[private] i'll fall apart or stay intact; wishbone

[Warden]

resurrect the saint within the wretch

As he flew (quickly, fervently, from the forest) another vision struck him.

It was not often that his third eye would intervene and interrupt the Watcher mid-flight. As his large ivory wings beat through the warm thermals along the dawning horizon in a desperate attempt to reach Tephra quicker than he had ever done before, the familiar sensation sprouted from the center of his forehead. With a gasp, his navy gaze turns milky white and he is pulled from the present, far along into the future while his body is left to careen through the air as dead weight, towards the blackened volcanic shore of the only home he has ever known.

The world opens up like a gaping mouth, splintered across the inlands of lava flows and tall, flowing grasses. It fractures, hungry, and groaning. Warden scrambles to either side of the crumbling earth, trying to outrun the abyss that yawns beneath him. In the corners of his eyes, he can feel the creatures watching him, perceptive to his presence in this future timeline.

His eldest brother is staggering away from the widening crevice, something like blood (but black like oil) dripping from his nose and mouth. Warden calls out to him, but his voice is lost - as always in his visions. Svedka gazes upwards with sad eyes and a near peaceful acceptance, the earth swallows him.

Warden feels the claws of the monsters on him - scraping him, attempting to pry at him, knowing that he does not belong.

The pegasus’ eyes refocus just as he is falling through clear, sunny skies of a warm and humid springtime morning. His wings - once limp - now outstretch to their full length, attempting to slow his terrible spiral towards the ground.

With an earth-shattering jolt and a sickening thud, he slams into the blackened beach of Tephra’s shoreline.

Warden

@[Wishbone]
edit: this is happening before the eclipse for ~*lite trauma*~ purposes

[Wishbone]

it's a mystery to me

we have a greed with which we have agreed. you think you have to want more than you need; until you have it all you won't be free. and when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.

It had rained overnight, and the dark had left Wishbone with a damp ache in her bones. She reasons that it is good for the vegetation to receive the life it needs to continue. Even she cannot deny that the trees and bushes and vines seem happier this morning, full of energy and color. While the undergrowth had protected her from the worst of the rain, there is an underlying stiffness in her joints and she has a dull headache. So she heads toward the beachfront where the sun’s strength will hit first and she can relish in the warmth it brings.

As she walks, Wishbone recalls her mother’s simple remedies for the pains of life. The sun would heal almost any ache, the salt of the ocean would wash clean almost any wound, a midday summer storm would soothe almost any sorrowful heart — all these were recipes Wound would teach her daughter, even when that girl’s restless little body couldn’t stand to hear them. Thinking of her mother brings a soft smile to Wishbone’s face, and it lingers as she breaks past the treeline to step onto the black shoreline.

Her lips fall into an expression of surprise when the ground shakes under her feet. For a brief moment, Wishbone wonders if the volcano is going to push forth steaming lava from its mouth, soaking whatever inhabitants of Tephra may be close by. Fear quickens the drum of her heart, and the midnight-clad woman sweeps her gaze across the beach for any signs of life.

It doesn’t take long for her to realize the real cause of the ground rolling beneath her, nor does it take Wishbone long to recognize her brother’s shape half-buried in the black sand. “Warden!” she shouts, rushing toward him on long dark legs. As she gets closer, she repeats his name, praying to whatever ancestors or star-gods or fairies that may be watching and listening. “Get up, Warden, please.” Her nose explores the parts of him that aren’t buried in the beach, her stomach twisting at the thought of what injuries he might have sustained.

credit to eliza of adoxography.

@[Warden]

[Warden]

resurrect the saint within the wretch

There is a coldness that floods his muscles, seeping deep into his bones and it is not from whatever injuries he sustained from his fall to earth. He groans, attempting to roll his legs beneath him so that he could stand, but finds the inability to do so. His breath is still ragged, barely-there as his lungs rattle helplessly, his deep blue eyes staring into the sun. Warden hears his name but it is garbled and unclear, but he knows for certain it is not Flower and for this, despite his situation, there is a tiny sliver of peace that radiates through him. At least she was not here to see him, to know of what is to come.

His eyes roll to meet the concerned face of Wishbone and the wave of emotion that trembled into his chest moments before his collapse onto the beach now pummels through him again. “Svedka,” the horned stallion gasps, blood now covering the pale ivory of his lips from whatever inner injuries he has sustained. Warden wheezes, “we have to find Svedka. Now.” He leaves no room for questioning, only that it must be so and from what he has learned in his short time of knowing Wishbone, she will not hesitate a rise to action.

Adrenaline rushes through the overo stallion, somehow finding the strength to attempt to stand. With Wishbone, it’s possible he could.

One wing is twisted into an unruly angle, undoubtedly the side that he had landed on. Everything else seems to have stayed in place, though Warden will not admit the way the world still continues to spin or that stars now orbit his eyes. Even if he is concussed and with internal injuries he cannot see, he did not have time to go to the waterfall or find Wonder for healing - time was precious and as he finally staggered to his feet, the Watcher already had begun to notice the shift in the daylight.

Like the crescendo of an orchestra, the moon has now begun to make its way across the sun.

“We have to hurry,” he reiterates, unable to hide the frantic sound in his voice any longer. “Inland, where the lava flows.” Warden's voice is fractured, his dark eyes surrounded with red from broken blood vessels, hoping that she would not ask how he had come to know this information - only that she would realize she would perhaps be Svedka's only hope.

Warden

@[Wishbone]

[Wishbone]

it's a mystery to me

we have a greed with which we have agreed. you think you have to want more than you need; until you have it all you won't be free. and when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.

Wishbone’s body feels heavy with dread at the sight of blood darkening her brother’s mouth. The red that pours from his lips is not from a superficial wound; she knows that whatever injures Warden sustained are deep and beyond her knowledge on natural remedies. The dark mare almost misses Svedka’s name, her mind busy trying to figure out how to get Warden to the healing waterfall. But when Warden repeats it, Wishbone’s gold-marked face turns sharply toward his direction, amber eyes flashing with worry.

Although she and Svedka have a heavy dose of optimism shining in their kindred hearts, she cannot deny that they have had their fair share of dark days… Dark years. They have shared these stories, standing in the warmth of the ocean while the sun fades. Wishbone cannot say she knows every sinful piece of her older brother just as she understands he does not recognize all of the darkness within herself. But she knows some of it; she knows enough to make her stomach twist at the urgency in Warden’s voice.

The onyx mare must find Svedka — she feels this necessity from deep down — but she can’t leave her younger brother for dead. Her eyes look toward the belly of Tephra before shifting briefly toward Warden’s red-stained eyes. “I will find him. You need to go to the waterfall or someone who can help” — she doesn’t know any of the magicians in Tephra, but she has heard of them — “because you can’t help Svedka like this.”

Wishbone doesn’t give him time to answer. Her long, dark legs eat away at the rough sand until it becomes packed dirt. Instincts make her race into the forest, an urgency flaring in her stomach that she can only compare to childbirth. A need to find safety, to find her family, to ensure life will continue. The eclipse’s labor pains have begun, shadows starting to overcome the kingdom of light, and Wishbone calls Svedka’s name so loud, and often it feels like a permanent marking in her throat.

credit to eliza of adoxography.

@[Warden]

[Svedka]

“I’ll be fine,” comes the fractured reply, something like gurgling deep in Warden’s throat. On any other day, perhaps he would attempt to lighten the situation with something about how this has not been the first time he had crash-landed and sustained injury, but today is not one of those days. He would be fine, he knows, as long as he could get to the waterfall. It would not be long before the soft tinkling of glass against sand would reach his ears, bringing him to healing waters. Warden is not worried for himself. There is fear in the Watcher’s eyes even as Wishbone gallops from him and a breath in his throat that is caught there - even if she were to reach Svedka in time, would she be able to change what has already been seen?

He lies there in silence as the sound of Wishbone’s hooves finally recede and he can no longer hear them, inhaling shallowly. He watches helplessly as the noonday sun suddenly begins to wane and as shadows stretch and elongate across the sand. The stallion’s eyes close tightly, the vibrations of the earth’s groaning somewhere deep beneath him shaking him to his very bones.

He had been too late.

On the far side of Tephra, the palomino and white stallion is not aware of the impending doom. The inland grasses sway gently in the sea breeze, warm and inviting, as he meanders absentmindedly through the lava flows and the mixture of volcanic soil that crowds the gently intertwined rivers. Shadows fall across him and with an inquisitive look, Svedka glances upwards at a cloudless sky that is suddenly shifting and turning. Confused but distracted by the sound of his name being thrown across the inland plains, he throws his head over his shoulder.

He had become used to Wishbone’s new appearance and an easy smile finds his mouth despite the fact that shadows continue to weave their way across the landscape. He does his best to appear relaxed, but there is a rising uncertainty that comes with the despair in Wishbone’s voice and the strange happenings of the world around him. With a snort, Svedka notices the ground beginning to quake beneath him. It is at this instance (and with Wishbone still coming towards him) that something much like tar begins to drip from Svedka’s nostrils and ears.

He coughs once, then twice, suddenly frightened. Memories of the afterlife and Carnage come rushing forward, realizing perhaps there is a penalty for returning from such a place without a scratch. “Wishbone!” Svedka cries, but his voice is trembling and weak, coated with the oil-like substance that continues to leak dangerously. He’s terrified, stumbling towards her helplessly as the ground begins to shake more fervently.

If he could just get to her, he thinks, he’ll be safe.

He has to be.

The ground beneath him finally breaks as a crack fissuring just beside him. Svedka’s eyes roll white despite the black substance that clouds his vision, stumbling away from it. It widens and gapes, hungry. Something white-hot burns his throat and he coughs again hacking and sputtering black liquid. He nearly chokes on it, until a sizeable chunk falls from his mouth. Svedka does not notice in his panic, but the pile of liquid begins to crawl away, sinking into the lava - a monster unleashed.

The opening continues to widen and only follows each leap he takes away from it, almost hunting him as he continues towards his sister. With this realization, the fear on his face grows into sadness instead. “I’m sorry,” he mouths to her across the length between them. Unable to keep his eyes on her, he gazes up at the eclipsed sky instead as the footing beneath him crumbles and swallows him.


@[Wishbone]
yay for past timelines!!!

[Wishbone]

it's a mystery to me

we have a greed with which we have agreed. you think you have to want more than you need; until you have it all you won't be free. and when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.

The ground rolls underneath her as she enters the sweeping grasses of the plains. Wishbone only barely stops from falling, tripping over her feet and watching the blades of grass swing in time with her missteps and the unseated earth. As she regains her balance, the cloud-and-sky of her brother seems to appear from the plains. His smile is easy at first, and she doesn’t stop calling his name, even though she can see him. Desperation twists her stomach in knots, and she tries to pick up speed to reach Svedka as the earth rumbles beneath them again.

“Shit,” she hisses through her teeth, watching something drip from her brother’s nose. Although she is still on the other side of the field, Wishbone can spot the unnatural blackness oozing from his nose and ears, and soon it’s spreading. She moves as quickly as she can, but it isn’t very fast with how the earth is pitching and tumbling. “Fuck!” This time it’s a scream, a prayer on the starry ancestors, a burning desire to have something to help her reach Svedka before it’s too late. She wishes with everything in her that she could have inherited Warrick’s wings, if only for this exact moment.

It’s too late.
She’s too late.

It happens in slow motion as if the Devil himself had purposely stretched out these moments to take pleasure in the anguish. Wishbone is almost there when she watches the ground crumble around him, a predator hunting its prey across the wide field. She’s close enough to see him give up, to watch the fear shift to sadness, to know that more time will pass before she will see him again. Wishbone doesn’t have the optimism now (it will hit her later, and then it will fade once more, a tide continually pulled by the moon of their hearts), and her voice is heartbroken as she yells, “Svedka!”

He slips into the crack faster than she’s expecting, and as soon as his head disappears into the darkness, the earth’s raucous movements stop. It gives Wishbone enough time to run the rest of the way to where he was, her heart a wild fluttering bird in her chest, but by the time she’s reached him, the earth has sealed itself. There is nothing to show for its disturbances except a jagged wide section of upturned soil and the tall grass shoved aside.

She keeps repeating the word “No” until it sounds distorted in her mouth. Wishbone’s mind moves just as quickly as her heart, and she’s dragging a wide, flat piece of some ancient thing’s sternum before she can give it much thought. The bone digs into the soil and pulls up only more, but she doesn’t stop until there’s a horse-sized hole in the ground. Her face is a mess of tears and dirt and sweat, dark mane clinging to her long neck, evidence of the effort she puts into bringing Svedka back.

It’s too late.
She’s too late.

And finally, with the darkness already taking its full effect and the sounds of monsters beginning to rustle in the undergrowth of the jungles, Wishbone crumples into the hole she’s dug and lets her tears water the earth.

credit to eliza of adoxography.

@[Svedka]