"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 don’t know this, so it’s a secret, but I inherited my love of sunbathing from my grandfather. Only, when he used to stretch out in the soft grass of the Dale it was adorable.
When I do it, vultures come to check to see who left bones for them to fight over.
Seriously! That has happened. I’ve also woken up to a dog chewing on my leg which was ridiculously rude of it, if you ask me. Should have seen the look on the faces of those critters when I moved though - they were not expecting that.
Still, sometimes I like to tempt fate a little bit. The sun isn’t as intense in the late hours of the afternoon, and the golden light makes me feel more alive than I probably look. I paced the meadow for the better part of the morning, trying to find the most perfect spot, and finally settled on one in an area that doesn’t see too much hoof-traffic and away from the trees so that I can really enjoy all the sun has to offer.
I don’t sprawl out in my side, but curl my spindly legs beneath my body as best as I can. My head stays up, tilted slightly so I can feel the rays of the sun upon my face. And I don’t sleep but instead daydream, letting my thoughts wonder and letting the briefest hints of hope flare up in my heart. I’ve had a rather surprisingly nice time here since I’ve returned, you know. No one’s tried to eat me (yet) and I’ve even made a few friends.
There’s a tingle in my chest I don’t quite understand when I think of these few first, tentative friends.
When I think that maybe, maybe I don’t have to wander any more.
Or… my black eyes open briefly and look down.
Alright, so maybe that tingle is just the bumblebee that has landed there, checking out whether to see I’m just a big ugly black flower.
you were a vision in the morning when the light came through, i know i've only felt religion when i've lied with you and i'm still waking every morning but it's not with you
.
There had been a time when all she had known was adventure. She greeted each dawn with an excitement, with an endless wonder of what the day would bring her. The idea of boredom frightened her, and so she never allowed it to take hold of her. She knew more of Beqanna than perhaps most did, with her insatiable wanderlust taking her to every corner, to every creature; kelpie and kraken, magician and dragons, there were so few that could startle her anymore. She had never ran across anyone that she didn’t try to call a friend, and so far, she was still blissfully ignorant to the fact that several of those “friends” could just as easily have destroyed her instead of amusing her with conversation.
She isn’t sure if it is age (though, she could hardly even be considered an adult) or if reality had finally hit her and caused the world to lose its luster, but it had been a long while since she last did anything that could be considered adventurous. Something about her feral and chaotic soul had become subdued, and try as she might, nothing really seemed to spark it alive again.
When she comes to the meadow, she isn’t sure what she is searching for. She passes by several horses, some in groups, some clearly off in their own world, but the smile that she spares all of them is faint and distant. She continues past them all, her dark brown eyes scanning across the rolling grasses and swaying wildflowers, and then she sees him, laying in the distance. Even from where she stood, there was something about him that drew her to him, and as she stepped forward – with not nearly as much caution as she likely should have – it became easier to see how unique he was. It was the horns that twisted from his head that caught her attention first, but then it was his gaunt, almost emaciated appearance that drew her eye next.
“Are you okay?” She asks as she peers over top of him, her metallic blaze glinting beneath the rays of the sun. Maybe he was sick? Maybe he was still suffering from the effects of the plague? She isn’t sure, but the way her eyes brimmed with the concern and her face was drawn taut, it was evident she thought there had to be something wrong with him.
I’m so focused on the bumblebee, trying to angle my head just right so that I can actually look down at it as it crawls around on my chest and a little bit on my legs where they poke out from where they are folded beneath me, that I don’t even notice I’m being approached by someone. If you were to ask me whether I was more excited about the prospect of a new friend in the form of a horse or a bumblebee… well, I’d have to think about it for a second.
Eventually the horse would win but like, how cool would it be to make a bumblebee friend?
I hear her question, and I register it and understand it, but I don’t answer it. Not right now, anyway, because I’m convinced there’s something more important that we should talk about. So I look briefly up at the mare who’s come over - and I’m momentarily dazzled by the super cool marking on her face (where the hell do I get one of those???) but after a couple seconds of me staring at her I recover and remember what I was going to say.
“Come look at this!” I whisper at her, gesturing carefully with my head downwards towards my chest where the little bumblebee is still walking around and tickling my skin with his (her? Them? Do bees have gender identities?) little feets.
