"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 Gates were already home for him, and he had spent enough time exploring to know where he should venture, should he bring an equine home. And so, finally, he'd managed to sweet-talk his way into a mare's heart, wrapping her around his finger with relative ease, keeping his tongue dripping with meaningless - meaningful, to her - compliments, convincing the ebony mare to accompany him back to the Gates. He wanted to keep his little raven a secret, frankly, for he had things in mind for the winged mare that involved no other.
She had seemed very excited at the prospect of joining him, her youthful body practically shaking against his own, battle-tested one, large brown eyes warm as they held his own darker orbs. Her wings had spread and she had nudged his chiseled The trip to his home had been rather quick, for he had large reserves of stamina and she had her wings, so he made sure to keep a fast pace; he was not one to dawdle, for even as a child he had always been irritated when others tended to stop and play, or sleep. He wanted to move and keep moving, but he figured that if this mare ever desired a period of rest he would allow it to keep his little raven happy.
He slowed to a walk as they entered the Gates, pausing for her to settle into his pace, and then stopped at a hill, gazing down into the meadows below. "Welcome to your new home, little raven." He offered a smile to her, letting his head bump gently against her cheek before gesturing towards the green expanse before them. He hadn't realized he was so adept at sweet-talking, for she had taken much less effort to convince than he'd imagined; perhaps she just wanted a companion that badly, but he wasn't about to complain. She would make a wonderful pet and a wonderful candidate to carry a child by him, as the season dictated. He would have to make sure, however, he didn't do anything to make his pet fly away.
The mare moves at his pace with much ease, in fact she seems to never need a rest. She does not stop to graze nor drink and still she moves as fluidly as the moment they had left the forest. At times a mischievious eye is turned to the dark stallion as if beckoning for him to hurry up. The buttermilk buckskin rarely required sustenance. It would take a year or so for her to start to thin out, a decade for her ribs to start to show and perhaps fifty more for the mare to appear tragically emancipated. Illinois holds this little fact about herself in silence...it's not like he asked anyway?
Chocolate lanterns looking to Syden's coyly from time to time as they move swiftly over terra firma. Her nails seem to barely make contact with the land. Ever alert ears flickering to and fro if she should need to find her wings rapidly. Along with the feathered appendages, the mare seemed to retain the flightiness of her kindred creatures, taking to the air in the bat of a lash with very little effort.
When they had passed though the outline of the Gates territory, she can feel a change in the atmosphere. It was fresher, warmer. Limbs take to move ahead of Syden without much consideration to him as her curiousity got the better of her. She had spent nearly a century wandering the land and sky of Beqanna so depsite her affections for the stallion, the smaller mare had absolutely zero qualms about following her head. He may have imprinted on her but she still retained a wildness about her and perhaps he would sense this, or perhaps not but he would eventually. "Stunning-" her only word in response the beauty she witnesses. She stops so he can near before boldly grabbing a hank of his mane and giving it a good tug before taking to her heels, bits of earth flying, she never even seemed to tire from their journey. Peals of her mare-ish laughter following behind in her wake. The spirited woman draws her limbs beneath her and slowly pivoted to meet the stag's gaze with a rather playful smile. She seemed to be fueled by the sunshine and fresh air, bewitching in the dappled slats of sunlight that keyholed through the limbs of the trees that hung over them.
He had figured that the mare wasn't always so compliant and easy to sway, for no mare he'd ever met had stayed so demure all the time, and she wasn't any different. In fact, he felt as if her wings would provide some extra pep - something he was certainly not complaining about. A little spirit would bring some spice to their growing relationship, and it could provide some fun for the leggy stallion. A completely reliant mare meant he would be bored, and have to find a new playmate, and he didn't feel like doing that quite yet. So when she had trotted ahead of him by a few paces he was not surprised, and instead lengthened his own easy stride to keep at her heels. If she wanted to explore a little, then it was fine by him - at least, if she stayed close.
"Isn't it?" He agreed at her voice, a smirk tugging at his lips (he had known she would like it, and it was stunning even covered in a light layer of powder) as she stops; he felt the tug to his mane and she was off before it registered, heels flying, and he laughed - a deep, husky sound - as he chased after her, eyes flickering briefly with enjoyment. He did enjoy her mare-ish laughter, the purity of it, and the possibilities she presented excited him as much as the thought of keeping her to himself did. He watched her pivot and tucked his heels beneath him, skidding to a stop, as he reared up in a display of power and playfulness (something he would indulge in, if it made her fall under his control ever the more), before dropping down with a toss of his head. She seemed to feed off of the winter sun and he fed off of her body, the sensation of control, and the way she responded to his voice.
"Cheeky little raven." He practically cooed to her, letting out another deep chuckle as he reared up again, hooves cutting through the cooled air before they rested on the ground once again. "If a game is what you want to play, you can't use your wings to get away from my tagging you." He grinned cockily at her, peering through his forelock, voice smooth as silk and sweet as honey. "Be fair to your poor, grounded companion."
So far the smaller woman had been maintained by the stag just fine. When he rears she can not help but watch him with gleeful eyes. He is daring and charming and handsome. He pays mind to her and plays with her and coos beautifully in her ear but Illinois can be fickle at times. She enjoys their playful banter and their coy looks. She likes his pretty words and even prettier face so she continues to enjoy the stallion at his. When he inquires at to her staying grounded she can do naught but smile playfully and lash out with a rather delicate nip before turning tail and sprinting away, bits of earth becoming airborne.
A bubble of laughter whips over her side, tangled in her mane and following to the stag if he should give chase. Wings lips slightly in response but she honors his request and stays to the lands. The tawny woman enjoys the feel of blood rushing through her body, her tail lifted and flagged high and streaming behind her. Her thoughts drift as she bounds further of her past. Over the years and over the faces, briefly she thinks of her brother and ponders whether she should seek out Texas and see if he were still alive like she. It would certainly be a sight to see that old face again!
In a bat of a lash, the buckskin is falling, tumbling. The black wings crumple and crack as feathers catch and rip from their bases. The limbs of the woman splay and fold and bend and break. It's only when the sickening thick crunch of her neck snapping does Illinois sigh inwardly in annoyance. In a broken and bloody heap does she come to lay against a tree, one of her front limbs hooked around the trunk like a crutch. Her skull twisted back on the neck, the black wings shiny with red, red blood and broken sickeningly.
But this was not the first time this Illinois has demonstrated her immortality..
A fleeting moment passes only before the sound of more crunching. Her appendages seem to take a life of their own as they all begin to move independently. The expose bones in her wings return to beneath the feathers. The blood dries, leaving then oiled and sleek. The twisted legs creaking and popping as they right themselves to their appropriate alignment. The sunken spine returning to it's strong form, solid and real. But the final fix was when Illinois spun her skull around back to it's proper place upon her previously severed spine. Dark pools roll back to see fully again as she starts to find her feet, pulling herself up and giving herself one hell of a shake before looks for Syden with a small shy smile. "Sorry, sometimes I am clumsy."
He found that he rather enjoyed the cheeky youthfulness of his new companion and the way she nipped and teased him; she seemed to listen to his request to stay grounded but he knew that she wouldn't be able to stay on the ground for long, for she was a mare and mares enjoyed being flighty - he knew this from experience. He laughs at her nip and the playful kick of her heels before following behind her, strides long and easy, her laughter filling his ears and filling him with a sense of playfulness he hasn't felt in a long time. He wasn't one to be playful - he was manipulative and full of hollow, sweet words, but a stallion needed moments of pleasure. It would also allow Illinois to believe he truly cared for her - he was possessive, for sure, but did he care? Not particularly.
She was a sight to behold, surely, with her tail held high and her delicate crown lifted up as she ran, her wings tasting the wind she created as she ran. He was struck by her beauty and his possessiveness of his raven only increased tenfold, his strides increasing in length once again as he strove to get closer. But he found himself skidding to a stop, time seeming to slow as he watched the mare fold and crumple, her delicate body crumpling like a leaf as she hit and slid against a tree. The sound of crunching bones hit his ears soon after, and he found himself standing still, hooves deep into grooves on the ground, body tense, before he slowly began to approach her. "Holy fucking shit." He breathed, head lowering slowly as he surveyed the damage, ears perked and body tense, another round of crunching making him balk and shy away, moving back a few feet.
He watched her body put itself back together in slow-motion, dark eyes wide with a dark sense of amazement. He had been completely unaware of her immortality but here it was, displayed before him, and instantly his mind went to offspring - imagine how powerful they would be if given her immortality! A smile briefly creased his lips but vanished as soon as one last crack hit his ears and the once-broken body rose once more, as beautiful as she had been minutes ago. He surveyed her body, briefly, and let out a low chuckle as she shook her coat and feathers out. "You are one hell of a raven." He winked at her, walking over to whuff at her mane gently, nibbling at her neck before stepping back. He was getting quite good again at this 'romancing' deal. "I thought I had lost you, Illinois, but I am glad I did not." This was one of the first times he had used her name in addressing her, and with a slight dip of his head, peering up through his forelock, he created the illusion of sadness mixed with a healthy dose of relief. He was relieved, that much was true, for the thought of losing such a catch of a mare angered him - he'd worked to get her here, and to think he could've lost her so easily bothered him.
It's astounding that the mare seemed to be as naive as she acted. Illinois seemed to posses all the traits that her brother Texas did not have. She was youthul in nature and mind, laughing and dancing like a cool bubbling stream. She danced and hopped and felt. Perhaps this was her flaw as well but it was hers and hers alone. She is not aware that Syden is toying with her, pulling the marionette strings to his advantage. All Illinois can really imagine is what is in front of her, a strong mascsuline creature who seemed to want her attention and time...
She had all the time in the world honestly.
This is why her vision ususally does not extended past what is present. The woman had outlived most of her friends and companions. They grew old, grey, sunken. She was like an undying flower, full of color and blossomed always. She could not be drowned, or suffocated. Her wounds healed on their own (as Syden had seen), she could not die, per say. Bright eyes look to the stallion's with hints of embarassment but it lasted only momentarily before the wisp of his lips upon her inky black mane were caressed away and banished. A small smile pulls upon her lips as she chuckled softly. "I'm glad I did not spook you away." Soprano tones murmured dreamily as his ruffling of her name relaxed her. Lobes lazily move to catch the husky words of Syden. His appreciation to not have lost her, that she was safe and in one piece. Her small smile melts into a bit of a tugging frown as she listenes to the male.
He is too good to be true and she realizes it now. Empathetic feelings drawn inward like vibrations and she stores them to file away with his photo next to them. His words felt hollow like a rotted log. They seethe with concern intermingled with underlying motivation and as the mare stands next to the taller equine, his lips against her skin, in her mane, crowding her ears and thoughts with sweet, sweet words she recognizes the game he plays. A soft sigh falls from her lips and the long lashes fall over her eyes. She does not want this to end, this delicate little balance but why should it?
There is not much to fear when even death does not scare you.
Jaw lifts to brush her own lips against the ashened skin, parting slightly to allow the sharp pearls inside to rake softly against the strong boa, gentle but meaningful. Illinois was a sweet mare. Kind and gentle but she tended to be a mirror at times, reflecting off the energy of a companion. A little honey smile pulls itself over her velveteen maw. "Tell me about youself." Vocals spoken softly to keep to themselves.
