"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
06-14-2018, 09:08 AM (This post was last modified: 06-14-2018, 07:40 PM by Zephyr.)
When it’s said and done, we’ll have our scars to show
you killed what was left of the good in me...
Disappearing from the world was a strange occurrence.
After Longclaw, after Deimos, after him (still, she couldn’t say his name. Still, it hurt too bad) she could not stand the sight of a man. They were nauseating creatures, no matter how “different” they made themselves out to be, they were still all the same (vile, manipulative, selfish). So she tucked herself away, scarred body telling a tale of love versus wit (where love triumphed, where love killed her).
Alabaster scales replace the velvet of her body. Nothing about her is the same now - not in appearance or personality. The once soft mare had turned rugged, her exterior along with it. The wants of her youth had changed - Love had led her astray one too many times, and what did she have to show for it? A hole in her heart...
Where he used to be.
She does not know how she’d react if she saw him again. Would she turn into a puddle of mush like she had so many times (a puddle to be stepped on), or would she kill him, and show him what he’d done to her heart?She’d pondered, and her pondering had left her cold. Too cold, perhaps, for Tephra. Too cold, perhaps, for anywhere but the shaded comfort of the forest...
(OOC: I have no clue why but its not letting me log into Krigare's account. I will figure it out before I post next but I wanted to geT this sup before I leave for the weekend , <3))
He knows the scent the moment it infiltrates his wooded safe haven. Its sweet and inviting, layered with his own deep perfume and the musk of her other lovers. The thought of her alone makes the dark stallion want to vomit.
How long had it been?
He wonders with a furrowed brow. It had been years since he had seen her, and yet…. There it was agin. That odd feeling.
His gut wrenched and the bay stallion throws his head to the side with a piercing groan. Anxiety infects his bodice quicker than any disease and leaves him paralyzed amongst the trees that surround him. The cloud of emotion leaves the stag gasping for mahogany flavored air as he drags himself away from the spot he had stayed so plastered to all those years. The inviting warmth of their (theirs…) Tephran out cropping was replaced by the cold pine bed of the dark interworkings of the forest.
With burning lungs and flabbergasted emotions the man makes his way to her. She can’t hide from him, she never could. Not even with the sight the dark god had given to he ran exchange for the horrors she committed (she had died for him once, would she do it again as he had tried?) in his lair. Its not long before he stumbles upon a creature, one scaled and battered. Red gaze falls upon his own beaten bodice and his breath hitches.
What had they done to her?
Once velvety fur had been replaced by the hard sheen of milky scales.
She made it look good though.
Krigare begins to step forward but there is something in his gaze that causes the stallion to back away from the woman. Did she recognize him? He had changed so much…. There was the spar with Castile that had left him mapped with hideous scars that wrap from his undercarriage to the base of his jugular. Scars that should have killed him that day.
The once handsome man Is beginning to turn grey with age and his bones hurt. Would she know the face she once loved? Or was the love gone… abandoned in the ashy fields of tephra, abandoned in the child they could never have, or the crimes he had committed against her. Or had her love lasted the test of time as his had? As her’s once did….
“Hello Zephyr.”
His voice is a whisper that catches in his throat and stumbles clumsily from his parted lips. Emotions wrap tightly around his throat and threaten to choke him, though based upon the look of her face she may get to killing him before his body did.
Dumbly, he wants to ask how she has been. But the answer is apparent, quite frankly the both of them looked like they had been dragged through hell and back (fuck… they might have been). He can tell now that she hates him, and though he wants to hate her (for not trusting him… for not believing him) he can’t bring himself to do it. The years were winding down for the man and he couldn’t bring his heart to harbor hate and anger for what she had made him feel. (Weak…betrayal…hurt.) In a matter of months he had allowed love to ruin him. He had ben happy and carefree (not to say she didn’t make him happy, because god… God she made him so happy) a wistful soul on the road, exploring and living. Not even his own son had slowed him down. But then she came along in a blazing fight of blind and beautiful glory, turning the old mans life upside down and inside out.
“I missed you.”
The words slip before he has a chance to catch them and in an effort to shut the hell up he clamps down upon his tongue with a raging force. Though it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t the time. It was her time to speak to him, to scream at him, to kill him if she wanted to. He supposed letting the woman he loved so much murder him wouldn’t be so bad. In a way it would be poetic justice. Kill what ultimately killed you.
When it’s said and done, we’ll have our scars to show
Faint scents of ash and loam linger on him, intermingled with sweet pine and juniper. There is no denying that its him, and almost immediately her ears fall flat against her head (but her heart still flutters, her stomach still rolls over excitedly). Her head snaps towards him, nostrils flared out angrily. He'd always told her that he would find her (this thought makes her lightheaded), in this life and in the next.
She stares at him for a long time; she knows it is him, but he does not look the same. Hard scars trace the outline of his body, deep and purple and puckered (her own scars looked similar, except more red, more prominent on her skin). His coat was speckled with gray, most notably around his muzzle (Her coloring still remains the same ghostly shade of white it had always been, her scales glimmering as sun breaks through the trees; frozen in time).
"Krigare." She finally says (though it is more like a hiss, warning him to back away), a singular brow rising in a questioning stare. "Come back to twiddle my heartstrings again?" She knows this will hurt him, and that was the goal. He does not seem to understand (or maybe he just doesn't care) how much he has hurt her.
I missed you...
The words fall from his lips and she resists the urge to turn into a puddle (you will not be stepped on, you are a dragoness!). Alabaster ears fold even tighter to her head. "You...missed me?" She growls, finally taking this opportunity to move into him. Her body reflects golden rays of light, and she moves almost like a reptile (smooth and precise). Her teeth fold up into a snarl. "You sure as hell never acted like it. You fucking fool!"
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