"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
The darkness has continued, leeching away the warmth of spring and summer, sickening the plants and spoiling the waters. The monsters thrive in this environment, rejoicing in the slow decay of Beqanna into a home more suited for their kind. Carcasses can be found most anywhere, and the scent of rotting flesh and dying flora hang thick in the unnaturally humid air. There is an overabundance of fear and worry, too much even for the escaped creatures to consume, and so new monsters have begun to form, shadows in their infancy that creep along the earth like vivacious smoke.
This is not the first world that the monsters have taken, and it will not be the last.
They have never lost their grasp on a world once released into it, and as the many little ones scurry about with furious and rabid haste, the older beasts sprawl languidly across the mountains of Hyaline and jungles of Tephra, looking only to their next meal.
The fairies have been so silent, and only right now does it become clear why.
Only now, just as you’re falling asleep, do you hear their cry for help. They sound tired, weary, and though their call comes with the unmistakable brush of magic, that too feels weak. Do you answer the call and come to the base of the Mountain to help save Beqanna from what your kind have done to it?
Are you here to help return light to the world plunged into darkness, or have you come for more nefarious reasons - to sabotage the attempt, perhaps?
Happy Questing!! Some notes:
- Describe your character receiving the call from the Fairies and why they choose to answer it in 1000 words or less. Include how they have dealt with the eclipse’s darkness and their encounters with monsters in the past.
- End with your horse arriving at the base of the mountain .
- You’re aware of the others, but interaction with them is up to you.
- This is an elimination quest, and you may withdraw at any time with no penalty.
- death and maiming are possible, but death will not be permanent (unless you want it to be).
- No limit on entries, but one entry per player.
- Entries are due by 11:59 PM CST on Sunday, February 21st (aka Sunday night just before midnight)
- Message us here or on Discord if you have any other questions!
It’s hard to say whether it was morning or night when the call came. It’s hard to even know what time of year it is. I had long since given up on any semblance of normal times. It was cold and bleak, and it had to be close to a year by now. I slept when I felt like it (which wasn’t often), and I had taken to wandering quite a lot, much to the chagrin of mother and father. Mother wanted me safe, and so did father, but he was also worried about making sure the residents of Taiga were fed. That’s where mother and I came in, as we both have the gift of flora revival. So even in this eternal darkness, we were still able to rejuvenate the grasses to sustain life within our dreary home.
I was just drifting off into a fretful sleep, somewhere on the border of Taiga, ready to set out on another…adventure? Quest? Well, I was ready to wander off somewhere. Maybe explore would be a good way of putting it? But as I closed my eyes, I could hear them. The call was faint, as if coming from the lips of a very tired being, and it held little in the way of hope, but it still came, and I lifted my head to the winds, my delicate ears tipping in it’s direction. It was a sound of sadness and despair, and I couldn’t help but feel a need to answer it. The call wreaked of desperation, just the sort of thing that I felt compelled to follow. I had always been one to help, rather than being helped myself.
So, without hesitation, I pull myself back to my hooves and set off at a brisk trot. I don’t know exactly where I am going, so I rely on the residue of emotions left by the call. There might not have been a lot of magic behind it, but it left just enough that I could follow it.
As I move through the lands, my mind wanders back through the journey I have taken in this dark world. When the sun first disappeared, father had been up the Mountain with Amarine, and this had taken its toll on mother and me, as we spent countless hours wandering the giant redwoods, calling out for them and losing hope along the way. When they had finally returned, they had come without a trace of my half-siblings. I could still feel Amarine’s despair that had resonated through every cell of my body at the time. Cheri and Reynard had found their way home, though, and while the sun still could not find its footing behind the moon, things had returned to as normal as they could be. At least normal enough for me to wander off in search of a solution to our problems.
I had discovered a lot about myself on that journey, and I had made a new friend–though I have every reason to believe I will never see him again. Oh, Grodylin. I had thought him to be a monster at first–perhaps one of the monsters that had ravaged Beqanna, but he turned out to be a friendly creature, just large and unique. He had brought out the gift of glowing markings that had lain dormant within my genes, which had helped so many times to find my way in this world of darkness.
I had encountered one of the monsters once, though. The memory of Cheri’s shriek echoes through my mind at the thought, and I grow slightly unnerved for just a moment. I had turned into a monster myself, in hopes of protecting my family. The thing had been difficult to see in the darkness, but what I could remember of it sends shivers down my spine. I stop for just a moment and shake my head softly so that my growing mane falls into my eyes. It was just beginning to show signs of glowing, like father’s mane, something that sent a thrill through me. “Okay,” I breathe softly with a sigh, “the monsters are not here, not now.” Somehow, the words don’t bring any comfort, so I push forward, cantering this time, as if it would put distance between the anxiety that had seeped into my mind.
When the residue of emotions attached to the call fade, I slow to a stop. In the darkness, it is hard to tell, but it looks like I have come to the base of a mountain. No, the mountain. I could feel the remnants of emotions from horses that have traveled this way with hope, though there are more than the fair share of despair as well. I look around me, but for now, there is no movement, so I simply wait, unsure of what would happen now.
The wounds on the right side of his croup still had yet to heal. Two deep claw marks stretched from a few inches behind the point of his hip to a few inches from the base of his greying tail. They were ugly, dark crimson marks against his mottled hide. With the oppressive darkness, he could barely find enough fodder to half-fill his stomach let alone enough to provide the energy to heal from the inside. Kaenros couldn’t find or perhaps couldn’t identify any of the herbs he knew in the darkness to aid in staving away infection or promote new tissue growth. A once graceful gait now held a slight hitch as he tried to keep weight off the injured area. He had made due with willow bark he constantly chewed to lessen the pain but it couldn’t keep him from limping.
The call had come as he stood against one such willow with multiple deep gashes from his teeth, jaw working idly as he attempted to sleep. It was almost like a whisper caught in the humid breeze, tossed and beaten and bruised and desperate to escape. Although it was just louder than the gurgling stream as it curled around his thin frame with an electric quality, it still snapped him from his stupor. Bright, green-gold eyes flashed open to scan what little he could see in the old-growth forest, nostrils flared to take in any stray scent that may accompany it. The sound had faded, but the soft thrum remained long enough for him to get his bearings. Still, after surviving an attack by the monstrous beast that roamed this dark world and having to dodge and hide for the time he’s been here, was he really going to be so stupid as to follow it?
Well, chewing bark and running scared wasn’t doing him any good.
He had a nagging suspicion he might finally find out exactly what in Rajir happened to this place and, more importantly, how he could leave.
The burnished stallion had gotten exponentially better at crossing terrain in the darkness. Even with his slight handicap, his long strides were sure. In his head, though, he kept his ears and eyes on a constant swivel while his mismatched nostrils remained flared. The scent of sulfur and rot seemed to cling to most of this corner of the world but, on his short journey, remained faint.
He had strayed far from any common areas, seeing them as a risk due to the concentration of potential prey. It was a surprise when he was able to meet up with a well worn trail that lead in the direction the call had come from. Dappled hide prickling with unease, he took caution in the way he exposed himself and stuck close to the edge of the trail. But soon the trail connected to others and his small, black hooves danced across something more akin to a path. Beneath him, he could feel the imprints of hundreds of other hooves that have made the same journey.
Doubt that he had even heard or felt anything began to needle into his half-empty stomach. What if he was stumbling right back into another attack? He didn’t have the energy he did on his first arrival to try to make a stand or run again. The only reason he escaped was because of Dretch and her shifting. Or almost just as bad, what if he was leading himself too far from any source of fodder or wound management? He had yet to explore this region, just as he had yet to explore anything more than a few hundred yards beyond the river. It was too dark to really try let alone face the possibility of another too-close encounter with the creatures he did his damndest to avoid. Just the sound or scent of them was enough for him. He’d be fine never being close enough to see them again.
He had made a lot of less than stellar choices and the thought that this was one of them was just settling in when he caught a new scent. A scent of youth and milk and shedding fuzz.
There was a filly out here.
He picked up his pace to a lopsided lope to bring himself the rest of the way to (what he had yet to learn was) the base of the Mountain. Using his nose, he picked his way just close enough to see a faintly glowing blob in the dark. Letting out a light snort and short nicker, he attempted to alert her of his presence without scaring her. Had she heard the call too? Did she know what was going on or was she also just a lost soul driven by curiosity? Regardless of the child’s reasoning, he did not ask at least not yet. He kept her in his peripherals as he continued his surveillance for the monsters plaguing this realm or perhaps for her mother to catch up and offer an elaboration.
There's nothing extra or new I need from the fae - not personally. What I need is warmth and light for my residents, nothing more. Normally, I'd say the natural sun provides. These days, is cannot, and the monsters that dwell the earth seem to have something to do with it. I was worried when Nashua showed up with that mark on his left side, and I'll worry about my own children too, all of them, in a sense. Some have been granted the immortality I once received here, but that doesn't mean they won't suffer from this.
At a distance, I can do little for them - what I can do is chase monsters off the Isle - it's relatively easy when you're half a monster yourself - and hope to find a way to make it a truly safe haven, once more. Safe from monsters, and safe from most of the dark and the cold.
I'm not far from the Mountain yet when they call - faintly so, in fact. I land in an open spot, mesmerizing if I should go back right away. Dragon eyesight scans the surface as if I'm waiting for something, and maybe I am - fate put me on this path for a reason, I realize when I find the blue-tailed girl from Taiga passing by. She seems to be hesitant yet in a hurry, scared but with a goal. From the distance, I track her heat signal for a while until she is nearly out of range - no need to actually stalk her, I believe - then, when I snap around, I issue a warning growl at the second heat signal behind her. That one has no horse shape, and it'd better realize it's not the only clawed thing around.
From the sky, I've picked out numerous of these creatures. Freezing them long-distance (or long-enough distance) has been a benefit for me in my dragon shape, but right now my scales line a horse form - I usually shed the wings as soon as I land, and this time has been no different - and it interests the creature, I guess. In a monster's eyes, I must be prey animal with a weird sort of growl. Scaled and perhaps sharp toothed - like a gull sees a crab. Am I worth the try for a meal?
You bet I am. Teeth glisten in the dark, yellow eye meets yellow eye (I have a hunter's gaze, myself). I'm a trap, but so is the monster. At least I've distracted it from Memorie, and thankfully, there's only one right now. I do believe there's a high chance of more monsters being attracted to the fairy call, but for now, this is my challenge. Hardened dragon scales protect me when it charges, a blur of shadowy claws an teeth.
It should have met hoof and blunt teeth, but finds a dragon's claw instead. As I keep on shifting parts of myself, my large reptilian tail is spiked by the time the monster passes me, and a yowl of surprise an a dull landing sound is all that satisfies me right now. These times are for dark things, of hurting, of killing, of hunting - oh, and I'll adapt. Alas, I cannot eat these things (yes, I've tried and I recommend no-one else does). Right now, the monster seems hurt and retreating. It is learning that not all horses are what they seem, and that the king in the north - as long as there is one - is one to be treated with at least a little caution.
They seem unorganized as of yet. As I chase the monster through the air, a few wingspans away from the Mountain, I wonder for how long. This one seems to escape, somewhere towards the river - so I turn around and fly back to the Mountain.
Having shifted back, I only then realize the gash it has made across my right side, partially cut through dragon scales. It's not bleeding, but it burns. It'll heal, I think, though not without a scare, and I start to doubt my short-ranged abilities. I snort, then when I round the corner, I nod to Memorie and the Akhal Teke hybrid I find there. "Morning." I say roughly - in part, the normality of things is a joke, and I'd grin at it if the matter weren't more serious.
everything that drowns me makes me wanna fly
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
Avelina’s belief that the darkness would be temporary had never faltered - though she certainly never thought she would be one to hear the call to fix it. She wishes she could tell the fairies that she is not right for this task, even as she moves to follow their call - all ideas of sleep forgotten. She is just a girl with her fireflies, making the best of the sick land and the thick darkness. Avelina was not destined for greatness - not everyone could be. And this has never once bothered her - except when she wished she might've had more interesting stories to tell.
Surely there will be others, she reasons with herself, as she moves towards the mountain. Strong mares and stallions with strength, wits, and talents she will never have. She can assist them, maybe, or perhaps if enough show she will not be needed and she can step aside and let more capable brains tackle the call of the fairies. She follows the call because it is the right thing to do. If there is anything she could do to help bring back the sun she would, though she's certainly at a loss for what that might be.
After all, what had she done? She has avoided the creatures that move about in the darkness, the ones that are not flesh and blood like her. Instinct has encouraged her to give them all a wide berth, to be alert and careful whenever one was near. She had not given any of them a chance to harass her, to see what they might want from a young charcoal mare. Though the days have all blended together, she spends each of them hoping that her friends and her family are safe - hoping she might see them again, to confirm their safety for herself.
Aside from this added sense of wariness, Avelina had spent the eclipse doing much of what she would have done normally. She had spent time with her sister, shifting into creatures that could see and fly around in their near-black world. She had made new friends, she had wasted hours and days watching the blinking yellow lights of her fireflies as they performed dances.
They move nervously around her head now as she approaches, picking a spot among slowly-building crowd. Avelina whispers soothing words to them as she comes to a stop - not particularly near anyone else. Worry is causing her stomach to do flips, making her feel a little more wary of strangers than she would ever be normally. Still, she adopts a small peaceful smile - as much to calm herself as anyone else that might look her way.
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.
She spends too much time daydreaming. Her mind is filled with a heavy mixture of reality and fantasy, the darkness playing tricks until lines become blurred. Tephra’s undergrowth begins to look similar to the white and gold patterns on Svedka’s body, giving the illusion that he waits in the shadows no matter where she looks. When she looks in her reflection, her face shifts from mahogany to obsidian to deep purple. When she wakes up, she sees Warden’s mangled body lying before her feet, a shimmering mirage that vanishes when she blinks.
The eclipse has taken much from Wishbone, and when she hears the fairy-call on a paper-thin breeze, she thinks it has finally taken her sanity as well.
She has never heard their voices before, never traveled to the Mountain, never asked for something more. Sure, Wishbone has sought out the adventures, but they had certainly found her too.
It hadn’t been her intention to watch the sky darken with Warden, to hear Svedka’s cry, to watch her brother fall into the cracked mouth of the Earth and see it swallow him whole. She had decided to dig in search of Svedka, to grab what wide, flat bones she could find and scoop into the soil until she met only roots and ash (but how could she have just watched him fall and not go after him?). She had meant to find a new friend, to learn Mazikeen’s name, and to ignore the heavy shadows. Yet she had not wanted to call the monster closer, to see Ivar’s face with his sharp golden eyes, to watch it cut deep into Mazikeen’s neck, to feel her body burn from the inside until she shattered into millions of pieces and reformed in a different body.
Wishbone is faced with a decision now. Despite her daydreaming, despite the way her mind floats between awake and asleep, the brush of the fairies’ magic is too obvious for her to ignore. She can’t throw it away as insanity, and she doesn’t even want to admit that she could be on the brink of madness anyway. So now it comes down to this: to follow the adventure or shy away from it.
She barely considers her choice, and her deep purple legs are moving toward the Mountain by the time the fairies’ call has faded. Wishbone holds onto the fierce hope that this call will begin to shift the tides; the ferocious desire — need — to find Svedka and the sun itself is fuel to keep her moving quickly. She covers the distance in half the time it would typically take, alternating between a traveling jog and a mile-eating run.
By the time Wishbone reaches the Mountain’s base, she is coated in a layer of sweat that darkens her coat. Her amber eyes are bright, and her broad neck moves to survey the others that gather. They are small in number so far — a soft-glowing filly, a wounded stallion, a scaled stallion that smells like ice and blood, and a dark girl blanketed with fireflies — and stand awkwardly apart. If Wishbone has learned anything from her strange experiences with Beqanna’s magic (after all, she has had adventures, even if the fairies did not directly create them), it is that they will need to stay together to win their sun back.
So she finds her place among them, saying, “Hello, all. I’m Wishbone,” in that characteristic grating, feminine voice.
Her head listed in the dark, uncertain if she'd heard something. Heard, or felt. Absently, the gemstone mare dropped her muzzle back against the back of her daughter, convinced that she had dreamt whatever notion had woken her. Until it came again, and this time it could not be mistaken for anything but what it was.
Distress, thin and reedy, pulled at the edge of her mind as if from very far away. It's shaped like Fear, all jagged and sharp, but the color is wrong. It's as if the Fear has gone on too long, has faded from its immediate, caustic orange and into something duller; browned and curled around the edges like a leaf too long deprived of water. Deprived of hope. It's a call she can't ignore.
Glancing at the abstract shapes she knows are her loved ones, the night-dark mare extricated herself from the huddle with care. It was hard to judge the distance she would have to go to find the Caller, and she couldn't guess how long helping them would take, if any help could be given. So she contented herself with half-waking a bedfellow, and whispering in their ear that she would return, soon as she was able. A fragment of Comfort was tucked in with her words. Enough to see them through, she hoped.
Her hoof-falls always sounded too loud these days. Every noise was amplified in the dark, ears compensating for lacking eyes. Every creaking tree limb, every wistful birdcall, they all made her heart quake. It would be when she let her guard down that the noise would turn out to be something less than benign.
Ama hummed a bar of music, then gave it up. Too loud, again, and it was making her more anxious, not less. Instead, she tried to focus on the fading signal she'd been tracking. Tried to orient herself in the dark so she could find her way home later. In doing so, she realized that the way she was going was a way she'd gone before, not terribly long ago.
"Oh, that can't be good..." She murmured, trepidation gripping her. This was the path to the Mountain. Or the lands beyond it, if she wanted to be optimistic, but somehow she couldn't find it in her to be so. Why on earth would it be anywhere else? She paused, wondering if it was too late to turn back, and knowing she couldn't. Not if there was a chance she could help in some way. If it was the Mountain that the Distress had emanated from, then surely it was emotion on the largest scale.
She dithered a moment longer, before forcing her feet to move forward again. The slivered ring that was once the sun dipped in and out of view as she moved, angry and red where the remnants of light leaked through. A sick, diseased looking thing that had made their whole world sick with it. How long could they live like this?
Her children had already encountered the creatures in the dark, Cheri almost having been dragged off by them. If not for lucky passerby, Ama had no doubt that would have been the last of her bright-eyed daughter.
How many other mother's were now facing the same reality? She shivered at the dark, feeling it closer by than she had a moment before. It was not empty darkness that she feared. It was the grim truth the darkness sheltered, and nurtured. The Fear and Depression it cultivated like fat weeds in the soil of their minds. It was so hard to combat these things when she herself was losing the same battle on her own grounds. Lifting up the minds of others had been growing increasingly difficult, especially since she and Yan had returned from their doomed trip up the Mountain before. Now she was preparing to make that same trip again, for reasons she hardly knew.
A snapping branch, a murmured voice, and she shrilled a startled whinny before pulling herself back in. There is the sense that she is no longer alone. She had walked into a gathering of sorts, and their emotional signatures impressed on her mind as she came to a halt among them. Blinking hard at the dark, she tried to make them out and failed. All except.... There is a familiar trace. Her head swiveled to where it emits from, concern creasing her brow.
"Mem, what are you doing here?" She asked, voice low. One foot raised, ready to step until she change her mind. Too likely that she will walk right into someone else right now. Borderline will be worried sick when she realizes her daughter has wandered so far. This is no safe place for any soul. She will see Memorie brought safely home, once they know why they've all gathered in this damned place. Or sooner, if it seemed they'd been lured into a trap. That was the greater likelihood, she realized with some distress of her own.
He hears the cry on the very edges of his consciousness, faint and soft, the lilt of exhaustion echoing around the seams. He is immediately drawn to it (who wouldn’t be?), but there is as much curiosity in the interest as there is concern. Though Lilliana had tried very hard to instill a sense of altruism within him, his base nature had not been encumbered with it by instinct (no, the voice of reason inside his mind is most certainly that of his much gentler mother). Though he has yet to grow into it, he is, at the heart of it all, a rather selfish creature.
He answers though, because his head, heart, and soul demand it, for once in unison - even if it is not for the same reasons.
He has grown in the darkness, the days of light only faint memories of a much younger boy. In truth, he had discovered his purpose in this darkness. Had found missing pieces of himself lingering in the black cracks and grappling claws of the beasts shuffling their way through it. Even as his body had grown, so too had his mind and his abilities. His talent for plucking the delicate strings of sight had blossomed even as he had grown adept at untangling the webs of emotion and memory strung so precariously all across this continent. Erupting much like the bone had begun to do as it struggles to break through skin that wishes to stretch instead.
For this, Reave cannot truly hate the monsters. He has watched for months, trying to find the reason for their desire to claim this world. He has watched the horrors they perpetrated and the havoc they wreaked. He understands that the fairies' absence - the weakness now in their voices - must somehow be related, but even still he cannot hate them.
They are clever in their cruelty, and it is a cleverness he can appreciate.
But he answers the call because he does understand. Because he knows that there would be no harmony with them, knows his own survival depends on their defeat, no matter how fascinating he might find them. As the stench of decay grows stronger and the plants that keep him alive wither, his understanding only deepens. And he responds with the ferocity of one facing annihilation.
Young and untried as he is, he would still do his level best. Just as he always has and always would. As the base of the mountain grows near, shadowed despite his enhanced sight, he sees he is not the only one. He even recognizes some of the faces gathering, bolstering him immeasurably. Failing strangers would be one thing, but failing family - that is another horror all together. Though Lilli’s success in establishing moral fortitude within him may have proven ineffective at best, she had, at the very least, managed to instill a great respect for one’s own kin.
And that, more than anything, would drive him forward without question.
that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
He does not recognize the contrast between dark and light anymore—is not sure if he even has the memory of it to sustain him. He does not understand the difference between awake and sleep. Instead, he remains constantly caught in the in-between. He stumbles forward with a body in near constant decay, his mind threadbare. There are screams, somewhere, but he doesn’t follow them. There is a hunger that is always just acute enough—pinching his belly with a dark desire that he is afraid to look at too closely.
It haunts him.
It drives him forward.
A fever-pitch madness that makes him gnash his teeth as he goes, legs stumbling over root and stalk, his flesh peeling back to show the bones underneath. There is more control in this constant darkness than there had been before, when he had only worn this form at night, but the consciousness comes with a cost. He keeps some of his mind, but not enough to stop himself—only enough to witness. Only enough to exert the barest control in only some of the moments, throwing his weight against himself to stop him.
It’s that control that causes him to hear the cry for help at all.
He had fallen to his knees when he had heard it—not because sleep was claiming him but because he had finally nearly fallen into a stupor, the kind of blackout that was his only reprieve these days. But just before the blackness had swallowed him, he had heard it. A thin, reedy cry. The kind that he had heard whistle out of so many mouths. It churns his stomach and he groans through gritted teeth, his throat nearly exposed. There is no small part of him that wants to ignore it. That would rather turn his cheek.
But he imagines faces on the other side of that call.
His mother, angelic and sweet. Iridian, somehow escaped from the dreamworld she had created for them. Even Mazikeen, spitting mad and ready to (deservedly) tear him to shreds. He imagines them all and he finds that he cannot bear it. The piece of him that is still his own rises up and pushes him forward. He comes to his feet with no little effort and begins to stumble forward once more, barely noticing when the monsters whistle by him (they did not seem to care much for his half-dead form) or when the tree branches reached out to snag at his loose flesh. He barely notices how long he walks at all.
That is until he comes to the foot of the mountain. Until he tips forward toward it, his broken and tangled tail brushing against his hocks, his golden eyes rolling back into his skull. He groans again, somewhat conscious of the others around him but only focused on the call that had driven him here—that sirens call. He flares his nostrils as though he could smell them, the ones that he would fight for, and when he doesn’t sense them at all, he feels tears hot against his ruined cheeks. “Why did you call?” it comes out rattled and broken on his tongue, nearly nonsensical. “I can’t help,” he murmurs, dropping his head. “I can’t help.”
No matter how much he wanted to.
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
Her family tried not to talk about it, but Cheri knew the truth anyways. She’d seen it with her own eyes. Her family had been blessed not to starve when the sun didn’t come back, lucky to survive a winter in the lowest region of the North because her half-sister’s dam (and the same half-sister) worked to keep them alive. They could revive the earth around them, but out past the elder redwoods and into the blend of mountain scrub and evergreens, Cheri had walked and seen what horrors lay beyond the power of magic.
Out there, nothing grew. It didn’t matter that the seasons passed; the rain came less and the rivers were shrinking because of it. Fish carcassas washed up on the stony shore of the beach, and Cheri hardly went anywhere alone without the crippling fear of death lurking right behind her. Her family had stayed together and stayed alive, but she knew the truth anyways.
How much longer would it be before Memorie and Borderline got too exhausted? How many days until another monster - something worse than what had attacked her - came along and picked them off, one by one? Something larger and much older, not as simple to defeat. Something deadlier. In her dreams she remembered the way her skin sliced open with the first creature: like mud being ground underneath her hooves. So soft and easy, no resistance. Cheri remembered the blood spraying up her long legs, staining her white stockings and turning them black.
She woke up blinking, flicking her ears. Her dam, Amarine, lifted her head for a moment and then tucked it back into the groove of Cheri’s shoulder. Just a noise. Nothing that worried the spotted appaloosa at first, so she shifted her legs and got comfortable before closing her eyes again. Cheri gratefully woke up from her constant nightmares anyways; honestly, she depended on her mother to wake her up at some point of the night just to stop them. She breathed calmly and settled down, listening to the sounds of the quiet dark all around them, trying not to think about the dream of blood and black things for a few hours before the other horses roused.
But a moan pierced the quiet, and Amarine moved again. Her dam pulled away and Cheri fully woke, lifting her head that others claimed must’ve been shaped by her mother’s unconventional beauty, and she shook the dull strands of bright green hair from her eyes to watch Amarine weave her way out of the clustered trees around them. Mother? Cheri took a step forward and stopped, rocking back onto her heels. Amarine surprised her by using magic, making her comfortable again despite how anxious she truly was. That wasn’t like Amarine - to wander off into the dark after a strange noise, not saying anything.
Father? Cheri looked around. The night yielded three grayish shapes instead of five, sometimes six, and she swallowed. Who else had disappeared during the time she’d been asleep? That noise… the sad keening. What had her mother felt?
Cheri looked back to the woods, to the place devoid of her mother, and she made the decision to follow as quickly and quietly as she could. If Amarine went, then so would she. Once, (Just once) on the path out of Taiga, she thought about Reynard and the guilt she felt leaving him behind. After that, Cheri resolved to banish the guilt. True: Rey was her twin and he’d saved her life, she owed him eternally. But she couldn’t expect him to always feel responsible for her. The same went for the rest of her family, too. They stayed together and they stayed alive, that's how things went, right? She was going after Ama.
And she was, until Cheri realized she’d lost track of the butterfly mare. The path wound on endlessly, pitch-black and familiar to the yearling horse who’d trekked the hills and valleys more than a few times before. She should’ve caught up with Ama quickly. Cheri even trotted after leaving the safety of the family copse, hoping to reach her jewel-studded dam before Ama got too far ahead, confused when she came around a wide bend later and saw nothing. No hooves clopping ahead of her. No noise except for the sound of a familiar hum, and she turned off the main path in search of it.
“Mother?” Cheri called out.
The tangled branches of the trees were black. The woods and all their death, blacker still. Among them, the softly glowing mare walked hesitantly. These woods. There was something about them; they reminded her of the ones from her dream. Cheri had been walking like she was right now, and then all of a sudden -
A whispery voice crossed the path behind her. Fear like an electric awareness gripped Cheri in a cold embrace, and she stood - frozen. Her stomach sank, afraid of what her eyes would see and yet her head turned slowly, looking for the source of the noise while her vision strained to catch anything moving in the sinister night. Nothing. More nothing, except a bare spot in the trees that cleared open, revealing a gray area beyond. Had that been there before?
Cheri turned and ventured back the way she came, a scream dying on her tongue the closer she ventured toward the distance. As she passed underneath a pair of intertwining saplings she heard it again: more voices, this time. It drew her onward, and as she followed its cadence Cheri felt the world tilt up from underneath her, forcing her to climb.
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