"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
Aegean has never visited Hyaline which is strange, perhaps, when you consider that it once may have been his home. Had he been born but a season earlier than he had been, he may have found himself as a Prince of Hyaline as his older siblings had been but, instead, he had been born during the onslaught of the plague. The threat of the sickness had been the only thing that he had ever known, and he had instead been raised within the silvery beauty of the Cove. First, a temporary move, and then a permanent one.
He does not regret such things, his wondrous heart has never yearned for anything different, but still—
but still, he cannot help the curiosity that begins to grow upon the edges of his consciousness.
It begins as a dream that morphs into a thought and then a yearning and it soon leads the pale colt from the borders he knows so well to the ones he knows not at all. The fever sticks with him, the warmth of it spread like a flush beneath his cheeks, but he is not delirious with it and the only sign of it at all is the smear of blood on his milky lips. All the same, he is weaker than usual, and he takes his time on the trip.
Perhaps he should wait upon the border, but this is still a territory of his mothers and he is but a curious soul so he does not pause. Instead he wanders further in, driven by a need to fully see all that the territory has to offer. He doesn’t hide his presence and, in many ways, he couldn’t if he tried. The faint glow of his body, the growing curves of his maturing antlers, the amethyst of his hooves—he is not made to blend in and he doesn’t bother to try. Instead he merely walks to the waters edge of the lake, peering down into it with a dreamy smile before glancing up and seeing the woman of red not too far away.
Aegean watches her for a moment, before he nickers softly. “Hello,” his voice, like all of him, is different. It walks the fine, androgynous line of masculine and feminine, the soft and the harsh blending together as his dark purple eyes study her. “My name is Aegean.” His blood-stained lips tip upward.
The woman’s got humor, she’s the giggle at a funeral.
The longer she stayed in Beqanna, the more she remembered how dear the place had been to her. What had once been a world of trauma and distress for her was swiftly becoming a sanctuary. New chapters being written in the book of her life have been leaning more and more towards joy lately, and with said joy comes a stirring within her that beckons her to move, to roam. It is this overwhelming sensation of mirth that has her venturing from her honeycomb hideaway, the little lair buried in the heart of the cherry blossom trees where her and the Dragon-King (finally) consummated their union after years of courtship.
The red soothsayer laughs softly to herself as she parts the leaves of the foliage, making her way to the center of her lover’s homebase. How many restless nights thinking of him, telling herself it was but the concern one has for a shoulder friend, for a sibling? When in all actuality they had been madly in love since their departure from this realm. Snorting, she clears pollen and other debris from her nasal cavities and drops her head as she at long last reaches the edge of the minute forest. After ducking below one last low-hanging branch, she raises her head and takes in the grand scene that is all of the mountain region. My mare is starting to see why her scaled counterpart is so infatuated with everything that is Hyaline.
Meandering aimlessly, she follows no marked trail as she makes her way to the crystalline body of water that is the lifeblood of the territory. It soothes her, the peace and serenity that surrounds the lake, and lately has been delivering a wide variety of exquisite stones and dazzling shells for her to decorate her nest with. When she reaches the edge, she ventures close enough so that the gentle motion of the water causes it to lap softly at her hooves, and this makes her grin. After scanning the perimeter, she wades a bit deeper until she stands up to her knees and hocks in the shallow water, then bends down to dip her charcoal muzzle and drink deeply. It is a brilliant burst of white in her peripheral that causes her to pause for a moment.
Eyes fixed on the incoming form, the whiskers on her muzzle twitch as she breathes deeply, and water drops like diamonds leap recklessly from her lips. When she fails to recognize his odor on the wind, she turns her focus back to the water, trudging a bit further. So intent on locating the perfect spot to have a roll today, she barely hears him as he calls to her. An ear flicks as he nickers to her, but it is the silvery tone of his words that truly catch her attention. As my flower child cranes her neck around to take him in, her eyes instantly light up in excitement. He is just lovely!
Paler than the first snow of winter, he wears a pair of immature but still formidable antlers atop his poll. They are smooth, thin at the bottom but wider at the top. They do not have the branch and stick-like appearance of most cervine bucks, they are wide and flat, and Jah-Lilah tilts her head, half-smiling as she studies them. Bobbing her head, her feather talismans spin and dance with her ever motion, and she aligns her body with his, facing him. Taking a few small steps closer, she extends her neck to reach for him, inhaling his scent. ”Hello there.”
She knows all about the disapproval, you should have worshipped her sooner.
She is different in a way that he cannot name nor explain and he finds that he is enthralled because of it. There is something of magic crackling in her veins and he cannot decide if it is magic that she controls or if there is something that is entirely her own. Something that sets her apart and yet makes her completely one with the nature around her. He decides that it is the latter, decides that it is a spark that lives within her and he feels something like a pull in his belly, a magnetic need to know more that drags his feet through the sand on the shore of the lake toward her, his youthful head tilted to the side in thought.
When she reaches him as he reaches out for her, he smiles, the curves of his lips tilting upward in a dreamy manner, his amethyst eyes lingering perhaps a moment too long on her face—as if she is a puzzle that he cannot quite figure out. “It is lovely to meet you,” he finally offers, although the word feels too plain to explain what it is like to meet the fire-woman. She has the same texture as his mothers, in some ways, that same power beneath the surface, that same crackling magic that they cannot contain.
Meeting her reminds him of what it is like to traverse the dream landscape.
But for reasons that elude his youthful tongue.
Still, she is a puzzle that he cannot figure out and his heart thrums impatiently in his chest with all of the desire to know—even though part of him is hesitant to ripple the surface of mystery. Perhaps it is better for him to never know. Perhaps it is better to live within the cocoon of not knowing and the thought draws him back, makes him thoughtful as he considers her, the silk of his white mane catching in the wind so that it spills over both sides of his neck and catching on the lower hanging sections of his antlers.
“Do you live here?” he finally settles on, unsure of what he prefers the answer to be.
i could die for you.
@[Jah-Lilah]
I'll respond faster next time! I'm so sorry for the wait. <3
If the heavens ever did speak, she’s the last true mouthpiece.
Dangerously close to the surface of the water, charged glitter dances and plays in the air around her, almost like a swarm fireflies. The enchantress has all but mastered control of her electrokinesis, however when her emotions spike sometimes they manifest in the strangest of ways. The intriguing arrival of the horned newcomer has (quite literally) sparked her interest. He shines unlike any other she has seen before, and her eyes widen as she takes him in. The glow that surrounds him is not the usual aura the mare can sense and see on so many others.
No, the stark whiteness is more than his coat, his alabaster form seems almost ethereal. Her jaw hangs open slightly despite her warm, genuine grin. Ears trained on him, as he moves she can see he has not completed maturing, his young frame has some filling out to do and he still has a bit of leg to grow into. My red wytch can’t help but wonder what those exquisite antlers will become when he is in his prime? Surely he will be even more of a sight to behold than he is now. They have been admiring one another it seems, sizing each other up, and the same wonder present in Jah-Lilah’s emerald eyes is mirrored across the way. Kindred spirits, it seems.
Their noses touch as he meets her halfway, and she tucks her head to her chest with a squeal. The mare is of the old days, primal, ancient, and the language of their past still is her native tongue. Slamming a dark hoof into the water, she sidles a bit as she sprinkles them both, but settles when he speaks softly to her. His mouth is turned up, as is hers, and she bobs her head yet again in amicable fashion. ”Same to you, welcome stranger.” And she is sincere, proving so by reaching out once more, eager to inhale his pleasant aroma again.
He inquires about her residence in the mountain world, and she half-smiles before responding, so used to the question. How easy it would be if she could just ground herself, make herself at home somewhere, enjoy the pull that comes with being bound to a place. But Jah-Lilah’s never taken the easy route. She’s like the river, always flowing, like the wind, always moving, like the seasons, always changing. ”For now I lay my head here, but I am chained to nothing. The whole body of the Earth-Mother is my home, and wherever I am supposed to be is where I often find myself.” A mischievous grin followed by a throaty chuckle finishes her sentence, but then she finds herself distracted again by him.
Something in the way he carries himself, an inner strength not yet discovered, draws the mare in, and she must know him. It is when her muzzle moves past his cheek towards the slope of his pale shoulder that the sun reveals the young stallion’s secret. Her jade eyes open wide and are alight with excitement, she can hardly believe what she’s seeing. The mother in her emerges and she proceeds to nudge the chalky stallion towards the shoreline, herding him like a dam does a little wayward foal.
She must see them in the light, those unbelievable lavender hooves of his.
The amethyst reflects the rays of the sun, bending the light and throwing a plethora of hues all over the lush terrain. Her heart increases pace as her enthusiasm grows, she is beside herself, giddy with feeling. Here the old wytch was, seeking crystals not unlike the purple stones adorning the colt’s hooves, and the Earth-Mother had saw fit to drop this wonder of a creature in her lap, She laughs aloud, eyes darting from his feet to his face incredulously. Creeping closer, she inadvertently invades his personal space, dropping her muzzle to sniff at his unique appendages. Still wearing a comical, child-like expression, she at last stops gawking long enough in admiration to speak.
”Do you know what you possess, Carries-the-Light?”
The mare refrains from spinning tale after tale to him about the amethyst crystals he was blessed with seemingly at birth, trying not to overwhelm him or spook him. It takes nearly all the self-control she possesses to contain herself, ears perked and tail swishing.
Every Sunday’s getting more bleak, a fresh poison each week.
break the silence, damn the dark, damn the light
@[Aegean] No worries! Take your time, I hope this is ok <3
They fall into rhythm with one another, tracing the paths of conversation easily, understanding the ways of it without needing to struggle. Although Aegean rarely feels out of place, he cannot help but find that the fabric of the interaction is particularly peaceful. It is easy to be in her presence, and he does not need to guess at her—there are so many ways in which he merely understands, in which she just makes sense.
He does not hide his admiration nor his curiosity and is grateful that she does the same.
When she reaches out for him, he stretches his neck so that he can do the same, letting the velvet of his muzzle brush against the satin of her skin—branding the memory of her scent for safekeeping. At her answer, he laughs and the sound is silver bells in the back of his throat, loose and free. “What a wonderful answer,” he enthuses, purple eyes glowing with appreciation. “I have grown up in Silver Cove, but I do not feel the same need as my family to be tied to one place. To wander, to adventure, to journey—“
He breaks off on a sigh, dreamy, as his gaze finds the horizon, lingers there.
“What a wondrous thing.”
But they do not linger on the conversation. Not for long. Soon she finds, or the light catches the edges of his hooves, and he glances down, smiling briefly at them. When she ushers him forward, he obliges, picking himself up and moving further inland and away from the water. He picks his feet up as he walks, letting the light reflect, his face still serene, but his lips tipped upward in pleasure at her joy.
When he stops, he angles his head. “I have a memory,” he answers, thinking back to how the quest had ended and he had woken with the newfound weight. “But I very much want to know what you think it is.”
