"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
She had just met her sister! What a night that had been, it had her heart doing flips. Had her blood pumping hot in her core. Now her eyes sparkle and dance in the light of the moon. Learning to sleep through the day, and to rouse in the dusk. This was her life. The life that was outside of those that would choose to conform to the worlds traditions. This was the life she desired, and while she was satisfied in it, this latest advancement had her prancing with pleasure.
For the first time since her arrival in this realm, Oricle lets out a cry of amusement before sprinting through the vegetation. Each step lite as only a babe can achieve. She feels as one dancing on clouds, for an instant she forgets herself. For a single second considering the canopy above, the bay flecked child discovers herself observing the stars, thanking them for their compassion on her. Stopping there in the sphere of tender glimmering light. They look so close she reaches her neck to touch one, the soft ball of light caressing her fuzzy flesh. The moment this happens she gasps and shuns it from herself angrily.
Stomping her little hoof watching as it flies back to the stars above, part of her goes with it. Tired and a little sweaty the bristled filly hangs her head in dismay. Child, why do you insist on rebelling against your mother? Pale eyes glare at the gleaming horse. It was tall and powerful, her anger manifested. She was sure that others could not see the same figure that she saw, no one acknowledged the beautiful companion, yet to Oricle it was real. I wasn’t She growls at the wafting steed. Oh my dear, but you were, don’t you know? Oricle raises her head, curiosity pricking at her mind. I’m the reason your mother tells you to leave the stars be. The creature grins wickedly and Oricle once more looks to the ground every nerve in her body telling her to look to the stars. She couldn’t know that the real reason this steed showed itself was because she was trying to contain her power. She couldn’t understand that every time she manipulated the light it brought an ease to her soul.
Oricle
so will you hold cause time is cold but in your soul im standing by
05-25-2016, 08:31 PM (This post was last modified: 05-25-2016, 08:34 PM by Azael.)
not all who wander are lost
Solitude. It had become Azael's dearest companion since he had found himself here, in these unfamiliar lands, just a few short weeks ago. In the silence, he reveled, simply watching, listening, waiting. And so it was on this night, too, as it had been upon the nights before, that the starlight illuminated the movements of the dappled wraith as he ghosted amongst the trees, the crunch of the frozen earth relenting beneath the self-assured press of his hooves serving to herald his approach.
He had never much been one for stealth.
Inhaling deeply of the sharp, winter air, the stud carved of ice and smoke suddenly sent his tall frame into an easy trot, long legs hungry as they devoured the ground beneath his hooves. The burn of the frigid air filling his lungs. The contractions of his muscles, taut beneath the woolly pelt of his winter coat. The sensation of the sooty tendrils of his mane and tail, so like the tattered banners of some long-forgotten warlord, caught upon the breeze, whipping behind him. There were few greater sensations in the world than these. The sensations of freedom.
But before too long, the stallion found himself slowing, halting, jet-dusted ears pricking forward atop his regal crown as he caught the sounds of another. Head lifting, nares flaring, Azael drank deep of the night air, letting it bring with its burning kiss the news of that other. A female. On slow steps did the stud then continue to progress, the elegant arch of his neck as he gazed through the trees speaking as to his Andalusian heritage. And there, just over yonder, did he spy that other in question. A little filly at play beneath the moonlight. Alone. Carefree.
Lovely. That single word pricked at the very edges of the wraith's consciousness, a whisper from his subconscious. A single flick of his tail was the only response the male deigned to give in reply, tangled strands of smoky grey whipping at his back legs as though in pursuit of some unseen pest. And there he stood, unmoving, unspeaking, eyes of sharp mahogany hooked upon the form of the little bay roan as she pranced, as she played, as she cried out and gazed upon the stars. Of course, that conversation which occurred with her other self went unseen, unnoticed, lost upon the stud who had no magical abilities to call his own. Nothing to make him stand apart from the crowd, save for his own determination, his wit, his strength.
Expelling his breath on a sharp exhale, the one called Azael let that misted manifestation curl before him upon the icy air before suddenly sending his body into motion once more - a steady stride, a purposeful stride. Closer and closer did those steps bring him to the form of the little filly until the Andalusian was merely a length away, surely close enough to study her in full. Perhaps even to speak. And speak he did, that midnight silence shattered with the very release of his smooth baritone from the depths of his throat.
"Child," the male began, that single syllable surprisingly soft as it unfurled from the lips of such a scarred brute, the faint evidence of his past exploits and battles sprawled across his pelt like a ghostly spiderweb of unspoken stories. "Where is your protector?" With those words lingering in the air between them, Azael lifted his head a little higher, that skull turned so that his right eye could properly gaze upon the bay roan in cool observation - the dispassionate interest of a truly analytical mind.
"Your dam," the stallion went on to expand, perhaps as an afterthought. "Your sire?"
The world is different place, one that she was quickly becoming attached to. She continues to speak to the non-existant horse. Only her words can be heard, only the ball of light that she sends back to the sky can be seen. Then a cool crisp crunch tells her of anothers appearance. Breath, just breath, she doesn't rush anything, she doesn't feel the urges of curiousity pricking to look at the other.
The only indication that she even knew he was there is the swivel of her ears. For a moment she stands there, listening to his words. Then she turns, one step, two steps, face swivels to gaze at him through milky blue haze. I am. The filly quietly states it, matter of factly. It was in all honesty the truth of her world. She looked out for herself, she was her own guardian. Her mother had shown her the way, now it was time for her to learn on her own.
She looks to him expectantly. Her dappled coat growing thick and fluffed in the winter cold. She doesn't smile, she doesn't twitch. The occassional puffs of white let anything know that she even exists. Its the gentle rise and fall of her ribs that say that she is in fact real. After several moments of waiting she speaks once more in no uncertain terms You are. Was it a demand? The quiet words firm, but still hinted with the delicate need of civility stand stark against the cold nights air. This she inquires of him before she offers him her own name Oricle He would know, there was no way he could mistake her name for anything other then it was. A prophecy.
Lashes flutter shut for a moment she is suspended in time, then the ghost speaks again, You know better then to talk to strangers It tsks at her. Shaking its head in a arrigent manner. Shut up She hisses at it again, this time a little more concealed. Muffling it by turning her head towards the non existant equine.
Oricle
so will you hold cause time is cold but in your soul im standing by
There in the heart of that frozen forest, time had seemed to slow, to still - its passage marked only by exhalations from stallion and filly both, misted breath rising into the air like dragon smoke. And slowly, ever-so-slowly, did that filly turn toward the grey wraith, letting him spy her in full for the first time by the silvered light piercing through the skeletal canopy overhead. The delicate arc of her neck, the swivel of her ears, the evanescent sheen of her eyes as she gazed upon him.
With mahogany matched against those milky blue, the stud seemed content with simply standing, watching, waiting, motionless in his observation save for the swell and ebb of his broad form with each inhale and subsequent exhale, his ribs etched like feathers just beneath his dappled pelt, so easily visible in this season of scarcity. I am. Those words seeped soft yet sure through the frigid night air and Azael flicked his ebon-touched ears forward so as to catch them. I am. The truth of the filly's world.
A necessary truth, for such was the way of the world. Only the strong could survive. Only the worthy could thrive. And there was hardly any use in coddling the young. A coddled youth was a weak youth. Useless. Worthless.
Inhale. Exhale. The wraith expelled his breath on a subtle sigh even as his right ear flicked backward and then forward again - a quick motion, like the flutter of a moth's wings. Ever watchful, ever wary, scanning the forest in that quick flick for any sounds that might mark another's approach.
And then the filly spoke again. You are. Those twin notes, so soft and yet firm as they rang out into the dark stillness of the night, as they lingered between the two. A demand? A plea?
As the first flecks of snow began to drift downward upon the scene, peppering his dappled coat with a frigid kiss of white, the stallion lifted his head once more, rising to his full height of a little over sixteen hands. And from this lofty vantage, he continued to gaze down upon the youth, his eyes flat, his demeanor cool. You are, she had said, so sure. A seer uttering the words of a prophecy yet to be realized.
A prophecy which was sealed with her next utterance, that of her own name. Oricle.
In those moments, time ceased to pass for Azael. In those moments, there was nothing, nothing save for the bay roan, nothing save for her soft words. Nothing, nothing. And yet time continued for the rest of the world; the snow continued to fall, dusting the forest with a gentle flurry, a ghostly touch. Such went unnoticed by the usually attentive stud. Such went unseen.
"I am," finally came his reply, heavy with the weight of responsibility as it passed from his lips. A pause, then. A searching glance. And finally, a belated introduction. "Azael." Those three syllables rang out, smooth in his velvet baritone, crisp in the chill of the season. The name of one of the fallen. A fitting name for the only son of his sire born without the gift of wings.
Or so his dam had thought. Shameful, she had whispered over her son, born to be painfully ordinary. Defective. But such memories were mere cobwebs now, left to rot in the recesses of his subconscious mind.
Now there was only the present. The future. But the former would suffice for the moment. Slowly did the Andalusian's head lower; purposefully was his warm breath expelled in the filly's direction. And then, a step, that single obsidian hoof crunching through the frozen crust of the earth beneath him. And then another step. Slow. Gentle. Yet deliberate. As though the scarred brute was well aware of the delicacy of this moment, so like the tremulous existence of a piece of glass. As though he was wary of shattering it completely.
Step-by-step, he ate away at the distance between himself and the child named Oricle until there was nothing but a half a length left between their forms. And there he halted. And there he stayed. And there he caught the faint hint of a whisper from the lips of the filly, though her turned head kept the male from truly hearing what was said. Pricked ears marked his acknowledgement of that whisper, nothing more. No questions were asked. No demands were made. For now, there was simply more silence.
She notes that he doesn't seem shocked, she notes that he remains silent. She notes the sense of acceptance of her position in life. They stand there thinking on nothing, believing nothing, waiting for the other to break the silence. All they do is breath. This developes a form of tentative respect. There was no assumptions, there is no history, or emotions to make the situation tense. Yet he chooses not to answer her right away.
On this note her lips thin, not a grimace not a smile, just a dissaproving tauntness. Her pale eyes glimmer with a sharpness realizing the insult he had bestowed on her. She doesn't respond. They knew the others name, they knew that the world would continue on its rotation. The roan girl knows that if he had business with her, if there was a reason for his approach he would speak it regardless of what she said or did. So she makes no attempt to push him into a conversation.
In fact she dispises useless conversation. The only love she had was that for her sister and her stars. Yet even her sister she couldn't say that she loved as of yet. They had only just met. So the silence stretchs on between them, him close enough that she can smell his breath. Stale and rancid it kisses her skin letting her know that this night was real. Then she closes the space between them, her confidence put on full display when she gives him a condecending look. Even as her tiny frame is dwarfed by his size she cocks her head in a way that appears to look down on him rather then up.
They knew nothing of each other, there was no need to. All that mattered was the moment that they were in now. The past may define a person, but that business was none but her own. Her own little secret. She does not waver in her decission to challenge him. Then again it wasn't really a challenge was it? No she was just expectant. Simply waiting for him to get to his business in inturrupting the voices in her head.
Oricle
so will you hold cause time is cold but in your soul im standing by
That approach, so confident and sure. That gaze, so condescending and yet also so pure - her eyes so like the shimmer of the winter sky peeking out from behind the azure curtain of a frosted midnight. It was a gaze he willingly met, his own eyes so dull, so ordinary in comparison. A simple mahogany, flat, dark, and yet as impenetrable as the deepest depths of a muddled lake.
As she exhaled, so did he inhale, drinking in of her breath, her scent, her very presence. How fragile this moment, how evanescent, and yet also... how real, how painfully real, like shards of ice pricking at his very soul. Oricle. There was something about this child, something the grey wraith could not rightfully place, something he could not name. But it was something he could feel - and feel it he did.
Sparking against his dappled pelt. Vibrating within his very core.
Though the filly may have found his breath to be stale, rancid, perhaps an affront to her very being, Azael found a simple interest in hers, in the warmth of it, in the rhythm of it, in the way it spilled forth into that space between them, in the way it mingled with his own, in the way it curled against the dark velvet of his muzzle.
For a few moments more, the stallion lingered thus, fixed within that close proximity to the young female. So close. Too close. Close enough to touch and yet touch her he did not, for she was not his to touch.
Not yet.
Instead, the brute forged from light and shadow deigned to speak once more, his words a mere caress against the filly's ears, soft, fleeting, cryptic.
"Show me."
There did those twin syllables - so rife with meaning and yet so devoid of explanation - remain, fixed in that chill air which danced between them. A simple whisper on the wind. A command. A plea.
And all around, the snow continued to fall. Softly, softly, mere afterthoughts dusting that frigid night.
For a moment she is proud of herself. She had exacted her revenge on him. For a moment she lets his words sink in. Your mother is going to be very angry with you The glowing beast whispers into her ear. The wafting words he could hear, the starry beast he could see. Just the thought of touching her power has two little twinkling stars form a glowing white light radiating in her pale eyes. She doesn't realize what has happened.
She simply stands there looking at him. She knows what he means, show him the meaning of her name. Mother may have forbid her from using her stars, but there was a darker, more secret place that she was allowed to delve into. With that she flickers out of vision. The area surounding her forces one to become unfocused if they tried to hard to see her. The speckled girl just a black void becomes one with the shadows.
Its only a moment that she can hold this, one moment and then she is back in sight. Her ivory horn just as visible as the rest of her. Her head perks curiously. Then she takes a step back finding his challenge hard to resist, and the light takes form her eyes glowing once more. The soft hues sprinkling down on them as snowflakes would. She places a scene between them a mother horse nudging its young to stand. A circle of streaming light hallowing the mother and daughter. the daughter Oricles exact replica with starlight defining her spots, the mother a solid coloring with starlight outlining the teal ombre. After the filly is successful in standing there is a ball of light, mothers and daughters muzzles reaching to touch it at opposite ends. Only the mother continues past this to nip at the fillies shoulder. With this the ball disipates, and scene explodes fragmenting, blinding shimmering until there is nothing but darkness once more.
She scowls at him, slightly angered that he had broken her control. She knows the punishment for using the curse. Never again. its a whisper kissing the air, a gentle lyric firm with its meaning. Her penitrating glare reaches to seaze him into place, to show him how much she ment of her words. The manifestation glowing with a blinding whiteness. Then the only thing left is the crumpled form on the snow. Exhausted from the use, the beast in her mind has dissapeared for the moment, the silence provoking a hesitaiton from her. Finally allowing her time to think, she had angered the stars she is sure of it. Cursed.
She is sure that her disrespect to the beings in the sky was to come back on her ten fold. In that moment its not just one steed looking down at her, its just as she thought, ten steeds glaring down at her in dissaproval. This time they say nothing, and it feels worse then the one that was constantly talking. He could not see this part of her self inflicted punishment, she bows her head to the steeds before standing once more.
Ignoring their presence she turns back to him. For a moment she stands there, for a moment she considers, what was she curious enough to ask of him. Show me She mocks him gently her voice languid, her body unmoving. The only thing to give away her mockery would be that twinkle in her eyes. He wanted to use the words on her, and something inside her told her to turn them right back on him.
Oricle
so will you hold cause time is cold but in your soul im standing by
