"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
06-28-2015, 09:43 PM (This post was last modified: 06-28-2015, 09:51 PM by Valkerine.)
there's a moment we make a decision
not to cower and crash to the ground
Her heart is breaking, and she isn't sure where to go. She can't go to her sister; her sister needs her strength, needs Val to be the strong one for the both of them. She has to leave Thorny alone with her grief for just a moment, to get away, to go somewhere where she can let it overcome her.
And so although she is hardly thinking clearly, although she can hardly remember anything, she remembers the one place she's ever been that wasn’t the Valley. The one place that, she strongly suspects, her sister won't follow her.
She remembers him, standing there with them after they'd lost her mother. She remembers how he'd supported her, how he'd been there for them when they'd all needed it, despite not being born part of their little family. She isn't the kind of filly to be seeking out an individual – she is still fiercely independent, as fiercely independent as she's ever been – and so she heads for the jungle more because she knows she's guaranteed solitude than because she expects to be guaranteed company.
She enters the borders without a thought, unhesitating and unconcerned. She isn't of the Valley then, she isn't of anywhere – unless that anywhere is her own grief. It wraps around her like a wet blanket, dulling her usually ebullient personality, crushing her under the weight of it. She is an orphan now, at almost two years old. She isn’t sure what's worse, to be orphaned now, when she's had two years to spend with her father and mother, two years to grow to love them, or to be orphaned at birth, to never know who they are or what they thought of her.
At the moment, the pain she feels makes the answer an easy one.
She stumbles over the vines and branches, falling across fallen trees, scraping her knees and sides as the jungle tries to grab her as she passes, uncaring. She doesn't even notice the way her body responds with a surge as the injuries pile up. She doesn't notice, she doesn't know, she is simply consumed with grief.
Reaching a clearing beneath an impossibly large jungle tree, she leans up against it and finally allows herself to cry.
07-02-2015, 01:31 PM (This post was last modified: 07-15-2015, 09:58 AM by Shahrizai.)
all things are possible even the worst of things
He cannot possibly know the grief of losing a mother or a father. His own mother is still alive and well, still able to be there for him, to love him, to kick him into shape when he needs it. His father is still the bedrock they all lean upon, still there with strong assurance, still the calm in the storm. He can imagine, but he cannot know. Even so, he shares her grief. He had loved Librette as dearly as he loved any of his family. She had been his first friend, his closest friend. And because Librette had cared for him, because he is their father, he grieves for Covet as well. But he still does not know the grief of losing his parents.
He sees her stumbling blindly through the jungle. She doesn’t notice him. But then, he had been born here. He had spent his formative years stumbling over the same roots and vines that she now stumbles over. With cuts and bruises as his teachers, he had learned how to traverse them. He follows her easily, his large hooves quiet on the thick layer of rotting vegetation that supports its flourishing green descendants.
He doesn’t pause to wonder why she had come here. He knows her well. She believes no one will disturb her here, that no one will see her break down. He also knows she should not be alone in her grief. She might cry a river of tears, but he will always see her strength.
He doesn’t say a word as he approaches her. She is leaning against a massive tree trunk as tears fall freely. His heart breaks for her in that moment. He cannot help but recall their last meeting in this place. The innocent child that she had been, berating him for leaving the Valley. Upset (not that she would have admitted it) that he had left her behind. But she is no longer that child, could never be that child again. That same spirit she had shown then shows now, but some of the innocence has gone. It saddens him that she could not have held onto her childhood for just a little bit longer. Saddens him that he had gotten something she would never have.
Dropping his head over her withers, he presses his muzzle against her neck, warm breath fanning her skin. In this manner, her holds her as she cries, tears pricking his own eyes as he does. He inhales deeply, drawing in her familiar scent. He takes comfort in their embrace, hoping that she can take comfort in it as well. Hoping that she will not pull away from him.
there's a moment we make a decision
not to cower and crash to the ground
Perhaps she should push him away. Perhaps that's what her parents would want, for her to be strong, to need no one (or at least, need no one but her sister). But in this moment, in this exquisite sadness, none of that matters. Nothing matters but the fact that he is here and he is warm and between him and the tree she almost feels like it might be all right someday.
Seamlessly, without hesitation, she presses into him as surely as she'd once pressed into the tree. The tears still fall, but they fall into Zai's coat now. She cries for the simple reasons, for the loss that she and her sister have endured, for all the moments in the future where she'll miss her parents, for all the grief that wracks her in the present. She cries because it is all too much, because the pain is too sharp, because she has too many emotions and simply knows of nothing else she can do but let them bubble over.
And after a while, the emotional bloodletting is over. She is weakened by it, drained by the outpouring of her emotions, but the worst of the storm is over. The rain has passed, and it's left behind a land drowned into silence. But as is the way of things, life will go on. In the calm, there are glimmers of the sun.
"Zai…" she sighs, almost breathless. There's so much packed into the one small expression: wistfulness, gratitude, a little bit of irony at the name that calls back to the innocence they both know is now gone forever. She'll regain some of it someday – it's not in her nature to be depressed, to be kept down for the rest of her days – but it will be a long, slow road. She offers him a watery smile. "Thanks."
The smile fades and her brown eyes are dark with loss. When she speaks, she tries to smile, tries to lace her voice with the hint of humor, but it just comes out sounding sad. "What the hell do I do now?"
All things are possible, even the worst of things.
He had never been very good at silence. But in this moment, it comes easily. He knows she does not need words from him now. In this moment of unbearable agony and sadness, she needs only his presence, his strength. To many, being here might seem awkward. But to him, it feels only right. He is meant to be here and give her what comfort he can. He knows words are useless, so he does not try to use them. He merely presses her close as she leans into him, soaking his coat with her tears.
Slowly the torrent comes to an end; the tears start to slow as the well is drained. He breathes softly into her neck as he tugs gently, affectionately, at the longs strands of her mane with his lips. A small bit of teasing and old familiarity that he cannot resist. He hears her breath his name on a sigh, voice thickened by the tears. He smiles then, hearing that nickname coming from her lips. He remembers once being exasperated by her persistent use of the wrong name, but now he finds that likes it. He would never want her to call him anything else. It is so uniquely her.
Drawing his head back over her shoulder, his brown eyes find hers. A hint of the smile still remains as he brushes his muzzle over her shoulder in response to her word of thanks. Anytime, he replies softly, honestly. He would always be there when she needed him.
At her next words, a short chuckle escapes him. Perhaps it is not the time for humor, but he really cannot help himself sometimes. He sighs softly as his warm gaze fixes upon her features.
If I knew that, I’d probably be a king by now, he says with a small grin. I guess life just goes on, and we go with it. What else is there to do?
