"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
It has been a long time since she has had the opportunity to speak alone with her grandmother. And so much has changed since then. She supposes it is time then that they had another discussion. Nerine has been quiet. Too quiet, since not long after the plague had fallen. Like the hush before the storm.
She would much rather be ahead of the storm than caught in it by surprise. She does not care for surprises.
She makes her way along the cliffs in an almost a leisurely stroll, watching the waves as the crash along the rocks far below. She had already found her grandmother, but she does not rush in heedlessly, instead taking her time. No doubt Scorch had seen her by now. No doubt is curious. Her grandmother, of all equines, must know her calls are not often social ones.
She would be a terrible socializer anyway. It’s difficult to have a friend who could see everything you do. One as blunt and candidly honest as she has the unfortunate habit of being. Though the characteristics that make her a terrible friend are exactly those that make her such a fantastic ally.
The wind ruffles the dark strands of her mane, carrying the chill of winter and the scent of salt and water. Familiar and calming, a home she had never meant to be so important, but, somehow, it had become greatly so. Far more than any place she has ever been before. It had become hers, in the same way as her family is hers.
“Scorch,” she murmurs as she finally settles alongside her grandmother, her bright blue gaze sweeping the crashing waves once more before shifting to settle on the fiery woman beside her. “It’s been a while.”
Scorch. A name she was wont to shed. It's been a while. Not long enough, in her opinion; as the flames threatened to spill from their threshold, precariously trapped there by what little force of will remained her, her magmatic eyes stared off into the great expanse of the sea. Uselessly, she remembered the dragon dream from decades ago; remembered having to choose between an endless, angry ocean, or a corridor of flame. A grim smile coloured her expression, though it clearly had no applicability in regard to her current scenario.
How greatly that fateful dream had impacted her all those years ago. How incredible, that the flames should find their way back to her once more, ignited the moment she reunited with the husband she no longer deserved, and never would again. She wondered, privately, if the life in her womb would inherit the flames; but she doubted it. Her fiery namesake spoke its legend unto itself alone; her progeny would have to do without.
Her ear flicked to Heartfire, now, moments after the words came. A part of her already knew that her granddaughter could rattle of the list of infidelities, traumas, and bullshiteries she has recently committed; but the other part knows rather plainly that the clear-cut, all-seeing woman would not come to her just to scold her. That was Leilan's department, and she steered clear of her son more days than not now, considering how poorly he had taken to her tryst with Brennen. He surely wouldn't survive the knowledge of her new one, with Brunhild.
"Heartfire," she said at last, eyes still steadfastly trained upon the distant, grey horizon. The flames threatened to burst, but for now, she managed to keep the facade of normalcy going; not that it did any good, with this one standing next to her. "What can I do for you."
It's so easy to lose sight of too many things when lost within the storm of one's own uncertain story. Heartfire knows this too well, her own life and feckless emotions far from settled. Though her surface calm had been restored, the plagued weakness of her body and mind healed save for the lingering too-slender heft of her already lean form, she can well remember how easy it had been to fall beneath such heaviness.
She is not proud of many things she has done. She too has hurt those she loves. She would be the very last to judge her grandmother's mistakes. In the end, all one can do is continue forward, building what they can from the wreckage they had made. As Heartfire had done, so too would Scorch.
Regardless, Heartfire is not here to discuss the past or their shared sins. No, she is here to consider the future. Because in the end, that is all that truly matters. It is the only thing they can change. The past may be fixed, but what they choose to do now is most certainly not.
Eyeing the elder woman beside her curiously, she remains silent for a heartbeat of time, even after Scorch acknowledges her. She wonders for a moment If her grandmother is ready yet to move past her mistakes. Wonders if her mind and heart had settled enough. For all her abilities, this is not one, the reading of minds and hearts. She can only see what is and has been done, not the thoughts behind those actions. She might guess, but she has learned (too recently) that emotion is not her forte.
Finally, after a silence that had stretched perhaps a sliver too long, Heartfire asks, “Are you well, Grandmother?” It is not something she has felt the need to ask before, and perhaps it is not as gentle or thoughtful as it should be. But it is genuine nevertheless. For all that she could use her grandmother's wisdom and support, she is not so selfish as to pursue it at the expense of Scorch's well-being. She is family, after all.
A long minute of being side-eyed by her all-seeing granddaughter passed, ripe with curiosity and questions. Scorch forced herself to stand still during the inspection, refusing to twitch the skin of her withers or to flick an ear in annoyance at the way it felt to be thus scrutinized; in the end, she could not begrudge Heartfire of her thirst for knowledge, though this acceptance came exclusively from their shared blood. For the most part, what was Scorch's was her family's; that meant all her sins and short comings, too.
And, at long last, the inevitable question came. A quick flash of a smile coloured Scorch's expression as she laughed curtly, wanting immediately to spit out how very unwell she felt these days. As if to punctuate and emphasize this desire, the foal in her womb kicked powerfully, reminding her that the day soon would come when he or she would be gracing her with his or her presence. This did little to warm Scorch to the idea of mothering another bastard. She snapped her tail, made of materialized twilight, and stung the place where the foal had kicked; of course, the babe would feel nothing, and the impulsive action only punished the already suffering mare all the more.
"No," she answered finally, and simply. It was the single word which best detailed her unwell feelings. She smiled again, more grimly this time. She tore her pragmatic steel gaze away from the waves, and slashed them across to Heartfire. In the next moment, a thin layer of flame erupted across her entire figure, looking for all the world like a bright orange chestnut coat. The crackling of the flames filled the silence between them for a moment, until Scorch gathered enough of an explanation to present to her grand daughter.
"I think I am going to leave Nerine." The words fell stale from her mutilated lips, as if the desertion which once would have marked her eternally as a traitor, now meant less than nothing to her. Indeed, the emptiness in her gray eyes spoke as much. "There is nothing left for me here." And as she spoke these words, images of the ancient Amazon Jungle played vividly in her mind's eyes - and if Heartfire were paying only a little attention, she would know that Scorch was right.
She is used to causing discomfort, her intense stare and unwavering focus a cause for many to squirm beneath her regard. She knows better of Scorch, knows she would never falter beneath her discerning gaze. Were she another woman, she might have taken pity on the clearly agitated woman. Would have gentled her still features and baldly spoken words. But she is not. They are too much alike in that.
Besides, she finds nothing pitiable about the matriarch of her family. She may have made mistakes, but so have they all. And she may even now feel the weight of them heavy on her shoulders, but eventually it would pass. Inevitably, it would always pass.
Her thoughts are easily hidden beneath the tranquility of her dark features, the sharpness of her blue eyes unreadable. The simple answer her grandmother offers inspires no change in her beyond a subtle shift of her hips as she settles herself more comfortably beside the gray woman. Even the fire that begins to crackle along her skin draws no more than a cursory glance of mild curiosity.
To Scorch, she might seem a woman unfazed by the revelations she spits forth, but her thoughts are far from quiet behind the cool assessment of her bright eyes. Truthfully, it does not surprise her that Scorch feels this way. She might find it objectionable, but far from surprising. Still, she would never stand in her grandmother’s way over such a decision. Heartfire is a patient woman, and if Scorch needs time, she sees no reason not to give it to her.
Still, only a fool would believe she might remain silent in the face of such a sizeable pronouncement.
“I think,” she begins slowly, thoughtfully. Deliberately, “there is only nothing if you believe there is nothing.” There would always be a place for her in Nerine. But purpose can only ever be found where one looks for purpose. And if Scorch had decided she was done seeking purpose in the kingdom, then indeed there was nothing. Heartfire could not force her to believe. “But I do understand your decision.”
She might have finished with a trite “I wish you would stay”, though she does not. It goes without saying. Her grandmother would always be welcome, should she decide to return. Still, she’s not quite finished. Scorch might believe herself obsolete here, but Heartfire knows better. “Before you go, perhaps you might do one final thing.”
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