it would be to break their minds and spirits until they were a shell.
Just like him.
A smell touched his nose…a mare, and two foals. Her foals. He knew this without turning around; his sense of smell so keenly developed over the years of hunting that the different odors weren’t difficult to distinguish.
When he did turn around, he did so languidly, in no hurry and in possession of the knowledge that sudden movements were the ones that were most likely to scare away your prey. She spoke then, cheerful and eager and friendly and everything he was accustomed to searching for in a potential victim.
Help…she couldn’t help. How could she help when he doesn’t even know what he needs? A man of few words, Halchon considers her carefully without speaking. The silence between them grows like an abyss, until he is sure he has waited long enough to make her at least slightly uncomfortable.
“You can help me,” he drawls deeply, “By taking care of yourself and your children,” he leers at them briefly, before wiping the cruel expression from his face and putting on his mask of indifference. “You could only protect one if it came down to it.”
His tone is monotonous and unaffected, and although a multitude of potentials are running through his head, thousands of things he could do to the young mare and her foals that would make them wish they had never been born, he doesn’t advance a single step closer to the trio.
He holds her eyes, expressionless and unwavering, unwilling to be the first to move regardless of his lack of malicious intent towards her. At least some of the values his father ingrained in him still stood.
oh, my love, don't forsake me. take what the water gave me ..
Circinae laughs at him. With her neck bulging and her eyes closed she throws her pretty head back and laughs right in his face. The mother of twins should thank him, really, (it's been awhile since she’s had that gut-shaking feeling of pure mirth) but she’s too busy hiccuping the last of those airy chuckles free to speak. “My, you’re a scary individual, aren’t you?” She breaths sarcastically, flicking her tail once for emphasis. “So moody on such a beautiful day!” The bicolored mare chirps.
She gives a terse shake of her head, then, but offers her nose anyway as if to prove his jab held no weight in her thoughts. Words were empty air. “As for your obvious doubt over my abilities as a protector - we can test your theory anytime you’d like.” The little woman stabs back, a warm smile still languidly stretched across her mouth, though her eyes have taken a harder glint. “But I don’t think you’d like the results too much.” She taunts, her words sharp like nettling barbs that cling to skin and belly alike. Not once does her gaze stray, even as she steps aside to expose the babes at her heel.
The two only peer warily back, silent in their childish confusion.
Circinae is confident, however. The Taigan is playing a dangerous game - hoping that her call on his bluff would prove fruitless. Still, she’s willing to bet that at least one of the boys is hiding a secret trait and that together, the three of them could manage one depressing, anti-social stallion. Besides, the woods at her back are all the comfort she needs. A good wager, she thinks. “Or, you could alleviate my boredom for a bit by telling me who let you out of your cage with such a large stick rammed up your backside?”
Her children giggle at that one, leaving the shifter to shamelessly join in. It would be a terrible pity if this one man was sour and lacked a sense of humor. “Circinae.” She finally introduces herself, “The blue-tipped one is Crevan and the green-tipped one is Corvus.” She finishes, satisfied to at least have a moment's respite from the everyday humdrum.
