"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
He needed to get away. He had been approached by several, and had made himself known for who and what he was to several others here in the meadow, but when Ashley looked toward the mountain, he found that need to want to climb it. Feeling that this was all for those who could hear it calling to them, he took the opportunity of his solitude, and decided to head in that direction, looking for some answers as to why he was here, why he was back, and why the hell he had to suffer the pride of those who were so obviously punished for their mis-deeds.
He had not been around in several lifetimes, and while he was not entirely blameless for the way the land had progressed—he probably had help it along, to be fair—his lack of activity for these past ages had been quiet. Unless he was paying for the mistakes of his family—for which there were many. He carried a great bitterness where they were concerned, because it was not unknown to him who had cast him in that limestone statue to begin with. The pride that comes with unlimited magic and unlimited power and dreams has the ability to make one mad. And so his descendants (and there were many) had pushed to acquire more powerful and specialized abilities, taking the kingdoms and ruling them with a hand that perhaps even Ashley himself would have sneered at. He was, for the moment, much better off without them.
So, with this thought in mind, Ashley tossed his head and allowed the spirit of the mountain to lead him toward her base. The sound of a clear and babbling brook reminded him of his thirst, and he took a slight detour to make his way to some lunch and a drink, before planning to set off up the mountain, to visit the all-mother.
The mountain had not stripped her body bare as it had some, for she had no gifts to boast of. But it had stolen from her a home, those purple snow-capped mountains she had loved so desperately and the caves that wound beneath them. It had stolen her friends and her family, had hidden everyone she loved for days. There had been Tobiah at least, to crumble against that first night, and though she didn’t understand why he had bothered to come find her at all, she was glad he did. Tobiah made everything hurt less, he soothed her wounds without meaning to.
She drifts like a stray thought through the meadow, and though it is entirely unchanged, it is not the same. There are ghosts here now, echoes of a past wholly undone, and she can feel the weight of them in her chest. They are borne from the loss of not finding a loved one, of true loneliness in the wake of such utter devastation. They are borne, too, from the loss of having something that is so innately a part of you carved away; a pair of wings ripped from a set of broken shoulders, a horn snapped free of a naked forehead. She has not lost a piece of her soul like so many others have, but she can understand why the weep and wither, why they cannot understand the reason they have been punished for loving what had been given to them.
At least it is winter now, at least there is snow dusting the grass and ice in her breath when it fogs against the air, because even just a little sameness loosens the knot in her belly. She wanders without purpose, without worry, and she tries to pull together her thoughts but the pieces slip away like grains of silver sand. It is then that she notices the buckskin stallion - and while she does not know him, there is something that feels soothingly familiar about the lines of his face and the gold of his skin. She is quiet when she moves to join him, quiet when she tucks in close beside him to push the soft of her dark nose against his neck.
“Hello.” Is all she says at first, though her quiet brown eyes drift towards his face. She should be more wary, should feel some concern wandering up to a stranger, but she has never met anyone who has been anything other than kind, so does not think to worry. When her eyes find his and a smile softens against the curve of her mouth, she asks in voice like silver, “What have you lost?”
Everyone has lost something, it is what will bring them together in this new world.
initiate the heart within me until it opens properly
09-08-2016, 04:35 AM (This post was last modified: 09-08-2016, 04:37 AM by Ashley.)
He was stuck in a never ending reverie where his thoughts swirled between agitation and anger. When the girl—woman…though he had a hard time seeing any of them as anything other than children to allow this to happen to their home—touches her nose to his shoulder, he jolts, breaking out of his thunderous abyss and almost jumping back in surprise that she had been able to take him by such happenstance.
There had been a day when even the slightest one who crossed his path would not go off without his notice. He had been the calm one who had been able to discern friend from foe; family from madness, truth from lies, honor from distrust. And yet, the world was cast into such a spiral, that he was coming to understand that even his experience was of no use in this particular situation. He was not as he usually is; rather than the Lord, he was merely a man unsure of how his life was going to run its course. How many days did he have left? How long did he have to go? How much more was there for him to give?
Brought back to the present, the painted girl speaks to him in quiet dulcet tones that show Ashley that he does not have to be in a position of agitation, and yet, his blood pumping that he’d been snucked upon at all was enough for the countenance on his face to be anything but open. He shuttered his expressions and straightened his posture, the muscles under his pelt rippling with the power that he still held—even if he was, after all just a man.
“Honestly? I have lost my patience with this generation, to find why they have allowed our land to descend into madness like this. I have lost my home, and I have lost my magic. I have lost much, girl.” His chest heaved with all the anger and emotion that he usually kept pent up inside him. Despite his stoney expression, he had allowed himself to spill his thoughts to a perfect stranger—and yet, there was something familiar about this face. Something that almost looked back at him, each time he took a drink in the river. His eyes narrowed upon her features, and did not waste time in addressing her. “Tell me, who are you, child? And who are your parents? From where do you come? Or rather…” He coughed, his agitation clear. “…from where did you come?”
