"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
09-10-2016, 10:22 PM (This post was last modified: 09-10-2016, 11:01 PM by Terra.)
She’s alone.
She hadn’t been at first. First there’d been Mother - brusque, angry, pushy … but hers. She’d loved her, loved her with her entire being as all young children love their mothers. She’d followed at her heels, snuggled up when she’d had the chance …
She’d gone to sleep last night, curled up against that dark, warm side. Happy. Safe.
But when she’d awoken, she’d been alone. Mother had gone. And had remained gone.
Even now she searches. The little black and silver filly wanders aimlessly through the den, dark brown eyes scanning the little territory for any sign of her mother. “Mama?!” She cries out, searching … but to no avail. Her mother’s voice does not cry out in response, and that familiar black and silver head does not appear from around any corner.
Eventually she gives up, settling into a patch of dark, soft earth in the shade of an old spreading oak. Sniffling, her dark head drops to the earth, resting, while her eyes still continue their fruitless search. She hopes, so innocently, that her Mama will return soon. There’s no way her Mama could leave her, after all.
I will run the streets and hostile lands, I will touch the rain with all I have
I will breathe the air, to scream it loud. My feet will never touch the ground.
Camelia has never abandoned a child in the Adoption Den. That is not to say she has never abandoned a child. Out of her two, she did the least pleasant job with Topsail (and that might be the reason why her daughter used to rule the evilest kingdom in Beqanna and why she laughed at the shadows and stroked bloodthirsty wolves and harbored a degree of darkness in her heart). She isn’t proud of that achievement. She didn’t want her lovely, beautiful, sweet daughter to end up as a queen of the shadows and wolves. That is what happened, however, and Camelia knows she can’t wish she could change her parenting method of the past, but only improve it in the present.
Perhaps that is why her feet bring her to the Den. Tephra is slowly blossoming with life, but Camelia finds she needs something more to do. Her mind and hands need something work on, something to love, something to cherish. And she knows children are orphaned frequently, sent to the doting fairy when their mothers are too lazy or unloving or busy to dote over them themselves.
The slender mare stands near the entrance for a minute, feeling her heart swell with compassion and grief over the lost babes. There are too many of them and they all cry for the warm breast and tender love of a mother. Camelia wishes she could take each one of them in and kiss their fuzzy heads, murmur soft words in their ears, and remind them that the world does not need to be a harsh place. But at the moment, she can only take one. So she scans the Den with careful brown eyes until her eyes find the sniffing silver black filly.
Camelia dips her head toward the fairy as she walks past. Although she has always been attuned to the whimsy and order of Beqanna, she is even more so aware after Beqanna tossed and labored and moaned. The dunskin comes to a slow halt in front of the little girl, her chest aching with sympathy. She pauses for a second, anxious and worried on how to approach the grieving filly. Finally, she lays her own body down beside her. It seems less terrifying to get on their level.
“Hello, precious.” She smiles softly and the warm look could almost melt the snow. “I’m Camelia but you can call me Cammy if it’s easier.” It sends a quiet pang through her heart to say such a name. Mast had called her that in their childhood, and even into their adulthood. She hasn’t seen him since Beqanna split apart and it worries her. “Are you cold?” Winter can’t be a comfortable season for a motherless foal, especially as she lays on the cold dirt.
He couldn’t say that he missed his ability, couldn’t really say that he was glad it was gone either. His wings, the most important thing to him, were there, and that is really all that matters to him at the moment ability wise. With all the magicless horses running around Phaedrus was content in depending on his experience alone. Ea had given him a position, a charge so to speak. To say he is nervous about it is like saying the sun is bright. He is more than nervous, and more than grateful for the honor she gives him. With his constant brooding, this gives him plenty to fret about. Would he fail them? Did he earn their respect? How would Zaravich feel if she came back to the Dale and saw that he was now a leader? Would she understand then why he had to turn his back on the herd? Could she comprehend why the burden of kingdom and home had become to much for him? He isn’t old, old, but he is old enough to understand that slowing down would be a good idea, before he broke and could do nothing for anyone.
The best thing he could do is bring them back to the Dale, if they were a part of the Dale, if they allowed themselves to become a part of his family there, then he could be what they wanted. But why had he not thought of this before?! Why does he always need to be such an ass as to not think up the simplest of solutions. His ears perk up puzzling for a moment. Another voice joins the first and he frowns shifting uneasily, wondering if approaching is such a good idea. Heck why not? Maybe it was one of his, he was looking for them all anyways. Hello, I’m Phaedrus He takes a step closer. His new cobalt blue wings flutter at his sides. Nodding to Cammie, was it? He hopes it’s enough to assure them both that he meant no harm. If you are cold I have these wings that might help solve that problem. Stepping on toes is not his thing, and he doesn’t plan to start now, What is your name? She looked nothing like him, didn’t have his scent, but still his soul longed to know that his own was safe. Maybe she too had someone looking for her, hoping, like him, that someone was watching over her to make sure that she survived the terror of the shifting world.
She waits and she waits, but her mother never returns.
As the day grows longer the winter cold begins to set in, and the tiny filly curls herself tighter, drawing her little wings closer to her body in a futile attempt to keep herself warm. The fairy clucks over her once or twice, but there’s nothing the creature can do - the filly needs body heat. And care and attention.
A soft sound catches Terra’s attention and her dark ears flick up, quickly followed by her eyes. “Mama?!” But no, it’s not her mother. It’s a different mare, with kind eyes and a golden yellow coat. The mare lies down beside her and Terra can’t help but snuggle in closer. She’s just so, so cold.
Brown eyes blink up at the golden mare as she crushes her little wing against Cammy’s side. “Hi Cammy. I’m Terra.” The mare asks if she’s cold and Terra quickly nods, a shiver racing through her. “Yes.” The words comes out little more than a whimper.
Another sound attracts her attention and her head pops up again to stare, bug eyed, at the massive (to her mind) stallion that’s joined them. “You’re big!”
He offers his wing in case she’s cold, and she can’t help but eye the much larger wing in some jealousy. “I am cold …” But her voice trails off as he asks her name. “I’m Terra!”
But her mind travels back now, remembering her Mama. And remembering that it’s been a long, long time since she last saw her. “My Mama’s gone …”
I will run the streets and hostile lands, I will touch the rain with all I have
I will breathe the air, to scream it loud. My feet will never touch the ground.
Camelia can’t imagine what the little girl must be feeling. How disregarded she must feel, how hopefully she must pray, how broken her heart must be. As a child, the mare was always enveloped in the warm arms of love – from her parents, from Mast, from the Gates – and she rarely felt the bite of loneliness and despair. She worries (maybe like the girl worries for her mother) about Mast, praying that he is safe and not crushed beneath a collection of tossed rocks, but Camelia has thrown herself into her work in effort to stop that worrying.
The dunskin feels her heart pang with sympathy when the filly says “Mama” in such a hopeful tone. Camelia hates to disappoint, but a piece of her hopes she will become Mama to the betrayed little girl. Her insides warm, however, when the girl snuggles into her side and she feels her chilled skin against her warmer skin. Although she has no wings to swathe herself in, Camelia does have a thick winter coat from years of enduring snow and ice.
She introduces herself as Terra and Camelia smiles softly. “A pretty name to match a pretty face,” she says, just as a winged stallion approaches them. The dunskin wants to stand up, but with Terra cuddled warmly into her side, she doesn’t. Camelia’s muscles do tighten slightly, aware of both her and the filly’s vulnerable positions. He introduces himself as Phaedrus, gives a short nod in her direction, and seems to try and prod Terra from Camelia’s side.
A deep-set, instinctive motherly side of Camelia prays with everything in her soul that the girl would stay at her side. Thankfully, the girl seems comfortable nestled into her and she stays. Terra gives her name again and then mutters something about her mother being gone. Camelia’s heart wrenches again and she huffs a warm breath of air over the filly’s ears in comfort. “Terra, I’m sorry about your mama,” she starts softly. A quick, apologetic glance is directed at the stallion. She doesn’t want to step on his toes or make him angry, but she’s already too attached to the filly to let go now.
“But I know somewhere warm we can go. It might make you feel better.” Camelia exhales another foggy breath over Terra’s ears again, as if she were trying to warm them like a mother to her child’s frozen fingers. “If you want, we can look for your mama once spring comes. Or I could be your new mama. I promise I won’t leave you.”
