"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
Dark. Crisp. The autumn night enveloped him, caressed him, guided him onward. To where? Beqanna. Somewhere both familiar and yet foreign. Foreign because, in his twelve years of life, he had never once visited. Familiar because it was in his blood all the same. Like a phantom caress, Beqanna sang to him, called to him, drummed out an alluring rhythm upon his very heart. He knew within his soul the moment he had passed across those moonlit borders, though the land beneath him was but a ripple of shadow as he glided overhead.
Home. He was home.
Ears pinned, ebon wings still surging, the stallion surveyed the patchwork which sprawled beneath him, drinking in the sight. Meadows. Mountains. Forests. So much to see. So much to explore. But, ultimately, it was the latter which lured him in with its star-drenched boughs and impenetrable night unfurling deep beneath the ancient trees.
Down he dove, a dark wraith, his wings tucking in close as he nicked in between outstretched branches and gnarled trunks. Hooves of dulled bronze dug into the earth, leaving divots where he landed. Heavy. A giant of a brute. His head turned, golden eyes flashing in the night -- molten and sharp. Nostrils flaring, he scented at the breeze, testing the loamy air for any sign of life within this wood beyond his own.
now i don't know who i've become
and another day breathes
tearing at the seams
and i hope i don't come undone
Tonight a golden spire stands out from Aloy’s blazed forehead, framed by the gold that trims her white markings. These colors are muted in the dark, like the green of her eyes as they sweep between the tree trunks. She shakes her wings out and arranges them once more upon her back. The rush of other larger wings overhead had been unmistakable. As she listens, the night brings her a snapping of twigs, breathing like bellows in the dark. Whoever it was, they have landed.
Aloy is too close to escape. She does think that word escape and bites down against the urge. Turning toward the stallion she steps out of the trees and into his sightline, she is strong but lightly built. He is a goliath. Aloy clenches her jaw, stares brazenly at him across the muddy clearing that stands between them. “Nice evening for a flight?” Asks the sabino tightly. What is he doing out here? What a place to choose for a landing. Might as well tell him so. “There are better places to land, you know.” She herself should have chosen better.
Since returning home to Beqanna Aloy has been slow to find a kingdom or land to join. With no people, no place, she spends her nights in places where she is certain she will not be disturbed. Watching the dark bulk of him shift standing there, pulling her scent out of the air, Aloy reminds herself that she must try to be more polite.
A mare. Her scent was unmistakable -- a beacon in the night. And then there she was, stepping out from amongst the trees and directly into his line of sight. A brazen little thing. Pretty.
He exhaled long and low, nostrils flaring once more while his molten gaze drank her in from crown to tail. But it was her words, her latter words in particular, which truly drew him in. Golden eyes snapping back to her countenance, he huffed out a breath. Amused? Without a doubt.
But still, he himself did not speak. Silence was his only response instead. Silence coupled with action as he moved forward, long legs methodically devouring the muddy earth underhoof as he began to close that distance between his hulking frame and hers. The chill night air rippled through the midnight tangle of his mane and tail with each step. His ears flicked to and fro, taking in of the night, always alert and aware. But his eyes were only for the sabino.
Finally, though, finally he spoke, but only after that clearing had been partially crossed and the distance lessened to the point that the scars littering his ebony coat became evident even in the darkness. "Perhaps so," he conceded, his voice a dark rumble vibrating forth from deep in his chest. "But, then again..."
Each word fell in a steady cadence, matching in time with his steps until finally the stallion drew to a pause, halting his approach. His stance was relaxed. Nonchalant. But the intensity within his gaze was an undeniable thing all the same.
"... how would we have met had I not landed here?" Those words hung in the air for but a moment before he followed them rather swiftly with an utterance of: "What is your name?"
It was clearly a command for information, not a request.
now i don't know who i've become
and another day breathes
tearing at the seams
and i hope i don't come undone
This is why she wanted a place to belong. Safety among a mass of others. Her beauty is inescapable, a hateful gift that makes her into a lighthouse on the shore when she wishes only to be a pebble among millions of pebbles. During her time away from Beqanna she had learned what danger is, how trouble ensnares you. She came home to find a way to protect herself from these kinds of situations, but her poor temper has made it a difficult task.
He crosses the space between them, cautionless, surefooted. Just as his eyes never leave her, hers never leave him. She sees how his piercing gaze roams across her skin and clings to her as he comes nearer. Aloy’s wings rise away from her back, just slightly, her white covert feathers bright among the others of rusty red. They are close enough to see each other well now, he’d toyed with his reply as he moved near but now gets to the point. “How indeed.” Sighs Aloy, cocking her head, the little light that there is drifts down the golden horn like water.
He compels her to give him her name and she does not hesitate to comply, her name holds no power. It’s just a word, one that means something to her mother and little to anyone else. “My name is Aloy.” She says succinctly, her voice feminine, but full, unrestrained by shyness or coquettishness. “Now do you tell me yours? I’m not in the habit of making friends, I’m afraid I don’t know how it goes.”
Aloy remains where she is, flicking her flaxen tail at her hocks but otherwise motionless. Neither moving closer or backing away. After everything, she should perhaps be afraid of a situation like this but her softly simmering anger, ever present, holds back those kind of reactions well enough.
08-25-2021, 09:18 AM (This post was last modified: 08-25-2021, 05:57 PM by Cassiell.
Edit Reason: Had to change his name.
)
The distance which remained between them was left to remain, the obsidian behemoth himself neither advancing further nor retreating backward to grant the femme her space. Still, he loomed over the sabino, his own golden eyes fixated upon her facade. But for all that she clearly held his attention, still, he was not deaf to the nighttime world around them. Still, his ears pivoted, taking in every rustle of autumn-stained leaf. Still, his nostrils flared, drinking in the scent of the mare before him, along with those of the forest. If any danger lurked between these trees, he was clearly hellbound to be aware of it.
Any danger beyond his own person, that is.
"Aloy," he echoed that singular syllable when it was thus offered, testing out the sound of it upon his tongue. But then there were her further words. Cheeky. Almost brazen to a fault. Arching his dark neck in a ripple of coiling muscle, the stud let loose with another huff. A mere amused exhalation.
There was much he could say -- a barrage of questions which danced just on the tip of his tongue. But self-restraint was what separated the wheat from the chaff and he was no chaff. There was more than enough time to sate his own curiosity. Later. So it was that his own reply remained simple, succinct, to the point. A roiling rumble of, "Cassiell," in way of his own introduction.
For all that he had been flying nearly non-stop for a full day and a full night, for all that the muscles along his back and inky wings ached, he didn't let it show. Still his stance remained relaxed: his left hock cocked, his ebony tail lightly swishing in time with the crisp breeze toying about the pair. And yet, as ever, his gaze remained full of intense feeling -- twin stars in the night twinkling with some nameless sort of need. A hunger.
A hunger for more information.
"Tell me, how familiar are you with these lands?" Came the stud's next demand for said information, his rich baritone almost warm in comparison to the midnight chill. There was still much more to be said, more that he could ask, but all such words were left unvoiced. For now.
now i don't know who i've become
and another day breathes
tearing at the seams
and i hope i don't come undone
The breeze, carrying the night’s cutting chill, scrambles through her feathers. Aloy would like to tuck them back down upon her back for comfort and warmth but does not. Those red and white appendages are not unfurled or open but held with ready tension. That breeze also carries his scent, and winds it around her, a challenge to the autonomic nervous system she already holds on a tenuous leash. Can she outfly him? Perhaps, she is small and swift. It has not been enough before though and so she stands her ground. When he does stop moving closer his size still diminishes the distance between them.
Casiell gives his name singularly, abruptly, as she had been taught to when she was young. Not for rudeness but for efficiency, so that one might get on to more interesting matters. Her mother would like him, Aloy guesses, though she is not sure if she thinks this because of the succinct introduction or because of something else. Of course, her mother has a tendency to like everyone; Aloy does not share her gregarious personality or open heart. Only her brother Valek does, and she cannot imagine that he would be of as much interest to Casiell.
“I was born here.” It’s an easy question to answer, and she surrenders nothing by answering it.. “I left for a few years, but I have family here and know parts of it well enough.” She has no idea that he will meet her younger sister in a few days’ time. Or even that a younger sister exists. None of the family she alludes to would claim her, or at least she assumes this to be true. “Why did you come here?” Aloy makes her own demands for information, cool but curious words cutting through the cool night air. She does not refer to the forest, she knows that many men like him—huge and dark, menacing by their very make—are drawn here.“To Beqanna?”
