"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
05-31-2017, 10:34 PM (This post was last modified: 05-31-2017, 10:40 PM by Heartfire.)
show them the joy and the pain and the ending
She has always been very good at containing her fury. At allowing it sit in her gut, to turn hard and cold, the perfect fuel for a revenge few would ever see coming. But today it burns hot, like acid eating through her veins in a way it never has before. Perhaps it is because her children had, in a rather roundabout fashion, been involved.
As it turns out, she is rather irrational when it comes to her children. And though her mind tells her to cool her temper, to allow the insult to slide from her like water from a rain slick as she would any other time, her heart says something far different.
Fortunately her target comes easily, for she had already seen her newest enemy's greatest weaknesses. She has several to choose from, and it just so happens that one is nearby. He is easy to find, especially for her. There is little that can successfully hide for any length of time from her prying sight, and this particular stallion proves no different.
The river rages beside her, a mirror to her turbulent mood, as she walks slowly along the water logged banks. Though she might wish to rush, she is not yet so far gone that she would give up that much of her hard won control. And so she walks, strides languid despite the hard edge to the crystalline blue of her eyes. When she finds him, Canaan, the winged stallion she had been seeking, she draws alongside him without hesitation.
Brows drawing down, she greets him, a note of urgency in her tone. “I doubt you know me, but I am Heartfire. I have just seen your mother, and you must come quickly.”
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
@[Krys] Sooo, she is just going to kinda hustle him off I think (if she can) and get to the threatening part when she has him safely contained, haha
so often times it happens that we live our lives in chains,
The breeze is gentle – weaving through the tightly knit oak and pine and their spindly, wiry branches – rustling through bright, lively vegetation and rattling the dry and brittle bark. The usually vivid sky left dull and gray with a looming storm, and the atmosphere is dense with precipitation as the sun clashes with the boundary line of the heavy haze – letting only bleak, minuscule rays of light gleam onto the thicket canopy, and across the roaring water below. The woodland is quiet, dark – with no light to penetrate the unyielding shadow and the bristling frigidity, it is a serene respite from the humidity and heat of summer.
Alas, he cannot bathe beneath its glow much longer – his body flinches beneath its draping light, and soon the rolling muscles beneath his golden skin are moving and shifting, propelling him forward and away from the barren plateau. He is soon nestled along the border of the dense foliage, his feathers brushing against the dry, brittle bark as the water moves seamlessly next to him – powerful, unrelenting.
But he is not alone.
A shudder traverses the course of his spine as a foreign source of energy presses close to him, and a wary gold-flecked eye spares a glance, searching the soft curve of her cheek, her glistening, crystalline eyes – her dark mouth, where hushed, hurried, and urgent words form; her voice strained to rise above the rhythmic roar of the rushing water behind here. He is momentarily stunned, quietly studying where the rounded curve of her jaw line meets with the slender crook of her neck, but there is nothing familiar about it.
But then –
I have just seen your mother, and for a moment, his heart ceases to beat at all, and in the next, it is nearly rattling out of its cage, pounding roughly in his chest. His own brow line furrows then, nearly missing anything to come before or after her hushed statement (come quickly).
Come quickly.
Come quickly.
”Go; show me – take me to her,” he breathes, a tinge of dread and uncertainty lingering in his tone – once more, he is a young boy with a love deeper than the sea, for a mother who meant more than the stars.
