"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
08-19-2020, 08:13 PM (This post was last modified: 08-19-2020, 08:13 PM by Olena.)
Even though autumn does not quite make the Tephran landscape brittle with frost and crisp air, Olena awakes from her midday nap with a chill down her spine. The young girl lifts her head gently, allowing the soft tremor to stretch throughout her slight body without a complaint. She inhales deeply, finding that same familiar wheeze accompanying it, and coughs mildly. Her dark legs have been curled beneath her tightly, pressed firmly against the ivory of her belly, and already she begins to mentally prepare herself for the movement and strength it would take to stand.
With a quick toss of her head, she notices that she is quite alone. However, she knows that is not always necessarily the case: Oberyn is merely around the corner, splashing in the tide, and her mothers are just down the hill, grazing and basking beneath the cooler autumn sun, enjoying the fresh air that blows the tri-color of Olena’s forelock away from the rich gold of her face.
She wiggles her hips, preparing herself, and slowly - thoughtfully - brings herself to her knees, and then to stand. She winces as her muscles stretch and burn with exertion, stumbling slightly before coming to balance. Olena snorts softly with a tiny tip of her chin, taking precise and slow steps so that she could make her way out of the shadow of the rich jungle and into the sun, so that the cold inside her bones could warm and ache less.
The young girl doesn’t understand why her knees tremble or her head always feels so heavy, or why her brother doesn’t need as much sleep as her. She tries not to wonder why Oberyn’s wings can now carry him while hers remain weak and fragile at her sides, as if they were made of spiderwebs and dew. She tries not to feel as if she is the reason her mothers’ always talk in hushed, concerned voices and tries not to think about it too much when her heart flutters and stutters, sending her sight in and out of focus.
She even tries not to think about how, despite her white, onyx, and golden skin soaking in the sun’s warmth, that she still feels cold.
Olena frowns, halting her mismatched and stumbly pace to breath heavily, wondering why Oberyn would decide to leave her side while she napped (but deep down already knowing the exact reason). A little whine leaves her pink lips that then turn into a soft pout, lowering her head slightly in a look of defeat, closing her eyes briefly as she realizes how so very tired she already is.
OLENA & all the stars go dark i turn the light on in my soul
She had stayed. In the end, where else did she belong but with her family? It is all she ever wanted, really. Despite the pain her mother’s had caused, Ori has found that there is nothing but a scar left. Perhaps it is better they found her later in life, when time had had a chance to dull the hurt of being left so young. Maybe it never would have mattered when they found her, because all she truly wanted was to have her family.
This was not life as she expected it, but it was her life, and she would take advantage of what was given. What a fool she would be to reject the one thing she truly wanted.
Though still, Ori is used to being alone, and there are many days she wanders without her family around. Some things will never change, after all, and she is grown where the siblings she had met are not. Their lives are different in this regard. Today though, she has not left Tephra, and she is wandering toward the area that her family often occupies as the sun crests into the sky above her.
The air is warm here, despite the changing season, though Ori is tempted to paint some actual fall colors into the Tephran landscape around her. Her attention is distracted by the sight of Olena though, her head down, looking both tired and upset. With a nicker, Ori makes her way over to her sister (how strange still to think of another as her sister, and how wonderful). ”Olena,” she says, her voice full of affection that she cannot help. ”What’s wrong?”
but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too
@[Olena]
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
09-03-2020, 07:54 PM (This post was last modified: 09-03-2020, 07:57 PM by Olena.)
She’s forgotten herself (as she so often does) and the tiny filly jumps slightly as she lifts her head, unable to do so quickly even though she feels the fear pound hard in her chest. Her dark nutmeg eyes are wide and uncertain at first, until they settle on a familiar face. She settles then somewhat, a rush of air leaving her dark lips with a stuttered sigh. “Oriash,” the girl breathes sweetly, her voice quiet and soft in the warmth of the Tephran air. Despite the soft wheeze in her breath and the gentle way her ombre wings hang loosely at her sides, Olena gives the elder of her siblings a tiny and bright smile.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she assures her breathily, attempting to straighten herself and appear less tired than she feels. She knows why her mothers worry and she didn’t feel it would be fair for anyone else to have to worry about her, too. The buckskin girl, however, cannot help to think that maybe Oriash didn’t come to her out of concern, but maybe for entirely different reasons. Unfortunately, she takes a breath and finds it stuck in her throat, coughing hard enough that her little body has trouble staying upright, especially with those feathery, delicate white and blue wings that have yet to aid her in anything at all. Olena finds herself reaching for her sister for support and comfort with sad eyes - a knee-jerk response that comes with the spasms in her lungs.
When the fit subsides, her ribcage rises and falls heavily, desperate to fill those tiny lungs. Her white lashes flutter loosely over her warm eyes, looking up at Oriash with an apologetic gaze. Her little face screws up, all anger and frustration, before burying her face into the strength of her sister’s wings, comforted by their scent as hot tears quietly stain her cheeks. “Do you think I’ll be sick like this forever?” Her voice is so small and muffled, full of bitterness and defeat.
Olena doesn’t think of death - she can’t fathom it at this young age - and assumes she will never be able to outrun the tiredness, the rattling of her lungs, or the weakness in her bones.
OLENA & all the stars go dark i turn the light on in my soul
It is not pity that Ori feels for her sister, nor even necessarily worry. The little filly would learn to live with her sickness, or perhaps it would fade in time. No, Ori finds only understanding here, something Olena cannot truly understand only because she does not know Oriash’s history. None of them do, including their mothers. They were gone, after all, and Ori had been alone when Castile had snuck in to steal her. She’d made it easy for him, following without complaint, because in the end, it had not mattered where she’d gone. There’d been nothing left in the Cove for her, and very little anywhere else.
Castile had been the closest thing she’d had to family, and had he pushed her, she might have turned easily into his creature, simply hoping for approval and acceptance from someone, anyone. Oriash understands weakness, for she has always been weak, in her way.
It is perhaps lucky that Castile never pushed, never taught Ori what she was truly capable of. Illusions did not always need to be pretty things, but she had never pushed into the realm of creating emotions or pain, had never truly thought to use her gift to manipulate as she so easily could. Instead she painted dreams and wishes.
As her sister coughs, Ori is there to be a pillar, without the same fuss or worry that their mothers might bring. She is simply a support, even as the filly buries her face into Oriash’s wing. ”I don’t know,” she says, unwilling to offer false hope, but also certainly not dismissing the possibility that Olena might one day shake the sickness. She gives only the truth.
Ori unfurls a wing, offering the warmth and comfort of it to Olena should she want. ”What I do know is that you will be special, and loved, no matter what. I also know that is a beautiful day to bathe in the sun. Will you join me, and tell me a story?” There is something playful, perhaps even excited, in her eyes at the question, though Ori waits to see how Olena will respond. Perhaps Olena cannot go far, but Ori can bring this world, or any other, to her sister. That part would be a surprise though.
but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
The buckskin filly trembles slightly, though she cannot tell if it is fear that seizes her or just the quiet panic that is constantly nestled in her chest, settled there tightly as the little pitter patter of her heart flourishes. She is too young to be as farsighted as Oriash is and only finds herself living moment to moment, wondering if perhaps the next day she will suddenly have the strength to spread her wings and fly with her brother and mothers. She, of course, doesn’t realize how truly good she has it, despite her illness. Even as Oriash reminds her (and Olena cannot begin to imagine how hard it had been to voice it, when Oriash did not have the same childhood), the rich gold of Olena’s face remains downturned, her dark tail flicking gently behind her.
She does know, however, that the shelter of her elder sister’s wing is a comfort that she finds strength enough to lift her head, those curious and wide brown eyes looking up at her with admiration. “I know,” she replies quietly, almost as if she wishes she hadn’t complained at all; because, of course, Oriash was absolutely right. No matter her condition, she will be intensely loved. A tiny smile finds the dark of her mouth, lipping gently at the tendrils of Oriash’s long mane. She still felt tired, but the tiniest bit more hopeful; the world always seemed so terrible when she was alone, anyway. With someone, especially someone like Oriash, Olena feels a little bit more invincible.
“Of course, Oriash,” the young girl replies with a chirp, feeling a bit more ready to move forward even though it may not last long. The warmth of the sun does little to chase away that eternal feeling of chilliness, but her time beneath her sister’s wing and pressing against her gold and blue-speckled skin was enough to keep it at bay for a while. Her own white and blue wings flutter gently at her sides (useless and frail) as they are, in thought. “I don’t know if I know many good stories,” she confesses softly, focusing intently on each step she takes. She moves rather slow but Oriash seems not to mind the pace. “Once, grandpa told me a story about the goddess that lives in the volcano. She brings life to all of Tephra. She’s beautiful and not as scary as you’d think. She’s covered in the beautiful green grass inland, with all of the tropical flowers too! Have you seen her before? Maybe I'll see her one day and she can bring her magic into whatever is wrong with me and heal me.”
OLENA & all the stars go dark i turn the light on in my soul
It is funny to realize that Ori doesn’t hurt as she reminds Olena how loved she is. Though Ori had no such childhood, the pain that such a thought might have once caused is little more than a twinge in her stomach. After all, she was loved now. There’d been lost years, yes, but if she dwelled on that there would be nothing but more lost years instead of the time she has finally been granted.
It is a beautiful thing, really, to be granted the luxury of love.
The sound of her full name is still a strange thing. She has not used it in so long that sometimes she wonders if along the way she had ceased to be Oriash entirely. Yet now her name reappeared with some frequency, and she doesn’t correct them, doesn’t tell them to call her Ori. It seems right that they should call her by the name she was given. They move slowly, though Ori doesn’t mind, for she’s in no rush at all. There is nowhere she’d rather be.
Ori listens as Olena tells her the story, her smile a bit mischievous but she waits until the story has ended. ”I have seen her,” Ori says, still with that playful grin and it is clear she is not quite telling the truth, but that this is a game to be played. She points a wing toward the volcano, which suddenly seems very close. It is an easy thing to paint something she’d grown to know so well, and so she brings it closer to them, making it easy to see the mare who sits atop the volcano. She is beautiful indeed, just as Olena described her. There is something regal and otherworldly about her, but she sees Olena and Ori, and it appears as if a soft smile creases her lips. In another moment, the goddess slips off the edge of the volcano and back down into her home.
”I think you tell good stories,” Ori says with a grin, the volcano suddenly back in its usual place. ”There are faeries here in Beqanna. We would just have to find someone to help you make the climb up the mountain. But perhaps it will not come to that”
but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too
@[Olena] - I suck, sorry that took so long.
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
The young girl’s wings flutter gently at her sides - dark, raven wings that are blue-black against the rich gold of her body - and though they do not have the strength yet to carry her into the skies, Olena dreams of nothing else but to soar like her mothers and her siblings. The sea winds of Tephra are strong and unforgiving, even on the ocean’s shoreline, so perhaps it is a good thing that her frailty keeps her on land for the time being. She would be so easily tossed about within the ocean’s gale like a helpless fledgling within its might.
But even that reality doesn’t keep her from dreaming.
When Oriash confirms Olena’s tale, her gold and onyx face turn to face her as quickly as possible, those navy eyes wide against the thin stripe of white across the bridge of her nose. “You have?” Olena whispers this, as if it is a secret between the two of them, and that perhaps Oriash would not go into detail if she didn’t swear to secrecy. The dark-winged girl sidles closer, curiosity threatening to overflow. She does not have to wait long, however, for her sister quickly and quite literally paints the scene before them both.
With a gasp, Olena shuffles into Oriash’s side, both amazed and a little frightened as the volcano slowly grows larger, as if it is walking towards them instead of the other way around. Her little dance into her sister causes her to phase slightly, disappearing into Ori’s skin halfway before her fear lessens; she then takes a tiny step forward, becoming completely solid again as her curiosity outweighs her nervousness.
It’s then that Olena spies the green mare - a dryad type goddess adorned with all the flowers that cover their home - and when she smiles, Olena’s whole body wiggles with excitement. “I see her too, Ori! I see her too!” Her eyes never stray from the goddess, watching as she slips into the volcano where Olena only assumes she stays to guard and protect them.
“Oh, Ori, that was wonderful.” The filly turns to her sister, a gentle smile on her dark mouth. She quickly brushes her muzzle over Oriash’s muscled shoulder as the older mare speaks of the mountain and faeries. Olena imagines the sheer strength it would take for her to climb the mountain and she already feels dazed just thinking about it, huffing slightly and feeling slightly hopeless at the idea alone. But perhaps it will not come to that. That statement causes her ears to perk up slightly, feeling slightly refreshed. Yes, perhaps it won’t. Maybe she would wake up one morning feeling better.
That’s what she tells herself everyday, anyway. “Thanks for staying with me, Ori.” The statement is genuine and heartfelt; she knows that there are far better things for many to be doing than to be accompanying a sickly girl on a slow walk across Tephra. “I get nervous on my own.”
OLENA & all the stars go dark i turn the light on in my soul
She spent so long not flying, keeping her feet on the ground and never leaving Loess. It had taken the only real friend she’s ever known to break her out of that, and she thinks of him briefly. It has been far too long since she has seen Pteron, and she’s not entirely sure where he’s even gone. Perhaps she ought to go looking, but where does she begin? In the last place she’d seen him, probably.
But now she is telling a story. No, not telling, painting. It is what Ori has always done, creating life and worlds around her when the life and world she lived in had failed her. How often it had failed her (or perhaps, in reality, she had failed it). For a moment Olena disappears into her skin, and if Ori hadn’t seen Solace lose control of that same power, she might be worried. Instead, she simply lets the story continue, making sure that it is not too much for Olena. But though the girl may be frail, she is certainly brave. After all, one cannot live as Olena does with bravery every day.
But her fear is quickly overcome with excitement, and Ori’s smile grows wide and happy, glad to be able to bring something good to Olena who, though she has much, has spent a lifetime living just on the outside of it all. She cannot keep up with her brothers, and Ori can imagine how much that might hurt. ”Anything is possible with the right magic,” she says with a grin. It’s not entirely clear if she just means more stories or Olena’s condition. Maybe both.
”I am glad to spend the time with you. I spend a lot of time alone. It is nice to finally spend it with others.” They are alike in this, after all. Not for the same reasons, and not exactly in the same way, though Ori knows what it is like to be left behind.
but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too
@[Olena]
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
