"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
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
Dusk has fallen, and it gives way to a clear, bright sky swathed in darkness - glistening with flickering starlight, illuminating the softly wavering stalks of vegetation with a gleam of silvery light. She bathes beneath it for a moment before tucking herself away from prying eyes at the open mouth of a yawning cavern on the edge of the sea -- a familiar anxiety simmering in her veins.
The icy caress of evening drapes over her as if it were a thick blanket of frothing, salty seawater, but she welcomes it, as any movement now causes her golden skin to break into a sheen of sweat. As her tired and worn body presses against the rough igneous rock that outlines the barrier of the hollow, her legs fold beneath her, laying her to rest against the fertile soil beneath. Within her, there is a stillness – a lack of movement that does not stir any worry in her mind; no – it is a comfort. The time has come.
A tremor of pain surges through her sinewy muscle, pulsating once more. She aches for the sky, for the sea and lands unknown, but she is tethered to the ground, with a thin sheen of sweat coating her golden skin – with soft, pliable clay clinging tightly to her dampened body. She is writhing in agony, but with each slow and steady breath, she is brought closer to an end to her own misery. As the caress of moonlight gives way to the warmth of dawn, a sheen of yellow and periwinkle flood the pallid sands, and with it comes the birth of new life.
Her thick tresses lay wet and damp across her slick neck as she reluctantly presses herself away from her resting posture – her body is still wracked with convulsions from the very depth of her womb, but her instinct is far stronger than whatever urge lingers to remain still. Her teeth tug and pull at the delicate membrane covering her newborn, revealing the pale and gangly youth beneath.
He is beautiful; as pale as the morning dawn, with bold and curious eyes that are not unlike her own. Gently, her tongue laves across the tender skin, cleansing the crevices and corners of his small, delicate body. Her gaze lingers for a long moment on the fragments of bone covering pieces of him – armored plating, not unlike her own bone-bending.
She cannot suppress her smile.
”Smoak,” she murmurs – a name Dahmer had chosen; a representation of the sulfur and ash that had brought them together – that represented a land that both had given a piece of their heart to. "come – you must stand.”
And soon she, basking in the afterglow and the exhaustion of birth, is shaking upon her own slender legs, pressing the bridge of her soft, velveteen nose beneath his chest plate – urging him to shakily stand beside her. Quietly, beneath the rising sun, her soft and crooning voice emerges through the thickened silence of morning, echoing in the warm air – calling for one she knew would not be too far away.
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
The guilt consumed him and yet he stayed. Watching her from afar, wanting nothing more then to pull her to him. Wanting to protect her and her unborn child. But how could he protect them from himself? Miserably the one eyed stallion wanders Tephra, familiarizing himself with the dark sands of the beach and the ashen rocks that are strewn along the coastline. He stays away from the volcano, the threat of it’s fire makes the bear within him uncomfortable. He had once died at the hands of Carnage when he spiraled an icicle in his heart, he is frozen and yet he remains in Tephra. For her.
Perhaps she sees him but they do not acknowledge each other. Every day he prays they will. Every day they do not. Each night he replays their last meeting, once again he barely eats. Doesn’t sleep. The circles deepen and bruise beneath his gold flecked eye. He suffers and knows he deserves it. He always watches, watches the way her sides begin to swell. How her steps become heavier and at times she seems so tired that she might collapse. He has lost count of the times he had started to go to her aid, only to stop. She didn’t want him, not after she saw what he really was. The only relief is that Dahmer never shows his face and for that alone he is thankful. To have that salt in an already raw gaping wound would be too much, he would lose control forever.
With the switch in season, the air begins to warm slightly. Humidity makes sweat cling to his brow and he often shuffles with discomfort or finds solace in the waves that lap at his hocks. Evening is best when even the smoldering heat of the volcano is softened by the darkness. He is looking forward to the coolness when in the soft shades of twilight he sees her pregnant figure. Her stride speaks of purpose and with concern gleaming in the depths of gold, he follows her. Something has changed.
Quietly he traces her steps towards a cavern. His hooves ring against the gray stone and he pauses, hesitates. Perhaps he was intruding where he wasn’t wanted but his worry for her outweighs the risks. As quietly as he can, he enters. She is crumpled on the ground, groans escaping from velvet lips as damp locks cling to her neck. Visibly he tenses, unsure if he should get help, if she was sick. It takes a moment as his eyes adjust to the darkness, the way her sides heave. Labor. It was finally time.
Perhaps she doesn’t notice him here or just didn’t care. As she fights her pain, he finally comes to a decision. Turning his back on her, gracing her with the privacy she deserves, he stands guard. Making sure none come forward until her time is done. This is a familiar task, one he does well with the many nights he avoids his dreams. The watch is long and it’s not till the first faint streaks of gray and pink find the sky that he realizes how quiet it is behind him.
A small foal, golden and cream, lays beside her. He is not close enough to see that what he mistakes for soft white fur is actually pieces of bone. It’s a boy and she affectionately cleans him and names him. She has found her feet and is encouraging the boy to do the same, still either unaware that he has been here the whole time or simply ignoring him on purpose. He doesn’t know. The guilt refreshens, his pain coiling in his breast as he gazes quietly at the pair. His sides press against rough rock as he steps closer to them, pausing slightly as her voice breaks from the cavern. Calling for him.
His facial features turn to stone a brooding cloud hanging over his head. Pain evident as light reflects in the depth of a single iris. But he stays. Turning his neck slightly, his body positioned protectively before both of them. He waits for the arrival of the one who had ruined everything.
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
The anguish was nearly too much, but tightly, her jaw clenched and with each deep, excruciating contraction that clutched at the rounded swell of her abdomen, and she was forced to bear it. Swathed in darkness and aching with a tender agony, she lay in solitude, breathless and drenched in a sheen of sweat – gilded and pale beneath the light of the wayward moon. Unaware of his presence. Unaware of anything but her own suffering. Birth had never been so unbearable before, and a trickling of blood traverses the length of her hind-leg, pooling on the ground as she rises, with particles of dust and sand clinging tightly to the perspiration dampening her skin. Exhaustion had already begun to settle in between every joint, every crook and crevice of her body, but weary and worn, she pressed on, urging her son to stand upon beautifully carved, but unsteady legs.
Gently, she pries away the remnants of membrane clinging to his pale skin as Ledger quietly watches, and softly her teeth preen and pluck at his dampened mane, standing erect and prickling the surface of her tongue. Her breath is warm across his cheek, and neck, where her mouth presses a soft and breathy kiss – in awe of his existence, as she had been of all her children. From the tender, sinewy tendons of her safely kept and fiercely guarded heartstrings, her deep and unwavering love is revealed with every gentle murmur of encouragement and affection.
But then –
With a soft exhale, she can feel his presence.
And quietly, her golden flecked eyes bore into his back, tracing the bony line of his rigid spine and long and slender neck. Her breath catches in her throat (as it always seems to do in his presence – her heart is pitter-pattering yet again within her chest, but for a much different reason than it had before) and her mouth is parched and dry; her voice rendered useless – if she could even find the words. Beside her, her son is nestled close, seeking a swollen teat and her warmth against the unrelenting ocean breeze and the thick mist it carried with it.
She is no longer looking at the skeletal outline of his figure, but she can feel the weight and intensity of his gaze steadied upon her. Quietly, she traces the hardened outline of his cheek, the hollow of his too-tired eye, the void where another should be – tucked away beneath the darkness, the pale sunlight cannot unveil itself, as it has yet to rise above the dimly lit horizon.
Thoughtfully, she moves closer to him, pressing the warmth of her pale mouth against his jaw, and then down to his shoulder, where the salty brine of the sea is lingering across the sharpened ridge of his bone. Her son is curious and cautious of his presence, but he does not say a word – he does not make a sound, instead curling himself up against his mother’s sweat-slicked and still swollen barrel, while she eases her aching bones against the one her heart could not be still for. Ledger had come, wordless but with a shadow of worry in the gleam of his gold-flecked eye – protective, but not possessive as he had been before.
She does not fight it. She ached for it, though she dare not admit it. She had always longed to feel safe within the harbor of another, but she could not permit her voice to admit to it. Alas, her ego would do her no good beneath the pale light of dawn with her quivering legs, and so she merely presses against him, urging him to be her strength, as her body felt shaky and weak from the exertion of birth and trickling blood loss. She had longed for his presence for too long to urge him away.
(She had always been the protector – the fighter, the warrior, the rebel – but his watchful eye and deep, unwavering concern is enough to sooth her doubt. She cannot always be a pillar of strength.)
There was much to say, much to be said, but she is too faint and lethargic yet. Her energy would eventually return itself to her, and her seeping wounds and aching muscles would mend themselves in time – but for now, she is whittled down to the bone and weary, and his presence soothes her restless soul while she awaits the father of her child.
CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT & SATISFACTION BROUGHT HIM BACK
Tephra's winter gives way to warm, humid spring and Dahmer is at peace. His heart is warm with the thought of being home. With the thought of his unborn child. Despite his own grieving heart, and all the things the black beast still does not know about Ellyse, he is ecstatic over the notion of fatherhood. It's new hat for the thoroughbred, who has many nieces and nephews but no children of his own to play with them. And while his courtship (or lack there of) with Ellyse had been quite nonexistent until their hearts had bled together beside the roiling River, he is happy that she, always confident and proud, is the mother of his child.
Lucrezia has been absent from the blue-eyed stallion's mind for some time, though there are moments that she sneaks the memory of her voice or her scent into his thoughts. He hastily shakes them away, and this early morning is no different. He is restless with worry and planning, prepared for Ellyse's birth but attempting to distract himself with ideas to regain favor within the volcano territory.
Smoak has already given him renewed purpose.
Dahmer has hidden himself away at the base of the volcano, in his private copse of trees. A few yards away, a slow-dripping lava stream seeps into the dark creek, hissing loudly with each drop. The orange of the plasma illuminates the area, just barely reaching Dahmer's sleek, winged frame. The light dances on his face as a gentle wind brings briny air from the sea.
Salt. Sulfur. Ellyse.
Dahmer frowns slightly, curious why the champagne mare is awake now, roaming beneath the navy, nearly black, sky. He is suddenly exposed, pulling away from the trees briskly. The thoroughbred moves in the direction of the sea, his feathered feathers nestled to his sides, still unused. It would do Ellyse no good if he tried and failed to fly this morning, unskilled and distracted with worry. So he continues on hoof, his gait quickening as her scent grows stronger. A different scent mixes with hers and Dahmer dismisses it; Tephra is a home to many, and their scents are everywhere.
But as he comes upon the narrow shoreline, cradled by rock and sea, Dahmer's icy blue eyes rest first on the dark entrance to the cave and then, as he nears, on the trio before him. First, fleetingly, he finds Ellyse to be sure that she has fared the birthing well, paying little mind to the flaxen chestnut she is pressed against, and then he is all eyes for Smoak.
Momentarily speechless, the black stallion takes a few tentative steps forward before lowering his winged frame to the ground, his knees digging into the damp clay. He extends his muscled neck and reaches a soft muzzle towards the newborn boy, awe finding its way over the sharp edges of his face. "Smoak," he whispers to the champagne colt, a gentle nicker rising unbidden in his chest. He finds the bone armor on his son's shoulders and chest and smiles wide at the trait his dam has passed to him, and then -- "Your eyes," he says as he turns his gaze upward towards Ellyse, "He has your eyes."
And then, finally, he realizes that they have company.
"And your eye," Dahmer muses to the other stallion with quiet amusement, "reminds me of my father. He lost his in a battle." His voice is not unkind, though they trail off towards the end as he turns his attention back to the colt. From his place on the ground, the winged thoroughbred watches his new son contently, but someway, somehow, a small inkling of jealousy unfurls in his belly.
No!, he thinks tersely to himself, jealousy will not do.
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
Their eyes meet and he freezes, unsure if he is to await her wrath. His throat catches, ears swiveling slightly back, unsure of what she will say. The jealousy had faded but still lingered. He could not stand the thought of anyones lips traveling the course of her spine as his had. The trails were his alone to follow. And then the child. Now one can see the glint of bone and for a moment recalls those last minutes together as she had pulled out her own secret to defend herself with. Defend herself from him. His sorrow is great for not being able to control his emotion, it had been dammed up for so long. Once it was released it had been hard to gather it back within himself. It becomes harder to lock up.
What he is not sorry for is how passionately he feels for her. Already he had seen the fire that lurked within her own soul. If the roles were reversed, he doubts she would hold her tongue. Even now, as she gazes at him through sweaty strands of forelock, his heart rages in his chest. Teeth grit, jaw tightens. His breath barely escapes his lungs as she slowly moves closer to him, closing the distance within a matter of seconds. His muscles tense, nerves on alert even as her warm mouth finds the crook of his jaw. For a moment the child is forgotten. Her mouth is on his shoulder and his body betrays him, for how long had he anxiously waited for this? The weeks that had gone by, pining for her. Muscle shudders beneath scarred skin but still he is silent, weighed down by his thoughts.
For a moment colt and stallion regard each other. He’s unsure of what stirs inside him when he looks at the boy. It could have been theirs. Instead it was only hers. Would she want him around the child? Where exactly would he stand in this odd family dynamic? Her tired body leans against his and despite his gaunt frame, he takes her weight. His neck folds over hers, holds her tightly against him as he pulls her close. The timing is not right for discussion, to lay out what had happened. Instead he holds her close, gently straightening and detangling the damp locks of her mane.
Then Dahmer arrives. He only has eyes for his son at first even though it’s clear the black stallion has seen him. Ears flatten involuntarily, muscles coiling despite the softness of her pressed against him. Wound up tighter than a clock. Smoldering coals in the single eye but he bites his tongue, says nothing. So this was the man who had touched her. Taken her. Placed his seed inside her. The jealousy creeps along every nerve, courses through him but for a moment the bear and he are in sync. A rare occasion.
Now Dahmer finally looks to them as he makes some comment about the foals eyes, his good eye darkening although the rest of his features remain hard as stone. It’s quickly followed by another comment on his own missing eye. He doesn’t flinch, it was becoming a common occurrence. For a moment all is still before responding with a quiet but harsh, ”Your father and I have much in common.” The presence of the bears growl thrashing in his words is not lost on any of them.
Seeing father and son before him, he notices that the boy looks more like it was created by he and Ellyse then it does the dark thoroughbred standing in the entrance, blocking out the light. It’s a small victory, a petty one. He doesn't care. He takes a step without realizing it, shifting himself more in front of her. There is nothing more to say, the tension in the cavern expanding. One might say you could cut it with a knife. Ellyse may protest that there had been nothing between them but a meaningless one night stand, but he recognizes the flare in the other’s gaze. He’s not the only one with turmoil heating his belly.
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
Slowly, the bleeding subsides, drying along her muscular legs beneath the briny ocean air carried by an inland breeze, traversing the jagged edges of the hollowed cave. Though she is weary and worn, it is only a matter of time until she will be hardened and resolute once more. Until then, beneath the warm and tranquil light of dawn, she presses into his sharp ridges of bone and tense, coiling muscle, resting in the hollowed void where a thicker layer of muscle and a deposit of fat should be. The splendor of morning is slowly seeping into the cavern, illuminating it with a soft glow, and gently she presses her damp cheek against the line of his shoulder, shielding her light hazel eyes from the blinding sun.
Her pale mouth brushes gently over his skin, longing for a connection she had not felt in so long – she had kept herself secluded, hidden away into the various crevices and rifts of the volcanic isle, wary of unveiling her fragile and delicate state. She had never favored pregnancy – even with thick muscle lining her bones and strength bound within her agile limbs, it was arduous, difficult, and exhausting, and she had never felt more vulnerable. Even now, leaning against him for his strength and stability is out of her character.
Alas, her anger towards him had faded long ago with the waning light of the moon – but her pride and frustration kept her at bay, wary and unwilling, with uncertainty stirring within the pit of her swollen belly. She had never thought herself desirable – she is scathing, biting, and bitter, with a sharp wit and sharper tongue, and too often, she found herself destroying a relationship rather than building upon one. Beneath feminine curves lain over rounded hipbones lay a shadow of darkness of steadfast stubbornness, of coiled aggression. She hardly saw herself as anything but a fighter – in life, in love, in everything that drove her ambition.
And yet, her weary heartstrings had become more complicated and tangled with every breath.
Beneath the pale moonlight, she and Dahmer had become entangled (an unexpected development; one that causes her heart to beat a little faster if her mind lingers on it too long), and then she had found Ledger, and a passion she had never known unfolded like a powerful pyroclastic eruption –
When his jealousy had unfurled itself and stirred Ledger to shift into a dangerous creature with a salivating mouth and sharp, perfectly lined teeth, she had been faced with a demon darker than any she had known – and her heart had clenched within her chest. She did not fear his transformation – it seemed everyone she had ever known had a secret kept locked away – but a weary dread had descended upon her with the realization that he felt some sort of possessive desire to keep her; she had hoped that she meant more to him than that. She still hoped.
She did not want to be a possession –
No more than she had wanted to be a distraction.
And as Dahmer makes himself known, her heartbeat is pumping faster, and faster – her own heart is forgotten and her focus is solely settled on the wide-eyed, curious son nestled against her folded wing, and his awestruck father kneeling before him. She cannot suppress the shadow of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, glancing between the two. Gently, she brushes her mouth across the soft and slightly curved spine of her son, urging him to move away from her shadow, to move closer to the blackened beast before him.
Your eyes, he has your eyes, he muses, and she quietly observes Smoak – his downy, creamy tufts of hair, the bony plating, his bright hazel eyes – there is a pang of disappointment that he is not more of his father, along with a glowing pride that he is so much of her.
”He does,” she murmurs softly, merely tracing the soft line of her newborn son’s cheek, and the pure innocence that lay within each watchful pupil. ”we can only hope that he does not have my temper.” There is a faint simper at the corner of her mouth, but it fades.
”Smoak, this is your father,” she breathes, her golden flecked eyes shifting to Dahmer, observing the mirth bubbling at the surface – she had rarely seen such glee in him, and it stirs a warmth within her chest. Curiously, their son brushes his muzzle across the broad plane of his father’s forehead, inhaling the scent of the salty sea and the sulfur of the ashen land on his skin. He shakily lowers his small and petite body before him, folding his gawky legs beneath him and into the moist ground lining the cavern, before resting his cheek along his forearm, tucking himself beneath his neck and closing his eyes.
Ellyse can hardly stifle the chuckle from rising within her throat, tired as she is, and once more she is leaning against Ledger, with her unkempt feathers pressing uncomfortably against the visible ridges of his ribs.
”It would seem that he likes you,” she murmurs, resting against the comfort of Ledger, while watching the emotion across Dahmer’s face.
She can feel the tension rising with their banter and tersely spoken words (if they are a veiled threat, she is unaware), but she is too riddled with fatigue to cut through it – she is too tired to realize that the tension is because of her.
CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT & SATISFACTION BROUGHT HIM BACK
"There are worse things than your temper, I am sorry to tell you," he quips warmly, jokingly, to Ellyse though his icy blue eyes remain on their son, lost in the wonder of this new life. Dahmer is surprised, deep down, that he had not known a feeling like this could even exist -- before the moment he had set his gaze upon the bone-armored colt, our black beast had never pictured himself as a father, nor had he wasted an extra moment to appreciate the innocence of youth.
Now, though...
He wonders how his own mother, Desole, been so harsh.
The boy moves closer to him, hesitant and wobbly on his new legs, as Dahmer addresses the stallion draped over Ellyse's neck (which is entirely more PDA than he had ever seen from the champagne mare). The intentions behind his statement had been innocent ones, but the chestnut's growling retort, hidden ears, and his stride closer are enough to put the winged thoroughbred on edge. He exhales slowly, the force of it fluttering his nostrils in a quiet snort. "I am here to spend time with my son. I am not here to partake in a pissing match. I am no threat to you, so you can stop acting as if I am going to steal Ellyse away from this cave forever." His blue eyes remain, hard, on the other stallion for another moment before turning back to Smoak, who has settled his narrow head down across Dahmer's forelegs, both father and son damp against the moist sand beneath their frames.
Pride, love, and awe all return to Dahmer's face. His nerves are forgotten as he arches his neck, gently playing with Smoak's thin forelock and mane, fluttering nostrils appreciating the colt's scent. Ellyse's soft voice falls over them again and Dahmer chuckles, blue eyes turning up to the champagne woman again. "I'd hope so," he muses in response before letting his own eyes close slowly, his inhales synchronizing with Smoak's as the dark waters at Tephra's coast lap lazily behind them.
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
It is too much. The pride in her eyes as she looks upon father and son. The snappy retort of Dahmer. All well and good for him, to have taken Ellyse as his own and now have this child… This reminder of their passion, theirs to share. So where exactly did Ledger fit into this dynamic? It’s a simple answer, one he is loathe to admit. He doesn’t. They all have each other. He has nothing. He wants her, to have only her, but he isn’t sure if that’s what she wants herself.
There is nothing to say. The cavern is suddenly stifling to him, the bear wants out and he wants to be as far away from their happiness as possible. Gently untangling himself from her, a small glimpse of sorrow quickly swallowed by a dark brooding gaze. He leaves a whisper of a kiss on her neck before moving towards the cavern’s mouth. There’s no pause, no acknowledgment to the stallion fawning and preening over his son. He simply strides out and disappears.
Ledger
Eww sorry it's short. But figured it be best if he dipped for a bit lol
