He’d been hot with rage, so hot, that for a time there had been no emptiness, no heartache, and no mourning. They’d left him behind. Stealing away in the night like thieves, everything that’d meant anything carried away on their young, naive shoulders. Blood meant nothing. Their bond cracked and as dead as the cold sand which had once buried his hooves. His mother’s indifference had only stoked that angry fire. As ‘He’ rounded on him, his teeth gnashing, spewing words of hate. That they were weak, weren’t hard enough, unworthy. ‘He’ told him to forget them, and for a time Sakir did. Until the fiery rage which had consumed his spirit burnt out and down into ash. His body cracked and seeping with a sorrow that had always been there, but which had been sealed behind the twine of anger that’d encased his heart.
Amet was older, stronger, capable of running further. But Iset... he tried to shake her from his mind, to find some other focus. But in the dark, with the canopy shielding the gleam of the moon, there was nothing to centre on but gnarled branches and shadow and chilling thoughts. He had not truly believed Iset would run. Despite her defiance, her ferocious resiliency. She’d come to him in that time when there was neither sun nor moon, but a dusky haziness when the wind twirled the sands into ribbons. She’d placed her nose to his ear and whispered… he’d told her no, her plan was impossible. She could not see what he did as he’d looked upon his sister, battered and hurting, her new wounds red and too raw. She wasn’t strong enough, not physically, not then. But then like Amet, she was gone.
Perhaps Iset had not even come this far, the dunes still a hold of their fiery daughter, her bones bleached and buried beneath the ever-shifting sands. Sakir shuddered, faltering forward until the earth slipped from beneath him and his knees fell upon the teeth of jagged twigs. He felt the pain, little pricks of sharpness as he blinked away tears. It was nothing. Nothing compared to what Iset had endured. There was a rustling in the underbrush and the dulled thump of a hoof striking earth. Sakir snapped his head towards them, his large child eyes growing as wide as the unseen full moon far, far above.
sweet like harmony made into flesh
She loves to wander moonlight, sometimes by flight sometimes down below. Tonight she soars silently among the cotton clouds, they are dim gray and the moon shines through them as they float aimlessly in the gentle sky current. Silver beams drown the stars, only a sea of black with weak flickering specks here and there framing the bright and swollen moon. It is a rare warm night, autumn is usually much colder, but the breezes from the north are still chilly and even more so up above. Perhaps it is time to land and pad around by foot through the thick forest below. After circling she spots mammoth stone ripping from the earth toward the heavens; around it is just bare moss and a circle of smaller boulders, the trees seem to have spread away from it ceremoniously. She descends gracefully upon the biggest stone’s peak and picks her way easily down its toothy slope until she’s on the moss-bed ground below. Her big pale wings shake and fold, shifting until they find a comfortable way to rest at her sides.
The thick trees beside the heavily traveled road-way arch over a darkened path that appears to just fade into blackness. Her eyes will adjust, she tells herself this, and curiosity to see what is ahead far out-weighs her desire to see clearly. It is indeed slightly warmer and less windy down here, she notes. Her vision does shift to its more sensitive mode and it is easier to see the road ahead even without the moon’s bright illuminations. The only sounds are a pair of owls hooting in the distance and the periodic rustling of leaves in the soft pushes of mountain wind rolling in from the north, and of course her muffled footfall pattering against the earth.
“Oh my,” she gasps, almost stumbling over the child, she had been looking ahead and to the sides of her, but not below and his dusty colors make him blend into the twigs and leaf-litter. She instinctively touches the child, ever so gently, with her silk skin muzzle. Her warm breath bends his tiny hairs; she takes in his smell before withdrawing her nose from her tender prodding. She steps back, her head still lowered to his level. “Are you okay little one?” her voice is almost too quiet to be heard, but it is close to his ear, her tone purring to him like a mother cat.
@[Sakir] - let me know if you don't want to be tagged in the future <333
![[Image: iawIsA4.png]](http://i.imgur.com/iawIsA4.png)
theres an old man sitting on a throne thats saying...
It was too much.
Leaving the Dunes, finding Amet, making a home in the lake, taking in Ryan. Sure, it was all for the better. But it was a lot for her young mind to handle, especially without her partner in crime. After her blow up with Amet and Ryan, Iset had spun on her heel and raced off through the trees, ignorant to any attempts made to stop her. She had to run; had to get away from all of the changes. Even Amet was changing; he was turning into a diplomat with scales. Scales.
She just needed someone, something to be what it was. Needed something to stay constant. Only after she was deep enough into the forest that she knew Amet couldn’t track her down did she slow her pace to a brisk walk, saving her energy for whatever could be coming. Unconsciously, she found herself walking the very same trail she had taken to reach the lake in the first place.
Her mind ran nonstop during her trek to wherever it was she was venturing to, and before she knew it the sun had sunken below the trees and the moon hid behind the canopy of the trees. And, on top of everything else, she was lost.
She knew she had walked the same general path that she had taken on her journey with Amet, but for some reason she never got reached the Meadow again. Call it luck, (whether it was of the good or bad variety is unimportant), but when Iset saw the large white mare hovering over a small, dirty lump on the ground, her curiosity got the better of her, as it had so often in the past. The closer she got to the contrasting pair, the more she realized that said dirty lump looked shockingly similar to...to her.
She moved slowly, half afraid that if she disturbed the scene before her it would disappear forever. When her continued steps forward did nothing to make the mirage ripple and fade, she decided it couldn’t do any further damage to say something. Coming between the colt and the mare, Iset, indifferent to the fact that she was interrupting the latter, made up her mind to speak. However, what come out of her mouth resembled a hoarse croak more than actual words. Well, one word. A name to be exact.
“Sakir?"
...I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut
Wings!
Through the blurriness of brimming tears, he saw them first before he really saw her. They were folded loosely against her sides, but there was no mistaking what they were as she drew near, emerging from darkness and shadow, her pale form separating from the blend of tangled branches. Sakir had never seen anything like her, though rumblings of her kind were a part of the Dunes old folklore, of majestic winged equine circling high in the skies like windsurfing hawks. Sakir gulped nervously, his eyes growing impossibly larger, the pain and hurt reflected there transforming for the briefest of moments into awe. And he decided she must be some sort of goddess, perhaps sent to aid his search for his family. He was about to rise, to muster whatever strength he had to stand before her, to show her that he was worthy of her help. But then he realised suddenly, that whilst he was captivated with her, she didn’t seem to see him… she wasn’t going to stop. Any plan to stand was aborted as he realised he’d be no sooner knocked back down. Sakir squeezed his eyes tight and braced for impact, rocking himself to the side as if it would somehow lesson the blow.
A blow that did not come. Instead what he felt was featherlight and tenderly warm. And reactively he leaned into that gentle caress of her muzzle. Leaned into it and pictured Iset. How he would press his muzzle softly against her cheek when she was fiery with anger and hurting. They’d always had each other. He should have run with her. He should never had reasoned it was better to stay.
“No,” he sniffled, meeting her gentle eyes. “I’ve lost my sister. She’s gone.” And Amet, he’d lost his brother too. But he could handle himself, he was older, stronger, determined. “I think…” his chest racked with an uncontrolled sob. “I think gone forever.” His fault. He was supposed to be there for her, protect her, calm her. She needed him, and he her. And Sakir felt so small, so insignificant. He reached for the goddess with his quivering muzzle. She would help him. Surely that’s why she was here…
Unexpectedly, and rather sudden, a set of dusty legs infiltrated his centre vision, and he pulled his muzzle back to his chest, narrowly averting a solid whack. ‘Sakir’ they croaked, sounding more like dying animal. And he realised with a start that perhaps that was what was happening. He was dying. Too weak and malnourished to continue on, his world no longer making much sense. “Oh, I understand,” he whispered to the white goddess, accepting. “You’ve come to take me to the world beyond.” And he peered up and upon the beautifully solid illusion of his fiery twin, perhaps he would see her again soon.
theres an old man sitting on a throne thats saying...
Iset watched Sakir stretch his thin neck out towards the white mare, and felt a pang deep in her heart, in a place she had been trying to ignore ever since she had fled the Dunes. It was so familiar, if the mare only shrunk down and adopted the lanky body and shiny brown coat of the filly, it would be like looking into a memory. Sakir pressing his soft muzzle to her neck after a particularly brutal attack, tracing the bloody scars He inflicted with a look of pain mirroring her own shining bright in his eyes. Folding his legs and laying beside her when she couldn’t remember the strength to stand, pillowing his head on the bumpy, too prominent ridge of her spine.
The apparition faded as soon as it had hit her, Sakir’s scratchy words of acceptance jolting her from her reverie. He was scaring her. What on earth was he talking about? She wondered. Dying? He wasn't dying. If he tried to die on her now, after she had just found him, she would kill him. His eyes, so like hers, fell on her, and it sounded harsh to say but she was sorely disappointed in his reaction.
No joyful greeting, no tears of joy, or anger, or sadness. Just a blank stare passing right through her small body.
Well this won’t do at all.
Placing one hoof in front of the other, Iset put her game face one and marched still closer to the pair. Keeping one eye on the still white mare, she focused the majority of her attention on her twin. “Sakir! Get up!” she said, and though her words were curt, she fought a bubbling laugh as they escaped her maw. The joy she felt at seeing her twin again coursed uninterrupted through her veins, and she felt unfamiliar tears stab harshly at her eyes.
She crow hopped once in her excitement before rushing to her brothers side and collapsing, reversing the roles they played in a time that felt so long ago, and relishing in the solid feeling of his body pressed against hers, and the heartbeat she could feel reciprocated in her own neck. "You're here."
...I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut
@[Sakir] @[sanaa]
Her illusion spoke to him, her words reverberating long and hollow in his head. In his mind’s eye he willed himself to obey her, and he rose effortless and as lithe as a ghost though his physical body remained motionless, anchored to the earth. “I’ll follow.” He said, his brow furrowing at the trickery. And he peeled his gaze away from his twin and back upon the luminous white of the majestically winged mare. A beacon amongst shadows. “You don’t need to trick me. I’m ready.” He did not need to be convinced to leave this world, he’d nothing left.
But then she sent her illusion towards him, and it fell into him perfectly, slumping against him so naturally that it suddenly felt wrong it had not been there at all. He could feel the urgency in the rapid drum of its heart, it melded into his own and he felt his senses liven. He felt its breath, smelt its smell. Was it possible for an illusion to claim all his senses of perception at once? Was he imagining that it felt so real, so like Iset? He leaned into her, sweeping the side of his cheek along the large puckering scar that would forever mar that delicate neck. He’d been there when the wound had been inflicted. Had squeezed his eyes tight, though it had been impossible not to hear that brutal thump against her flesh. Damn Amet he cursed silently, it should have been Amet’s scar to wear, not hers. Their brother should have stolen her away with him in the night, he would have known that Iset would never backdown from his steel, that there had only been one outcome to ensue come dawn.
“Iset…” he murmured into her as he traced his nose along those smaller scars which laddered towards her face. ‘You’re here.’ She whispered. He was. But was she? “I’m with you.” He breathed softly in return, and he closed his eyes, his weary head heavy against her.
@[Iset] @[Snowphish]
 Sakir was beginning to make her mad, and though it didn’t make any sense, not even in her own mind, she was indescribably happy that he was here and could trigger her temper. Her twin was still rambling on, words of death and acceptance and afterlife falling over one another in their rush to leave his mouth. Her eyes wavered questioningly to the white mare, for she had forgotten her presence momentarily, wrapped tightly in the blanket of joy that touched her the moment she had laid tired eyes on her twin.
|
@[Sakir] @[Snowphish]
sweet like harmony made into flesh
Her chest suddenly feels as though her heart is squirming freely about its sternum cage. She stays bent, wings hung loosely, hovering maternally over the heap of sad skin and bones. His eyes catch hers and she is uncomfortable for a flashing moment, she hates to feel pity or any other such melancholic emotions. She decides she’s here to help, cooing him with soft breaths while he answers with a weak, tired little voice, his little saucer eyes welling with water tickling their brims. She cannot stand it, really, and tears threaten to gather in her own eyes and her throat involuntarily swallows a chunk of nothing. The lump travels down to ever slowly and she gains control, even if just for a moment.
She draws in a soft breath, “No child.” she bumps him tenderly with her velvet gray muzzle. Sno is about to say something soothing, motherly and promise not to leave him, but she’s interrupted before she can purr these saccharine words to him. Tiny feet patter across the leaf-litter and the winged mare’s ears swivel back, her head cranes over her back to face the approaching child. She looks to the bony baby whose gaze barely seems to register herself; the child’s attention directly on the other skinny little pile of flesh at her feet. Sno knows exactly, miraculously, what is unfolding here and takes a sweeping step backward, tucking her wings back into their tightened position against her body. Another lump falls down her throat, but this time it is not from heaviness, but rather a bit of relief from the sudden weight of woe she suddenly found herself bound in just moments ago.
The little filly’s voice betrays her femininity as she moves in, side-eyeing Sno firmly, the white mare notices. The little heap of bones cannot seem to believe that Sno is no escort to the outer-worlds, even with his sibling touching him, assuring him sweetly that he is indeed here and so is she. Sno remains quiet an still, watching them, feeling the cold breeze beginning to pick up around them. The little girl’s cold eyes snap to Sno and it makes the mare pull her head back with surprise, her tail tossing anxiously as she looks back to the colt affectionately. “No, I found him this way, I haven’t been with him long. He may need a healer.” She doesn’t look back to his sister, only to him, stepping forward to let her nose touch him again. The sister pleads, barks, and pokes while Sno only whispers against the bay baby-fuzz along his little neck. “Get up little one. This is no dream, you cannot lay here forever. Get up….”
@[Iset] @[Sakir] @[Snowphish]
He wanted to call her back, but his jaw felt weak and his tongue suddenly dry and he could not form those words. Could not, until he felt her grab at him again, tugging far harder than she would normally ever, and a piercing bolt of agony raced along his back from the base of his spine. “Iset…” he breathed softly “Stop.” A gentle command. As he searched her face and locked his tired eyes to hers. They were as wet as his had been, but he was here now, he’d told her so.