"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
04-11-2026, 07:56 AM (This post was last modified: 06-30-2026, 07:37 AM by Shadowmere.)
I’ve bled for less, for sure, then best…
A soft breeze whisked through the pine boughs, a sound that seemed like a thousand hushed whispers to the dark queen's ears as she strode along the well worn trail toward the clearing. She needed time to stretch her legs in peace, without Nadja, her hellish imp of a daughter, pestering the absolute hell out of her brother. She was thankful Havelock was willing to keep the pair entertained while she took some time alone to survey the territory's borders and make sure all was well. A crashing sound above her head and the deep caws that followed alerted her to the presence of her clumsy raven companion. The bedragled creature thrashed against the pine branches with loud caws of protest before it freed itself, losing a few more feathers in the process. The dark queen rolled her eyes and kept walking, not bothering to spare it a glance as she mused, You are the most clumsy beast I have ever known. I assume you have found nothing out of the ordinary from above?"
The raven flapped clumsily up to perch on its usual place on the curved tip of her horn before letting out a low "gwoh" sound as if to say, "nope". Shadowmere huffed, whilst the peace was nice she was a chaotic creature at heart. She yearned for a but of danger, a chance to taste the metallic tang of her enemies blood as she sang her shrill cry of victory. It had been too long since she had found herself locked in battle, and even then it was with herself....and was also how she obtained the dark spiraling horns upon her brow.
She was lost in thought when she finally broke from the dark of the forest and into the open clearing of the Chamber's heart, wondering if maybe this lull was only the prelude to something big. Like a slumbering volcano that was only waiting for the right moment to boil over. She doubted another cataclysm would ravage the land again, but this must be some sort of calm before a storm...she had lived long enough to know that Beqanna was no land of fluff and happiness. No place of certainty and guaranteed safety. It was wild, untamed, and the fairies were mighty. She knew it was only a matter of time before something would happen to shatter this era of calm peace, and she would be ready for it.
you're in the walls that I made with crosses and frames
He’s proud, but you’d expect that wouldn’t you? I mean, seeing who his Father was, he was bound to be. Yes, Knight is proud, but not in the way that proved arrogance. No, not like that.
Knight’s pride came with honor, and distinction. A recipe derived from his Sire, even though he never knew him; even though all he knew were stories, and memories passed along to him from the lips of another. He knew his Father in pieces—in borrowed recollections, in the shape of a man already gone—and perhaps that was enough. Enough for a son to make something of the legacy left behind.
A legacy that was fire and ash.
The Chamber found him before he knew it, his mulberry mass pressing itself into the copse of pine and taking a moment to scent the air with a hefty breath. Sooty nostrils wide and flaring as the raucous sound of bird flight fought for notice in the cluster of boughs above him. Knight allowed himself a pause, watching, and waiting, but when nothing immediate met him he exchanged his patience for expectation.
As if they could hear him, know what he inwardly projected, the dense pine pillars opened the way before him, and he was no longer alone with the deepening shadows of the forest.
”I was always led to believe that the ravens were the sentinels of the wood,” he mused, and when he spoke his voice was clear and strong, if not faintly dismissive. A pair of hazel eyes found the feathered guards lacking in such prowess, and he pointedly allowed his gaze to float towards the fallen feathers that now rested carelessly against the pine littered ground.
His almost dismissive words made her turn on heel, the bone crown placed upon her brow rattling with the movement. She snorted as she regarded the ebony and mulberry stallion with amusement. "Ha, while they are indeed our feathered eyes in the pines, this one is something of an anomaly., then she mumbled to the puffed, flapping creature perched on her horn that now began to aggressively sound warning after the fact, her words dripping with sarcasm, "nothing gets past you does it..." Inky black eyes flicked back to the male before her, her head held high. She was also proud, though it did not come from sire or dam, it came instead from years of trial and error. Blood, sweat, and angered tears. She may not have fought for the crown, she was instead uncontested, but she was damned proud that she was finally queen of the land that called to her very soul ever since she first set hoof in the dark kingdom. She had seen it's eras of leadership from Starlace until it's final leader before the cataclysm. She had always pined for the crown...now she finally had it, and she was damned proud of it.
She offered the stallion a slight nod and spoke with smooth, gold plated confidence. The aura of night glimmering around her like a queen's cape, and with her crown of thorn and bone she looked every bit the dark queen she had always dreamed of being. "If you know of the ravens, I assume you already know where you are..., she swished her long thin tail and surveyed him mild curiosity. Who are you, and what brings you to my domain?, she says in her low voice, gravely with immortal age. She does not offer her name, no, she would expect him to identify himself before she tell him who she was. The dark queen oozed regality and authority, she doubted this stallion wouldn't know what she was to this place by her aura alone. She had waited for this opportunity for a few lifetimes over, and never thought the Chamber would return for her to get it. She knew this was what she was destined for, she felt it in her very soul as she spilled her blood at the base of the sacred tree and swore her devotion, and in turn the land seemed to answer. Gifting her her aura of night and seemed to eagerly crown her. Why, even the raven crowned her himself, as much of a bedraggled thing it was. Not at all like the impressive murder that clung to the old queen, Straia, no. Not at all. But he was the first creature of this land that had offered it's allegiance to her, and even crafted her this crown. She would not admit it aloud, but she begrudgingly held affection for her loyal raven companion. He was every bit as strange as she was, and he had that same spirit and an undying determination to thrive as she did. They made an unlikely but somehow alike pair.
you're in the walls that I made with crosses and frames
He’s not a small thing, nor is the way he carried himself slight either. Knight penetrated the copse of pines as though he already knew the way.
In part, maybe he did know something of the wood, but the substance that he knew was knowledge passed on to him. Nothing he could touch, nothing he could hold his word against, but all the pieces remained just where they were left. Scattered in remnants of his Father, some gifted by his own Mother—of course she would give him these—and spoken, too, from the mouths of his older brothers. Days where the words smelled heavily of prestige, tall tales he came to assume because the spoiled speaker could stretch a story. Thus was the way of Ivo, because there was none more proud and expectant.
Other evenings when the nights grew quiet and still that the stories held more weight, as if telling them was painful and heavy—they smelled of sorrow, and left a bitter aftertaste when they concluded. Mortal did not visit often, but he would come to visit, occupying a space nearby but never fully encroaching the familial line. With him brought remembrance, and vibrant green eyes that watched Mother too closely. He both belonged and did not, Knight never liked the way he told his stories, but he devoured them with fervor all the same. As most children do.
This, however, was no mere story, Knight was finally in the pages of logs written by all those before him. A trail of ink pressed deftly into parchment until binding bore the core and filigree marked the covers of intrinsic landscapes. He was, too, perhaps where another once stood and that small act was enough to settle rightly in his bones and allow his deep hazel gaze to wander freely. This woman, though he wouldn’t settle on simply that, carried herself more confidently than his size alone could ever announce him.
”I’ve known exactly where I am my whole life,” he abandons the wonderment, pulling his gaze from the pines, tugging them from the shadows that seemed to reach out if only they would touch him and tell.
”Knight,” a breath to pull the fragrance near, adjusting his stance, and whisking his tail placidly against his hocks.
”I want to live where my Father once did,” he conceded the request with an intense look. He wanted to stay. Knight wanted to know the Chamber at face value, and not from the pages of a memory presented to a child that knew no better.
Shadowmere
