spirits in the dark are waiting; any

[Wishbone]

take my soul & make it undone

be the one, be the one to take me home and show me the sun. i know, i know you can bring the fire, i can bring the bones. i know, i know you'll make the fire, my bones will make it grow.

When her eyes slide open, Wishbone wonders if everyone has to experience all she has been through to breathe again. It feels like a very long time has passed since she was pacing the border between Life and Death, pushing against the seam as though it might burst with the force of her passion for Life. She’d worn a dusty track into the ground with her pacing over the years, though Wishbone is certain that isn’t the reason she can feel her heartbeat once more. An outside force had allowed the gates of Death to spring open and, whatever it had been, she is grateful for it.

As the final tendrils of mist curl away from her sides, Wishbone realizes that the aches and pains of her recent adventure have disappeared. After reliving her own death, falling off a waterfall, suffering from dehydration, and fighting off a vulture who left a nasty wound, she was feeling enough pain to put her on the ground. The sheer drive to continue and the desire to reunite Craft and Anatomy had been the only things keeping her going in the desert. It seemed the mist had taken the assortment of discomforts away with it, leaving senses of rejuvenation and fiery vigor.

The sensation of a winter gale sweeping over her shoulders brings Wishbone’s attention to her surroundings. The cold face of Nerine stares at her, a gray-toned landscape freckled with hardy trees. The sound of an angry ocean pounding against the granite cliffs feels more like a lullaby than anything else. An instant smile lights up the mare’s face and she tips her nose toward the clouded sky to whisper “Hello; I’m home” to the land.

As Wishbone tilts her head back toward the ground, she notices the stark contrast of deep black legs against the pale snow. Her knees are unblemished, absent of the patchwork of scars that spoke of her childhood spent getting into mischief. A puddle of ice decorates the ground nearby and Wishbone moves toward it quickly. It takes fewer strides to reach the ice than she was anticipating and when she stares into the mirror, confusion is written across a face that doesn’t feel like it belongs to her.

The head that peeks out from the ice is long and well-defined. It is a deep shade of black aside from a golden badger face marking and a healed claw marking that travels from her left cheekbone up to her brow. Her surprise mingles with disbelief to produce a phrase that flies from her mouth. “What the fuck!” She would wonder if the ice is magic if it weren’t for the only things that remain familiar to her — the honey-whiskey sound of her voice and the amber-colored eyes that look out from the onyx face.

Wishbone finds she isn’t entirely disappointed with the change in her body. Almost everything about her is long in a handsome way and the golden marking (she assumes it is Craft’s doing) compliments the darkness of her face well. She laughs at her reflection for a moment, thinking of the irony of it… She had died in mahogany colors and now has risen again dressed in the favorite color of Death. Wishbone likes the costume change even more with that thought in mind and turns away from the ice to scan the landscape with her familiar amber eyes.

credit to eliza of adoxography.

[Eurwen]

Eurwen

the secret of walking on water
is knowing where the rocks lie

The spotted mare feels tired and undeserving, undeserving of having her self-appointed task be easy. But Nerine needs bodies, and most of all minds, to fill the land, and she will not, cannot, shall not, stand aside or turn anyone down.

Not even a lean black mare, seemingly intruding from nowhere.

The mists on the shore evaporate less quickly in the cold winter season, the ocean spray covering many a figure who ventures down there. Nevertheless, Eurwen usually finds nobody out here, the northern part of the kingdom which is deemed to cold for most to go visit - except perhaps for those coming from the Isle, who may find it a relief. Besides, Nerine does not have the reputation of letting wanderers in easily and unquestioned; when her mother ruled the borders were busy, and even when Heartfire seemingly guarded the kingdom alone, visitors were always spotted immediately.

This new black mare seems to have passed by unnoticed, for a while at least. Long enough to pass by both Eurwen and Neverwhere, who had excellent vision now as well.

Never mind. Nerine needs whatever ties she can make, whatever recruits she can find. If she doesn’t need to trek to the Field in the winter season, or, not today, then so be it.

The white and rosy figure moves through the snowy background, slowly approaching the black who pays no attention to her - she looks at something on the ground and for a stranger, curses with a strangely familiar voice.

Maybe she’s a Tephran, Eurwen thinks. Maybe she’s related to someone she knows. It ags her mind, but staring at the abysmal-coloured mare won’t help.

”Hello.” She approaches cautiously, confused by the unfamiliar looks matching familiar-but-forgotten scents, sounds, and eyes of the mare. Something is new and something is not, but she cannot pinpoint why she feels that this is the case with the mare.

After all, they never met before.

Did they?

@[Wishbone]

[Wishbone]

take my soul & make it undone

be the one, be the one to take me home and show me the sun. i know, i know you can bring the fire, i can bring the bones. i know, i know you'll make the fire, my bones will make it grow.

The loud roar of the ocean silences the sounds of feet approaching her, but when Wishbone raises her head to scan her surroundings again, her eyes land on a familiar rose-and-ivory face. Time has passed since she has last seen Eurwen, and Death had also frozen Wishbone from aging. Though her friend had been several years younger during their last visit, the pair look to be similar ages now. Wishbone’s lips curve into an ecstatic smile, even as Eurwen approaches hesitantly.

“Eurwen!” The rasp of her voice is genuinely warm as if the force of her greeting could eradicate the confusion that flashes across her friend’s face. “It’s me; Wishbone.” For a moment she closes her eyes, taking in the sheer joy of it all — she is alive (breathing and beating and moving), she is home (cold and passion and roughness), and Eurwen is here. How much time had she spent pacing the line between Life and Death, daring it to open from the force of her sheer passion? How many years have gone by in her absence, and what is the state of Nerine now?

When her eyelids slide open, a hundred questions are bubbling at the edge of her lips. She knows Eurwen will need a bigger explanation than just her name… And eventually, she will learn of Beqanna’s history while she’s been dead. “I died, Eurwen,” she says plainly. Wishbone doesn’t care to elaborate on the circumstances of her death, but she will announce the simple fact that it happened. “And I’ve just come back from the dead, but in this new body.” Her long, dark shape turns in a slow circle, an abyss among the light of the snow and ice.

As she ends her circle Wishbone studies Eurwen’s face, looking at the ways that time has made it older, harder, and prettier. “How have you been? Where have you been these past years? And what has happened to Nerine?”

credit to eliza of adoxography.

@[Eurwen]
I'm literally the worst at replying; I'm so sorry!

[Eurwen]

Eurwen

the secret of walking on water
is knowing where the rocks lie

The spotted baroque mare is speechless. In fact, when the other mare calls her name, Eurwen stares at her in open confusion. She knows the voice, and part of the smell, of this mare and she just can’t seem to remember her face or her name. It’s something like on the tip of her tongue, but also wrong.

Then she continues and relieves Eurwen of her initial surprise, calling her name. Wishbone - the name fits the voice and demeanor, if not her body at all. Blinking, the spotted mare looks at her mother’s former queen with astonishment that can’t be quite put into words - but Wish had closed her eyes to enjoy the cool sunlight and the salty breeze, and it goes relatively unnoticed.

The older mare - once-older - explains a little bit of what happened - certainly not all, but that shouldn’t be necessary. Died. The word rings in her ears, and her face falls. Eurwen had so nearly died herself, she just might have. Perhaps she would have come back too, she wonders, or perhaps not. ”I’m sorry.” she offers, a weak smile forming at the rest of Bone’s story, and her questions.

”I’m not sure where to start. What’s the last you remember?”

@[Wishbone]
Not a problem! ^^