"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
I remember all the words that you said that love is just a spark that starts in your heart, and ends in your head
It is in the night that she feels safest, clinging to the shadows and the pure white light of the moon and stars, rather than risk going out in the open. It feels weird to not know anything, to be driven purely by her instinct to feed, to nurture herself and her body, and to stay away from anything and anyone that could be a threat.
It feels weird not to know her own name.
She sees things, now or then - probably flashbacks, though she can’t entirely be sure. Just like the beach she left behind felt like one big deja vu, she can’t decipher anything regarding the things she dreams about. She wanders around like a ghost - yesterday evening she peered into the river and decided that she looks like one, too. Unreal, ethereal - while she figured she would be a pretty ghost, and while she knows that her fire-coloured eyes have the sparkle of one who is very much alive, the white mare doesn’t know anything else about herself than what she looks like - white and unreal. She lives only in the present, and an ethereal one at that. For all she knows she could be a ghost, and that’s why she has decided against running towards the first horse she could find.
She had decided against asking around for her name and purpose, fearing the answer might be that she is indeed a ghost - fearing none might know her, or worse, that her appearance would freak them out or - or that no-one could see her at all.
So now she wanders along the riverbank at night, the only source of freshwater she has found so far, hoping for her memory to fill in the gaps. She met someone here on a night like this, she thinks, though the memory seems as foggy as all the other flashbacks she’s had so far.
Perhaps in time, she will know why she had come here to the beach, to this land she doesn’t know - and she may remember her name, as well.
love is just a sound that plays in your heart and gets caught in your throat
@[Svedka]
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
He’s taken his time with making his way back to Tephra. Svedka has never been the one to rush things in the first place and though he loves his twin sister and her wife dearly, he has decided to give them a little bit of space upon returning to Beqanna as a whole, let alone returning to the place they were born. He dallies, weaving through the pines of the forest, reflecting on the long years he has been away as he absentmindedly brushes his pink lips across the damp bark of the trees, the cool taste of autumn on his tongue.
The lion stirs; it longs for control of him and ever-waits for a chance to escape, constantly prodding at any weak points within Svedka’s mind. The stallion has learned to live with the hellish beast, but he can always feel the strong press of the mountain lion, trilling in his throat and awakening in his belly. Certain habits have been formed that are of the predator’s influence - such as wandering through a forest in the dead of night, instead of sleeping. It unnerves him to know he is only doing things because of the lion, but it seems to soothe the beast.
Mist begins to swirl around his ivory legs, causing the stallion’s lowered head to rise, his cerulean gaze looking out before him. The thick canopy of the forest is beginning to become sparse and the sound of rushing water gently plays across the landscape. The cold, soft dirt he walks upon soon becomes sprinkled with river rocks, becoming larger and larger as he moves towards the sound of water. It’s cooler here, near the river, and as he comes up to its bank he inhales deeply the smell of freshwater and earth. Svedka lowers his head, a cascade of brilliant blue and perfect white falling into his face, pinkish lips pursing as they touch the chilly river water.
Movement to his right causes his head to rise, curving his neck towards the billowing of white that catches his attention. The sound of the rushing water masks the sounds of her hooves against pebble and stone as she carefully walks alongside the shore, an ethereal vision amidst the dense fog and deep green of the bordering treeline. He says nothing yet, a lazy half-smile finding his lips before he begins to make his way towards her, his knowing cerulean gaze sparkling.
Perhaps not too many things have changed in the years he has been away.
“Ilma,” he breathes, his voice robust against the gurgling of the river. He halts before her, his hooves sinking into the softness of the river’s bank, close enough to her for any wandering eyes to realize that they are more than mere strangers. His eyes take in her frame for a moment - noticing that not one thing has changed - before taking a step to embrace her, looking forward to feeling the warmth of her skin against his own.
I remember all the words that you said that love is just a spark that starts in your heart, and ends in your head
She met someone here before, she thinks. The certainty grows with every minute - it was a cold, clear night just like this one; dreamy and unreal just as she is.
It feels weird to see him there - just as he did before. Exactly like she remembers; coming up to her with enthusiasm, happiness, and she can’t help but break a smile. She doesn’t remember his name, but the way he says hers, she almost goes teary - there is so much truth and sincerity in the sound, there is no doubt in her that indeed, that must be her name. ”Ilma,” she repeats to herself softly, still processing the definitivity of accepting her name when he closes in for a hug. She doesn’t hug back immediately, more like she lets herself be hugged; shocked into the warmth of his touch and the strange feeling that she’s done this before, but doesn’t seem to remember his smell or touch when he hugs her.
”I know you,” she asks more than claims, searching his blue gaze, looking for recognition. ”We’ve done this before?” That is even more of a question, but one she thinks the answer will also be yes.
Some visions come rushing in; of walking together along the river, of a jungle and a volcano in the distance; of a mare he introduces as his sister, and her mate - women who seem to know her better than she does herself. The visions come with little sound, but she recognizes her own name in it once or twice, all uttered by those she apparently knew, or knows - the white mare feels unsure and insecure by these flashbacks, but she holds herself together - just about - as her amber eyes search the male’s blue orbs desperately. Her visions confirm that she knows him, but they are odd.
Why don’t her memories come with names, with scent, with touch?
love is just a sound that plays in your heart and gets caught in your throat
@[Svedka]
So what she thinks are memories and flashbacks are visions of the possible future, to complicate things (:.
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
The cold mist that lazily hangs over the river soaks into his skin, dampening the gold and ivory of his coat with a soft sheen. The stark white and sky blue of his mane clings to the curvature of his muscular neck, a soft hum in his throat as her familiar voice reaches his ears. His eyes are closed in contentment as he embraces her, pulling her to him and smiling softly as the warmth of her pure white skin touches his own. He finds it odd that she repeats her own name to him, but his eyes remain close and he merely replies with a deep hmm, far too focused on inhaling her familiar scent than to question why she would repeat her own name.
She doesn’t return his embrace, but he doesn’t think it as strange - the last time they were together was many years ago, and it was when he had first discovered his other skin. It had been a terrifying ordeal for both of them, and perhaps he shouldn’t invade her personal space as he so carelessly does now, but he clings to her familiarity selfishly. Only when she begins to speak does Svedka’s eyes flick open in surprise, his brow immediately furrowing and taking a sweeping step back to gaze at her confusedly. For a moment he wonders if this is not Ilma at all, just an extremely perfect lookalike (another shifter, perhaps?) and distrust clouds his gaze.
“Yes,” he answers slowly, his brilliant blue gaze scanning her worriedly. Despite his uncertainty, he cannot help reaching towards her to brush his mouth across her pale and perfect cheek, sadness finding every edge of his handsome face. “You...you don’t remember?” His voice is soft against her skin, gentle but heavy with realization.
There is a pause between them, where silence encompasses all around them save for the sound of rushing water beside them. It grows and Svedka allows it, as if his touch alone would bring back lost memories.
“What do you remember?” His sturdy touch remains, his lips pressing against her face as he whispers sadly to her. Who did this to you?
I remember all the words that you said that love is just a spark that starts in your heart, and ends in your head
She marvels at him; he is not familiar, nobody could be in her amnesiac state - and yet his touch and smell feel natural, easy and sweet. His warmth chases away a chill she hadn’t known had crept up on her in the cold and damp winter night, and she welcomes it without hesitation. She can’t tell if that’s because of his charming and easy-going nature, or because of the strange memories that she has - or simply because she is physically attracted to him?
The truth is probably somewhere in the middle, she thinks to herself. Still, when he retracts to search her eyes as much as her amber gaze finds his blue one, she can’t help herself and brushes her maw past his in an attempt to elongate the moment - to stretch it into infinity and test herself at the same time. He’s a little too quick for it to be anything but half a heartbeat in which she stretches her neck, and when she sees the hesitation in his eye, she regrets her impulse quicker than even that.
He’s worried, and probably rightly so. Up until this very moment however, the moon-coloured mare hadn’t thought the meeting strange - she was probably bound to run into someone, at some point, who knew her. She saddens, mirroring the feeling that’s so openly written on his face. Here she goes, saddening him with her existence and her amnesia. Who’s to say what she did in her life, who’s to say how many people’s life she might ruin this way? How many can she handle? It’s a disappointment in herself that surfaces, and she can’t quite rid herself of the feeling.
She stirs with that realization, as if perhaps wanting to step back: turn around and run away to somewhere no-one can find her. Maybe she shouldn’t be here at all, should not have come. His questions however - the first one rhetoric to her, an outing of his realization more than anything else - they stop her, make her stall her escape and miss it altogether. She pauses, trying to wrap her head around the events that brought her here - a beach, the descent of the moon, her decision not to join the herds in the fields and meadows she’d passed, finding the river the easiest thing to stick to. It had all felt logical and natural to do, and then he had shown up. She’d remembered somehow, how they met here before, here in this very spot, and in retrospect, she guesses she might not be surprised to find him here again.
She finds herself leaning into him more heavily than she thought she would - or should, with a stranger, even if he is probably not that - and rights her head again when she’s come to an answer. ”A beach. The moon. This river… you.” She bites her lower lip as she murmurs the sequence of events, then follows up with the little other things she knows. ”A jungle, I think - flowers and odd-shaped trees. Fire and ash in the background, though they seem non-threatening. Two mares - one with blue wings, one antlered…” When she focuses on the memories, they’re not all that clear any more.
Did she have a son? She frowns into the man’s mane at the idea of the light-emitting perlino, then pulls back, observing his face as if trying to understand what his purpose is in her life - no, he’s not her son, she concludes, relieved - nor the father. Why does the latter feel like a disappointment, as well as a relief all at once?
”Tell me… tell me something about... yourself?” she asks him - not exactly what she wants to ask him; what is he to her, specifically? But she can’t start with that - she can hope to get to know him again, though. She has a right to know who she’s dealing with at least, right?
love is just a sound that plays in your heart and gets caught in your throat
@[Svedka]
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
If her mind truly does not remember him, he swears that her body does; even in her unfamiliarity she gravitates towards him, curling beneath the strong curve of his champagne and ivory neck, closing the space between them that he had created when he stepped away to look into the wide, wondrous irises of her eyes. Despite the lingering uncertainty in her doe-like eyes, there is curiosity and even a little bit of faith floating within their depths, almost asking (begging) for him to bring her memories back to her. Oh, if only he could. If his touch alone could bring the past back to life, he would. But he holds nothing of that kind of power – not ones of sorcerers or warlocks; no, he can only become a beast.
Her voice is gentle and soft – not uncertain – as she recalls her memories, whatever remains in the recess of her mind, to him. His pink lips pull gingerly at a wispy white lock of her mane, just behind her ear, as if silently encouraging her to search her thoughts. You. He smiles at this, though the sadness still glimmers dully in his cerulean eyes. “I am hard to forget,” he muses almost devilishly, his voice a careful rumble in his chest as he grins into the paleness of her soft skin, moving his mouth to her cheek.
“Tephra,” Svedka tells her amusedly amidst her quiet vocals, a laugh to his voice. How fitting, that also Ilma has remembered (or forseen?) the homeland of both himself and his twin sister. Kagerus has made her mark on Ilma’s mind as well – the trio are not easily disremembered, apparently. He shifts his weight backwards when she turns to look into his face, inhaling deeply the familiar, fresh scent of her. She is searching his face for something, though he knows not what she searches for. Assurance, perhaps? Another pang of familiarity to flutter across her breast? “You’ve remembered the important things, sweet Ilma.” No laugh accompanies him, but the sparkling in his eyes reveals that happiness has replaced the concern that was held there only moments before.
It was odd that he hadn’t already done so, but he realizes that despite their long history, that Ilma may remember his face but not his name. So when she questions him, he begins there. “I’m Svedka.”
“We both rested our heads in a territory called Hyaline – ruled by my sister, Solace, and her wife, Kagerus.” He pauses, a casual roll of his shoulder to accompany his next words, “you know, the antlered and the winged one.” Svedka’s handsome face slips into a wrinkled-nose smirk, snorting softly. “They’re in Tephra now – the jungle escape you’ve just described to me.”
His smirk slowly flutters into something a bit more serious, his brows creasing gently. “Do you know what happened – what made you forget? An accident? A magician?” His voice lowers and is vibrating with concern, his gaze searching Ilma’s own.
I remember all the words that you said that love is just a spark that starts in your heart, and ends in your head
He might be right in his accession, and he might be completely wrong. In her state of not-knowing, she would grasp any grass stalk or even a look-a-like; but the fact is that she is the same mare as she once was, the same who might have fallen far more quickly for his easy smile if circumstances time and time again hadn’t changed their fates. In body, all of that is still there - or, again - but her memories seem to stop any time she mentally travels back to that beach. But if her mind plays tricks on her, what else can she do but play along?
He tells her of before, or of the present. She smiles at his joke, the wit and simultaneously, warmth, with which he breaks it to her. Tephra, he calls it, and for a moment she wonders who or what that is until he mentions that is the place she just described. A place of benevolent fire, she thinks - how fitting for him. She smiles through the rest of his recollections, seeing the warmth return once again to his eyes when he mentions these women. His sister and her wife. Though she isn’t sure which of the names belongs to which face, she figures that perhaps she will find out soon enough. If he loves them so much, they are probably like him, as well.
The mention of a Hyaline makes her slightly hesitant, why would she not remember that but only the fire land, but thankfully he doesn’t stop talking there. Tephra it is, then, she figures - although she has no clue how to get there whatsoever. And no clue, unfortunately, about her untimely demise.
She just is. Before that, all is black. After it… more of a haze. She shakes her head worriedly. ”No.” Should she be worried that someone holds a grudge?
At least her instincts work. Her personality has been reset, not formed by the past, not with any goal in mind, but at the very core, she is the same as she once was. She feels lost now, floating in a midnight bath full of diamond stars that are just beyond her reach; and there he is: her lifeline, a path of pure moonlight in the dark, and all she needs to do is follow.
She does that - there is no point to floating in nothingness. Even if he might not be what she believes him to be right now - though she tells herself such an open mind, and such sweet kindness, could never be faked - she has no other choice. On a subconscious level, she trusts everything about him, and can only hope that her instinct is true, or she must face the consequences if they lead her astray. From her point of being nowhere and going nowhere, every road that leads away is a better opportunity than no road at all. And yet there is something about him that makes her believe in a future.
In his worries, he seems protective - perhaps too much for the situation, and it causes a genuine smile on her face, near to laughing. She doesn’t know what happened - if it had been a natural death, a cruel twist of nature, or perhaps something worse. She may not have a past any more, but with an anchor like him, she slowly believes she can have a life again - perhaps even a good and happy one. ”It’s not a past that I need right now.” she decides - it doesn’t matter. If she can’t remember, then it is no use to muster any sort of vengeful feelings - and she wouldn’t want to lose him to a search with no end. Not now that she’s just found him. Found him again.
love is just a sound that plays in your heart and gets caught in your throat
@[Svedka] sorry if it’s a bit all over the place
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
There is a slight frown that creases the soft pink of his lips, the lightheartedness leaving his face for a moment in the realization that there might not be any way to undo or avenge what has been done to her. The seriousness is out of place on the sharp angles of his champagne and ivory face, though it does nothing to take away from his handsomeness. He wonders if they’ll ever know or understand what exactly has happened to her. What would have happened if she had stumbled across anyone besides himself today? Svedka pauses the thought with a soft snort, expelling it from his mind. She had not come across anyone else; no need to dwell on what might have happened to her. The fairies had deemed it so that she would return to them safely, even though they did nothing to help her remember her past. Just as they did nothing to remove his own curse of the puma. Perhaps it was his burden to bear, just as not having a past would be Ilma’s.
He inhales deeply, gathering his thoughts before chuffing gently, his mouth turning upwards in a tender smile. “No matter,” he replies assuredly, pressing the broad of his forehead against the perfect white of her own, his brilliant blue gaze closing momentarily. He would be her anchor, if need be, to remind her where she had always belonged even if her memories cannot help her with that realization. Svedka straightens, turning his head slightly to check her expression with inquisitive and curious blue eyes. He finds her smiling and his heart leaps, matching hers with a broader, brighter grin that encapsulates Svedka’s cheery disposition in a single expression. He’s not exactly sure what he’s done to make her smile, only that he is simple elated that he’s done so. The darkness that has shrouded them both for so long seems to dissipate, all uncertainty evaporating into the chill of winter’s air.
Svedka moves so that he can stand beside her, shoulder to shoulder, pointed northwest towards Tephra. “Then let us focus on the future,” he decides, his golden shoulder gently pressing into the pale of her own, while he leans towards her to sentimentally nuzzle her. “I’d like to show you Tephra, if you’re comfortable.” Svedka pauses, leaning back slightly to watch her reaction. “We could take the long way.” He’d hate to rush her into something so new so quickly; she’s technically only just met him, after all.
a certain type of silence has filled my voice I scream beneath the water and make no noise
In however long or short the moment has lasted - she trusts him. It’s an odd feeling to do so, having spent days - or weeks? - wandering at night alone, hoping not to run into anyone who knew her, who’d ask questions like where had she been, what was she thinking, why had she not come home - and he’d done none of that. All he did was comfort her, and return to her a name, a name that fit and got accompanied by his memories of who she had been - a mare she might become once more, or perhaps just a tad different, who’s to say. If he can live with that, so can she - deep down, there is a part of her that knows and remembers him, even if she has no memory.
And had she not remembered his face? She’d had this weird feeling that she’d been here before, met him here before, after all. No, she cannot doubt him. If she can stick to him, be comfortable around him, and coax some more stories out of him, then that is all she will care about for now.
When she smiled, almost laughed, just now he’d looked so happy. Just for the fact of her smiling, she thinks, and the feeling is accompanied by a warmth in her chest, freeing whatever got stuck there - it gives her space to breathe.
His movements bring him besides her instead of in front of her, and truly it is as if he anchors her when he coaxes her into a northwestern direction. His nuzzling is welcomed, a reaction she had not thought possible with a somewhat-stranger, but there it is, acceptance and dare she think it, reluctance when he pulls back. The warmth of his hips and shoulders just inches from her skin is a reminder of something she doesn’t truly remember - a familiar feeling she knows she would not easily share with just about anyone. So although her skin tingles, she can’t just give into it now - technically, he is a stranger to her, even if it feels like he is familiar to her; it’d be rather strange to get involved more than this in her not-really-knowing.
So, she will focus on the future. ”Tephra it is, then,” she agrees - she would not know how to get to his Hyaline, truly, or where else to go at all. When he suggests the long way, there is a hint of a smile in his eyes that she may have invented, but she agrees to it all the same. No need to rush this. She may be comfortable around him now, and even that tentatively so, but what about the others she’d seen in her mind’s eye? The bright-shining boy that might be her son, whom she hadn’t even shared with him yet - or the women who seemed so full of life in her visions. It might be too much to meet all of them at the same time, indeed - she’ll need a few days to prepare herself for that, mentally. ”I’d like that, Svedka.” She tastes his name carefully, but with a sort of eagerness to it all the same. Svedka. She likes saying it, even if it’s just because it’s the first name she can match to a person she knows - or just because she likes the way his bright blue eyes focus on her when she does.
will you let me follow you, wherever you go… bring me home?
@[Svedka]
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
