"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
Screaming like a siren, alive and burning brighter.
One of the places I have not yet visited is the Deserts, and I should have much sooner. I don't know whether my old friends still live there, but I have been remiss in not seeking them out. Vanquish and Yael have been dear to me for a very long time, and I...I didn't even say goodbye before I left. I couldn't, too shattered and molten and desperate to get away that there was no looking back, no drawn-out farewells.
I hope they understood, and that they still think of me fondly, if they think of me at all.
I could fly in as a dragon; it would hardly be the first time dragon wings took to desert skies. Instead, I find myself walking in my spotted yellow mare shape, all muscle and feathering and riotous tangle of hair bulking out an already drafty frame. Oh, nowhere near the height of my sons, all of whom but one tower over me. But I am comparable in breadth to the largest of them, strength written in every line and curve of this form.
It is not, to be honest, one I spend much time in these days. I tend toward my favorite bold blue male form instead, the once-black points now silver in honor of my long-dead brother. Still, female feels right today, as I approach what once was home. So I approach on foot, the substantial weight of my hooves sinking slightly into the sand as I walk. And when I reach the kingdom's border, I call out for the friends I left behind so long ago, or anyone who might know of their whereabouts. A deep, throaty neigh echoes out across the sand, announcing my presence. And then I wait.
She could easily have written the whole lot of ‘em off; Nocturnal, Tarnished, Quark, anyone and everyone from that era of her life. Alas, that is not her way. Yael’s heart is ten sizes too big, her willingness to forgive (though she never forgets) is truly the crux of her personality, only weakness she now has. The golden lady values life and love far more than the prospect of holding a grudge or punishing someone for their weaknesses. Quark could never be called weak. Negligent in maintaining her friendships and consumed entirely by grief, perhaps, but Yael has also known debilitating despair and cannot fault her flower friend.
Every now and then she’s felt for the erstwhile mare’s energy, but always came and went on magical tiptoes, for there was never any need to intrude.
If her spidey senses had not alerted her to Quark’s knock at their door, the mare’s call would have; before their visitor can finish her query, a smile takes over Yael’s face. She’s sure Vanquish has heard the call and will come when he can, but the golden mare is feeling rather selfish at the moment and wants Quark to herself for a short time. Needless to say, Yael doesn’t keep her waiting long. The air in front of Quark blurs as if it were a heat puddle, and Yael appears before her, practically bouncing off the proverbial walls.
“Kark!” she cries with unbridled joy, “Xow I xaf meesed you!” Without hesistation, Yael takes a few steps in and folds her wings around the other mare in a sisterly embrace. There is too much history between them to pretend to be formal.
Screaming like a siren, alive and burning brighter.
It doesn't take long, though it would have been fair to leave me waiting for an age or two. Ah, but that was never Yael's way. The air blurs in front of me, and in an instant she is there, golden and shining in the desert sun. God, it feels good to see her again, to see joy light up her eyes, to hear the strange rhythms and tones of her voice and know I have at least one friend left that I didn't irrevocably alienate in my grief.
She wraps herself around me, enfolding me in her great, feathered wings, and I can't help but smile against the gold of her skin. “Ah, Yael, looking lovelier than ever. God, I've missed you too.” I hug her back, holding her tight to me for as long as I can. Oh, I've got a couple of my kids, a couple of sons-in-law, a couple of grandbabies that love me. But there is nothing in this world like an old friend holding onto you and welcoming you home after far too long away. “How are you, love?” I ask, just breathing her in, burying my face in her silver mane and letting her love wash over me.
I've felt her now and again, inquisitive touches light as those beautiful golden feathers brushing against me, checking to see if I was okay, if I was alive, if I needed her. I've done the same, trying to leave no trace and just making sure the people I loved were alright. I could have reached out to her, could have made contact with those feather-light touches and invited her in, let her see how I was, where I was, anything. But I wasn't ready. Not in all those years away.
I finally let go and take a step back, my own smile just as warm, just as joyful as the one that lit her face when she saw me. “It's so good to see you, my friend. I'm sorry it took me so long.”
Quark has the right of it, there is nothing like the embrace of an old friend. It is one thing to be a mother and a grandmother and collect hugs like one would dandelions, it is another to know that someone is there simply because they want to be. Because they love you. To not feel like you have to pick them up when they fall, only meet them at the bottom of the hill and laugh about the tumble down there. The two of them go back; way, way back, to when Yael was bay and innocent, and just learning the language. She still can’t pronounce the ‘kw’ sound, but Kark never seemed to mind her particular mispronunciation. They rest like this for a moment, as if they were long-lost sisters. In a way, her relationship with Quark is the closest that Yael has ever come to having a living sister. It is unique; they are equals, and unlike her relationship with Noct, is not chock-full of disappointment and resentment.
The two women part, and Yael gets a good look at her flower friend; parts of her seem older, wiser, and stronger, while others look like they’ve been torn apart and stitched back together again. Ah, but Yael must look like something of the same to the shaman. Grief does that. She shakes her head and makes a sound in the back of her throat to dismiss the apology. That is not needed between them. “Eet ees good to see you too, dear. Come een, come een.” The smaller mare steps aside and indicates towards the interior with her wings. They might as well be comfortable while they catch up.
Were Yael human, she would be quite the consummate hostess, bustling around and offering food and refreshments, plumping pillows, and making sure her guest is completely comfortable before settling in to talk. “You vill stay avhile, von’t you? I xaf a tree that ees so very comfy to lay beneath and vatch ze stars.” Yes, a tree. A tree that is part of a story that Quark knows all too well. She shrugs. “I am xappy. I xaf my love back again, and I xaf cheeldren and grandcheeldren. I xaf ze sun and ze sand, and peace.” She chuckles dryly. “Perxaps too much peace. I t’ink I might have done some damage ze last time I vas a dragon. There is a long pause, filled by reflective silence in which Yael continues to collect her thoughts. “And yet, I t’ink zat maybe eet might be time to leave B’kanna again for a beet? You know xow eet goes, yes? Ah, but enough of me. Xow are you? Vhat breengs you back to us?”
Screaming like a siren, alive and burning brighter.
I cannot help but smile at Yael's generous invitation. She has always been such an excellent hostess, doing everything she can to make her guests feel at home. I love that about her. I have always been far more casual in my efforts to welcome people into my home, be it kingdom or herdland or hut at the edge of a village. My approach has tended toward make yourself at home instead, but her? Just a few words, a quick gesture, and I feel utterly welcome, as ever.
“Thank you, my friend,” I reply, stepping into her home. “I can't stay long, as lovely as that sounds. My Drow has three newborn daughters, and I'm helping with their care. Less uncomfortable for him and his man if those of us with the appropriate body parts do the nursing.” My grin widens at the memory of the frantic look in his eyes got when the girls said they were hungry. So cute, so panicked, and over something as natural and necessary as breathing. I'd already planned ahead for it while Pazuzu and I were discussing the logistics of creating a trio of daughters for my son and his mate, and was ready to feed the girls by the time they were steady on their feet and noticing their empty bellies.
God, I love those girls.
Yael fills me in on her life, and my cheeks are going to hurt from all this grinning before we're through, I think. “Yeah, dragons will do that.” She sobers a bit, and I understand her words far too well. “I do know how it goes, yes. Sometimes leaving is the right choice. I couldn't...I couldn't breathe here anymore, couldn't bear another moment surrounded by all our memories, all our might have beens. I did the best I could, for as long as I could stand it. Probably would have kept right on, I've always been so damn stubborn. My Drow yelled some sense into me though, and...well.”
I flew as far and as fast as I could, spent a couple of years working out my pain on the scum of the earth, taking out the trash wherever I found it. Lost count of how many lives I'd taken, how many innocents I'd saved or avenged, how very much blood I'd shed. Until one night I felt the gentle tug of a spirit seeking my attention. Just a gentle tug at first, at least. It became more and more persistent, until I finally took flight on dragon wings that ached from disuse, flew halfway across the world, and found myself in yet another jungle.
I've been back once or twice, to help welcome grandchildren into the world and to check on my kids and help them any way I could. And once, to bring my Drow back to the jungle with me, and his firstborn daughter Dara. To help him heal, as he'd helped me. To give her a life instead of leaving her in limbo between worlds. “I am well. Perhaps not happy, exactly, but much better than I have been. I have a couple of my children and their families, and the herd land they call home, and I'm helping raise those three little loves I mentioned. Saying goodbye to the past, and finding ways to move on. And now that I can manage it, reuniting with dear old friends I've missed so much.”
