"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
** NOTE: This thread is pre-Gryffen, during Ruan's reign, and thus set in a different timeline.
Ellyse
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
She cared not for the unforgiving frigidity of winter – its heavy, icy grasp clutched tightly around her throat, drying her mouth, stirring her bones to shiver and quake beneath the gilded surface of her skin. She had been born and raised in the thick of a forest, encircling a vast and empty clearing, and had felt ice and snow lace itself with her feathers more times than she could possibly count – but as time went on, as she found solace and comfort in the soothing warmth and humidity of the volcanic island, the less she sought out the caress of winter. It no longer reminded her of home, of her father – instead, it only reminded her of why she had sought warmer refuge in the first place.
A shiver traverses the length of her spine as winter gently caresses her skin with a whistling gale, draping its icy precipitation onto the rounded edges of her feathered appendages. She had wandered to the southern border and into the salty sea, wading through the rumbling current until she had found the shoreline. There, she only remained still for a moment to gather her bearings – she was heavily pregnant, with stirring life weighing her down, but it hardly held her back – though it did cause her to err on the side of caution of using her winged appendages for travel.
And so, she presses on, her long and slender legs carrying her towards the dense thicket of the forest, weaving through the tall and winding trees that litter it, plunging deeper into the dark but familiar woodland. She had spent much time in its icy embrace, comforted by the echo of solitude, by the quiet it provided her, but she had only one thing on her mind, and it was not the necessity of isolation.
It is not long until she is at the border of it – Taiga.
There is a subtle shift in the treeline, where taller, and more heavily lidded branches provide the shadow and shade of its canopy – it is more dense; darker, even. She is quiet, watchful, but she does not cross the boundary line (she is no fool, nor is she barbaric – just as she would frown upon another for freely traversing Tephra, she could only imagine what the overseer of Taiga would think if she were to do the same).
Tucking the broad expanse of her wings against the swell of her barrel, her pale lips are tilted towards the crevices where pale sunlight is peeking through, calling out to the forest – for her son, for his beloved.
She has come – if Canaan would not come to her, she would come to him. To his lover.
She would come to the grandchildren he had promised her.
oh, my love, don't forsake me. take what the water gave me ..
Adaptation is as much a part of their wild world as it has always been. What was Magic, if it wasn’t a form of evolution for them? A means to surviving this strange environment and its countless perils. Circinae herself had been born in the sands of the old Desert, had soaked up the sun for years and felt the shifting uncertainty of sand and life beneath her feet up until the day she’d left. Those times were only memories now, though, and even in her wildest dreams the little shifter wouldn’t think of returning to that environment. No … Taiga was home, even if it had not been by any particular design of hers.
Just as the flow of life carries an individual to it’s rightful destination, so does Circy’s ambling. She’s wolf (hardly ever anything else these days) and her silent footfalls are particularly placed, making her a noiseless brown wraith. Weaving around massive trunks and dipping through low-growing brush she slips unnoticed along the border of her home, fully intending to wind up at her own den and riddled with ideas for home-improvement. It made no difference to her that the warm, dark hole would be void of the cacophony a child brings - she longed for the return of Canaan and hungered for the chance to be a mother once more. Preparation would soothe that ache, though it couldn’t erase it.
So distracted is she that when the call first echoes inside of her perked ears it stops her dead in her tracks. The brittle hair along her nape rises, every muscle in her slender body motionless and tense. Above her spine her two-toned tails curls archly, nose pointed as a marker towards the source of the disturbance as mild confusion settles over her. “She calls for Canaan too…” The Taigan thinks, knowing with certainty that no tone so high could be mimicked through male vocals. Still, it worries her - that hint of urgency bordering on impatience.
Circinae thinks it over and exhales, leaping into activity once more so that she might fly through the twists of worn paths where the visitor waits. They’re not far from one another (fate is a funny, funny sort of thing) but she decides, for once, to shift upwards into horse before allowing herself to be visible. As the golden mare gains an outline, a firm shape, Circy slows to a brisk walk and replies with a welcoming tone of her own - high, like bells.
The resemblance cannot be mistaken. In the other mare’s eyes, the turn of her lip, the color of her coat, is Canaan and her boys. It sends her heart wild with energy, steals the air from her lungs. Breathless, she halts, tossing her vibrant head aside to displace the dark shock of forelock over her bright gaze. “Please, please come in and make yourself comfortable.” She begins softly, finding it hard to look away from that promising swell of the pegasus’ belly. “Are you looking for Canaan?” She follows, only after stepping aside. Hope alights in her, a tender flame with the idea that he might be coming soon, especially if this woman was expecting him.
“Oh, gosh, forgive me,” She laughs softly with the nod of her head, “My name is Circinae. I call these woods home.”
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
It is not long until she is accompanied by another, and she is quiet – watchful.
She is etched with fine, shapely muscles, but carved out of raw emerald – she had not known many so vividly .. colorful in her lifetime, but she can clearly see the wild beauty in her tangled tresses and her bright, piercing eyes that must have drawn her son to her. She can see recognition dawn within the iciness of her gaze, and she cannot suppress the faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth – her son was every bit a part of her, from the pale gold of his skin to the vivid hazel of her eyes (though darker, more honeyed, not unlike his father).
There are definitive differences, such as the color of their feathered appendages (Canaan a deep russet, and her own a stark ivory), but the resemblance is nonetheless heavy, and a deep, contented pride has already begun to swell within the tightness of her chest at the thought.
Her children were everything to her.
Perhaps that is where common ground could be found - she can see the swell of her barrel, a heaviness lingering long after childbirth – the mark of motherhood, left behind by the growing, gangling bodies that had once stirred within her womb. She knew it well, for she wore the very same feature, somewhere along the heavy and thick muscle of her body. Even now, she is expecting – but tired and weary though she may be (to her, there is nothing glorious about the hormonal imbalance and incessant pressure on her bladder), the thought is pushed away from her mind.
She has come with only one thing on her mind.
”Though I appreciate the sentiment, I will not be staying long,” she pauses then, her gaze flickering to the dense copse of vegetation that lay beyond Circinae – she was deeply familiar with the woodland, but not at all of Taiga, and the uneasiness of an untrusting war general still caused her to be apprehensive and terse within a land she is unfamiliar with. At last, her gaze focuses upon her, her browline furrowing heavily at the loaded question lain before her. ”I am – and judging by the tone of your voice, you haven’t seen him, either.”
A fester worry bubbles forth, causing her heart to skip a beat.
”My name is Ellyse. You already seem aware, but I am his mother,” she says quietly, her mind present yet elsewhere at the very same time. ”he has told me much about you. All good, I assure you. He seemed quite taken with you.” And there is a flicker of warmth in her gaze, steadied upon hers once more, breaking through the brewing storm of frustration and concern in her mind. ”He has told me that I have grandchildren, now, who I should like to meet –“
But.
There is a more pressing matter.
”Circinae, I have not seen my son in a very long time, and he has never missed a winter. When did you last see him?”
oh, my love, don't forsake me. take what the water gave me ..
“He seems quite taken with you ... “ She says.
Ellyse. It doesn’t take more than a single good sweeping-over to determine the character that gave life to this animated slab of flesh. Pride is one attribute - it leaks from the corners of her eyes and mouth when she speaks of the man that Circinae had loved from afar, (and it is love, she knows it now more than ever) Confidence, too, is seeping out from bones and turns of phrase: “When did you last see him?”
“It’ll be close to two years now, since I’ve last had the pleasure of Canaan’s company.” She answers flatly, emotion devoid of this statement because her mind, unlike her body, is now somewhere far from here. Something about what Ellyse had said - that Canaan returned every winter regardless of circumstance. It perturbed the little green mare. Was that what she could expect, if there was ever to be a future between herself and the golden stallion? Only winters of reunion while the rest of time tested her strength and loyalty?
“And the boys,” She thinks quietly while Ellyse no doubt is waiting for her to say more, “Will it only be Winters yet to come that I see them too?”
“The boys -” She starts suddenly, blue eyes lighting with realization of the present condition. Her head snaps upwards, a grim determination changing her features quickly from that of dreamy haze to hardened resolve. “The boys have been out for a few weeks too. They’re fine, though, I know that much. But clearly Canaan isn’t.”
With the jerk of her knees she starts forward, breezing by the elder mare as if she’s forgotten entirely about her. “I have to go, I can’t just stand here waiting for him to come back anymore.” She calls out, swinging her body in a wide arc so that she might look back to Ellyse once more. “You can fly, I can teleport. Between the two of us, I’m sure we’ll find something soon enough.” Circy tells her, a grim sort of smile taking hold of her face now. In the way of her kind she’s not exactly the best at saying goodbye (she never wants it to be a permanent thing) so instead she only offers a stiff nod.
Shifting quickly, the mare-turned-wolf turns back and bounds away, intent on plunging into the icy water of the divide between her home and others - ready to find her winter lover, wherever he may be.
