"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
And I looked and behold a pale horse His name that sat on him was Death and Hell followed with him
Eyes that glowed just shy of crimson blinked at the dying grasses, the falling leaves. The cold season was coming again, the days falling behind the ever lengthening nights. Cross sighed contentedly. This was, he thought, his favorite time of year. The most like the days he had come to associate with his infancy. The days when dark and cold and fear had somehow combined in the just the right way to create his family.
Whisking the seed-head grasses with the plume of his tail, the dark unicorn browsed the vegetation with little attention. It all tasted more or less the same. More interesting was the comings and goings of the world around him. The secrets and whispering thoughts that pervaded a crowd as he moved through it.
He took delight in the skill his mother had passed on with regret. No parent wants their child to read every thought that passes through their mind. Every doubt, every worry, every frustrated howl. He knew them all. And sometimes it was not beneath him to use that knowledge. Even for so small a use as his own entertainment.
Wading through the meadow was a pastime of his for this very reason. Built on the lines of the unicorns of lore, with an eternally charming grin on his face and an uncanny ability to say just the right thing, he was a disaster waiting to happen. He just didn't know it yet.
now i don't know who i've become
and another day breathes
tearing at the seams
and i hope i don't come undone
Among the colors of autumn her red and gold skin suggests she is a deity of this terminal season. As she wades through the long grasses, listening to their swish, the rattle of their heavy seed heads, Aloy is lulled, calm. Her muzzle drifts along the surface of the golden sea and her face is relaxed, burnished freckles catching the dying light.
Her head is empty of the low constant growl that normally lives there, for a moment there is nothing but the most ephemeral thoughts--the kind that drift away as easily as they come. Aloy can almost remember what it was like to be her child-self, wandering ahead of her mother, full of the clean simple joy of living. Aloy looks over her shoulder reflexively. Kensa is not there, only the empty meadow and the treeline beyond. She doesn’t miss Kensa often but does in that moment, her heart skipping at a sudden burst of lonely grief.
She regrets the broken reverie.
When Aloy looks back ahead of herself she notices a stallion nearby and frowns. Their paths would have crossed either way but she is more annoyed than she would have been if she hadn’t just slammed back into herself, once again filling with all the things that have happened since she last saw her beautiful mother. He is dark, blacker in this light than he should be, the blue sheen fending off the remaining warm light. She considers turning away from him, she could rudely throw herself into the air right now and move away to another part of the meadow but she knows better than that. Aloy knows what happens when you run away.
08-25-2021, 02:06 PM (This post was last modified: 08-25-2021, 02:06 PM by Cross.)
And I looked and behold a pale horse His name that sat on him was Death and Hell followed with him
Above the murmur of the minds in the distance, one voice clarifies through his own aimless musings. Flickers of thought, blinking in and out of existence like evening fireflies. And like fireflies, so to did these thoughts carry the subtle notion of nostalgia with them. There was too much similarity to his own reflections to be easily ignored.
Still balefully working a mouthful of forage through his mouth, the tangle-maned youth raised his head in mild curiosity, eyes lighting on the golden figure that had paused near his resting place. A trace of amusement crossed his face as the suggestion of flurrying wings danced across his mind.
Almost accidentally, his own wings rustled against his back. I could follow you, the gesture implied. He wasn't sure that he would, really. That he was able to was enough for him.
Instead, his posture slackened. The curiosity remained in his expression, playing off the shocking brightness of his eyes, the light dancing from his fiery crown. He looked like an angel of the very darkest sort, and it was something of a direct contrast to this girl who seemed as flawless as the sunrise.
After a lengthy beat, it became clear that she had no intention of starting conversation, and he wondered how long he would have to be silent before her commitment would break. What sort of anxious, racing thoughts would she produce in the meantime? It was a game he'd played before, but there were other ways to spend his time. So he smiled and opened his mouth instead.
"Can I help you?" He asked, tone neutral. She was another face (albeit a very pretty one), another mind among many, and if he could help her, well. That just might be a miracle.
now i don't know who i've become
and another day breathes
tearing at the seams
and i hope i don't come undone
Her green eyed stare is unwavering. After initial considerations of abandoning her path and taking to the sky she chooses instead to stand her ground and watch him. His wings rustle, her own twitch reflexively. She could just keep moving, and almost does, lifting a white and gold extremity only to pause with the limb hovering in the grass before her. Can I help you?
This seems to be the question to ask solitary girls with irritation in their eyes and golden freckles glittering across their skin. Setting the suspended hoof down heavily into the thatch beneath her feet Aloy wills herself to engage with the haloed stallion, reasoning that she interrupted him just as much as he did her.
“No.” The short roebuck horns that crown her head grow and change into more forward whitetail antlers, casting long shadows across her features. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, if you’ll excuse me.” Tipping her chin down toward her chestnut neck Aloy considers a new path away from him, looking for a gathering of strangers to surreptitiously join. There are a few potential knots of horses not far away and when she marks their locations she glances back to the curious blue-black stranger and forces herself to linger after all. “I’m Aloy.”
And I looked and behold a pale horse His name that sat on him was Death and Hell followed with him
His mouth pulled in a sarcastic grin. Was she leaving or not? Even her own legs couldn't seem to decide. Pulling himself more upright, his latest mouthful of grass slowly munched down while she dithered.
"Oh no, how dare you interrupt this absolutely fascinating meal I'm having. You couldn't possibly be more interesting than... Whatever this is." He deadpanned, pawing the grey-gold vegetation with little care. Much more intriguing was the rather unexpected maleable nature of her headgear.
"Nice party trick," he commented, nodding at her antlered crown. "They do anything else, Aloy?" One step and then another brought him in line with her path. Gentlemanly distanced, as though he intended to escort her wherever her final destination ended up being. His own name remained unspoken, for now.
Names were powerful things, after all. Goodness knew what a pretty girl with a spinning mind would do with that kind of power.
now i don't know who i've become
and another day breathes
tearing at the seams
and i hope i don't come undone
“Yes.” Replies the chestnut coldly, but she does not alter her horns again. The pale ends of their several sharp tines reach heavenward, their beams and base a rich red-brown. She would happily alter their color by other means if he were to come any closer to her. Aloy grits her teeth, her thoughts turning to an angry buzz, a rush of chilling warmth beginning in her extremities as the first molecules of adrenaline burn down her veins.
Yet he stops, and Aloy frowns at him suspiciously, her green eyes appraising. It seems that pretending gentlemanly behavior is common in Beqanna, and the flight or fight impulse settles. Satisfied that the male is going to keep his distance Aloy shakes out her auburn feathers and settles her wings. Having no particular gift for conversation she directs her attention to the stranger’s appearance in turn.“What’s that hanging over your head?” Those green eyes flash. “Some kind of bug-zapper?”
”Where are you from? Whoever you are.” He hasn’t given his name, like she would even recognize it.
