"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
02-06-2020, 10:28 PM (This post was last modified: 02-06-2020, 10:28 PM by ghaul.)
GHAUL
i can take you there, but baby, you won't make it back
His roar echoes across the canyons and into every nook of Pangea. For once, he is furious beyond measure. Every step is a labor of Perseus as he stumbles over the border into his home. He sinks his talons into the loose dirt to steady himself but it doesn’t take long for his heavy body to collapse beneath the weight of his exhaustion. Dried blood coats his scales and the world is spinning too fast for him to continue any further. A sad, lonesome croon leaves him as he fights to lift his head.
“Clarissa.. My pyre..” he calls, his voice growing thinner by the second. A thick sort of dryness coats his mouth when he tries to swallow and he pulls his lips back in disgust at the feeling of it. His gums are near white and there is a long pause between each breath as though he may finally give out. But there is a burning in his heart, a flame that still scoffs at the idea of being extinguished just yet. There is still fight left in him to hold on until the angel finds him here.
“I got greedy.”
He coughs, sending a little cloud of dust up as he watches the outline of his love growing larger and more detailed. Even now, a smile finds his lips and he reaches a trembling talon for her. Ghaul’s claws open and close dumbly as though he cannot figure out how near or far she is from him now. The stump of his ruined wing flexes excitedly while the broken one manages to twitch as well. If he could see himself, he would ask to be put down like the dog he is.
Her love is strong enough to save him, though, even when he would ask her not to.
The angel-dragon has begun to settle into life in Pangea, and the way the kingdom bustles with an energy she is unfamiliar with. She finds herself spending a lot of time with little, reluctant Alcinder, and she already finds herself loving the tobiano child. He is hers, hers and Ghaul’s, and she knows that when his year of captivity is over, she will fight to keep him with them in Pangea. It’s where he belongs now; his own mother probably won’t even remember his face after a year apart. Clarissa, on the other hand, will never forget a single line of the boy’s face. He is hers.
She is startled from her thoughts by an anguished, furious roar, and at once she springs to action. There is no doubt in her mind that it is Ghaul, and something has gone horribly wrong - his screeching drags her towards the border at a frantic pace, hoping that she is not too late. The way his voice had echoed off of the canyons… a fresh wave of panic washes over and a draconic screech of terror rips from her lips, joining the fading echoes of Ghaul’s own voice.
Flames burn the back of her throat as she finally catches a glimpse of him along the border, bloodied and broken much like the captive he had taken from Loess. One wing hangs limp from his withers and the other is just a stump pulsing with a stream of blood, staining his beautiful golden coat. “Ghaul!” she screeches, and shudders as an unfamiliar emotion races through her veins - is this what fury feels like? Gasping desperately for air as she reaches his side, she buries her head in his chest and tries to hide the tears that flood her cheeks.
“Who did this to you?” she whispers, uneasy about the anger that threatens to overwhelm her, but embracing it all the same. “Who did this to you, my flame? I will slaughter them all, I will tear them limb from limb and make them grovel at your feet.”
They say that she is an angel, but here’s the thing: angels can be truly terrible to look upon.
i can take you there, but baby, you won't make it back
His vision is dim by the time she finds his broken body at the borders, but he can hear her voice as clear as anything. Despite the way this agony grips him, he smiles when she touches his chest and he croons softly to her. She is a sanctuary for his heart even when everything feels like hell. She asks questions and he can hear the rage in her voice but he only shakes his head and laughs gently in response. Clarissa is still pristine, still the pure and perfect vision of the way he wants the world to be. He won’t ever let blood defile her.
“You are terrifying, my pyre,” he tells her with a cough. “But you are the divine. Heal me, and I will deliver justice.”
He lifts his head weakly and kisses her as much as his fading strength will allow. She could easily cast the false idols into a burning river if she desired and he knows this all too well. But why should a perfect being ever be made to work like the dogs of war? It is his duty to purge the filth from her path and render unto Clarissa that which is hers – peace, beauty, and everything in between. He coughs again and the sound is wet and vile as he struggles to regain his breath.
“Twin flame,” he whispers, and the sound comes out in a desperate wheeze. It has become so hard to see her, now.
It is the rattling of his chest - struggling to draw in enough air to flood his lungs - that draws her back to reality, and she trembles as he presses a weak kiss to her lips. He coughs, and blood sprays her, but she doesn’t care as she pulls him in tightly. With a gentle breath against his cheek she summons her fire, hardly realizing that she has shed her horse form for that of her dragon, burning fiercely at the edge of Pangea. It is almost as though her pristine white scales are glowing as flames ripple along her body, harmlessly rendering her into a glowing goddess.
She gently encourages the fire to engulf her beloved, sighing as her energy rapidly depletes. “Light of my life,” she whispers into his neck, her golden eyes pinched shut as she fears that she is too late, and that he will die before she can heal enough of him. “You are half of my soul, and to lose you would be to lose myself.”
It takes a long time, and in the end they are two half-dragons curled up together on the border, exhausted and yet whole. Repairing his broken (and shattered) wings has taken the most of her energy, but she thinks that her work is as near perfect as it could possibly be - though he shouldn’t be too eager to fly any time soon. She presses kiss after kiss onto every bit of skin that she can reach as she admires her handiwork and if were possible she would pull him even closer.
“You are strong, my beloved,” she tells him gently, an almost scolding tone entering her voice as she meets his eyes, “but you are not unbreakable. You have to be careful, until you are strong enough to squash them like the bugs they are.”
