02-09-2017, 09:46 PM
Beqanna has a - a pull to it. Kudu can't explain it - only knows that he hates Her for it. The goddess that stripped the magic from the land and shook it to pieces, remade it, gave it new shapes and new lands. He knows he should be grateful that he's been reduced to something so toothless. Humbled. Knows that She knows what he did with the gift he was given, and that he's meant to be laid low by the loss he's been handed. Instead, he is bitter, because he just can't - fucking - LEAVE.
Thrice, now, he's fled the place, and thrice he has returned. The first time, he was a gangly two-year-old, and his mother had chased him, driven him beyond the borders with flared wings and a wolf's snapping teeth while he'd slunk sullenly ahead of her. They'd parted ways eventually - a wildfire in the dry season wasn't so uncommon, and he'd known she would escape unharmed, she with her strong wings and quick wits - and curiosity had tugged at him until he returned, too keen to discover what had happened to the rest of his family. And then he'd met the girl - the little one, Lily, the fire-lover - and the guilt had stirred in his chest, and he'd stolen away in the night without ever bothering to reach out to Wyrm or Lupei, wherever they were.
And then - the third time.
Beqanna was not as he'd remembered it, that last time - and when he crossed over the borders, drawn as if called to witness the way She'd swept everything aside to remake Her creation, the ever-present heat thrumming under his skin had simply vanished. For the first time, Kudu was cold.
He should have been glad for it, he knew, but the only thought that crossed his mind when he heard the news was whether or not She'd laughed as She turned the land inside-out. So he'd left, already missing the flames and all that came with them, only to stumble back into the land not even a week later; at some point, his path had doubled back on itself, and he could do nothing but curse silently as the warmth ebbed away once again.
And so it has been this, for a frigid year and a half: Kudu wanders, skirting the edges of newly-established territories and haunting the fringes of the Meadow. He exists, if quietly. Much of his time is spent contemplating the Mountain's distant blue shadow and wondering when - if ever - the goddess will tire of Her punishment, and if he'll be happy for the fire's return or not. He doesn't often think about his family these days. Surely the upheaval has scattered them in all directions - his mother, certainly, has been making a concentrated effort to avoid Beqanna since the changes, assuming she's even aware of them at all. No - it's rare that his family is ever on his mind.
Naturally, this is when he would bump into one of them.
The heat of the summer sun is uncomfortable in a way that his absent skin of flames is not, and it is just enough to drive him out of the near-shelterless Meadow and into the treeline that encircles it. The Forest is blessedly cool by comparison, all deep green shadows and muted hooves on pine needles where the Meadow is stifling sunshine and the constant drone of bees. Kudu spends a few minutes lazing under a tall pine, basking in the shade, the quiet, the--
One of those aforementioned green shadows is moving.
The blue stallion stands up a little straighter, eyes narrowing as the shape - indistinct in the dappled gloom of the trees - draws nearer and resolves itself into something more horselike. Someone sturdier. Greener. Fuck. Is he looking at him? Kudu stands very still for a moment, as if his vibrantly blue and green self is somehow going to fade into the trees like their mother used to do. Perhaps, he thinks, if he turns and starts toward the Meadow this instant, Wyrm will think he's got somewhere to be and won't follow.
Only in his wildest dreams. Kudu remains rooted to the spot, cobalt ears pricked resignedly as his twin steps through the trees. He manages a weak smile, which is better than none at all; he'd probably be glad to see his brother if it weren't for the years that stretch between them.
"Let me guess," he says at last, tilting his head a little in a gesture that is, unwittingly, reminiscent of their mother. "Where've I been, right?"
Thrice, now, he's fled the place, and thrice he has returned. The first time, he was a gangly two-year-old, and his mother had chased him, driven him beyond the borders with flared wings and a wolf's snapping teeth while he'd slunk sullenly ahead of her. They'd parted ways eventually - a wildfire in the dry season wasn't so uncommon, and he'd known she would escape unharmed, she with her strong wings and quick wits - and curiosity had tugged at him until he returned, too keen to discover what had happened to the rest of his family. And then he'd met the girl - the little one, Lily, the fire-lover - and the guilt had stirred in his chest, and he'd stolen away in the night without ever bothering to reach out to Wyrm or Lupei, wherever they were.
And then - the third time.
Beqanna was not as he'd remembered it, that last time - and when he crossed over the borders, drawn as if called to witness the way She'd swept everything aside to remake Her creation, the ever-present heat thrumming under his skin had simply vanished. For the first time, Kudu was cold.
He should have been glad for it, he knew, but the only thought that crossed his mind when he heard the news was whether or not She'd laughed as She turned the land inside-out. So he'd left, already missing the flames and all that came with them, only to stumble back into the land not even a week later; at some point, his path had doubled back on itself, and he could do nothing but curse silently as the warmth ebbed away once again.
And so it has been this, for a frigid year and a half: Kudu wanders, skirting the edges of newly-established territories and haunting the fringes of the Meadow. He exists, if quietly. Much of his time is spent contemplating the Mountain's distant blue shadow and wondering when - if ever - the goddess will tire of Her punishment, and if he'll be happy for the fire's return or not. He doesn't often think about his family these days. Surely the upheaval has scattered them in all directions - his mother, certainly, has been making a concentrated effort to avoid Beqanna since the changes, assuming she's even aware of them at all. No - it's rare that his family is ever on his mind.
Naturally, this is when he would bump into one of them.
The heat of the summer sun is uncomfortable in a way that his absent skin of flames is not, and it is just enough to drive him out of the near-shelterless Meadow and into the treeline that encircles it. The Forest is blessedly cool by comparison, all deep green shadows and muted hooves on pine needles where the Meadow is stifling sunshine and the constant drone of bees. Kudu spends a few minutes lazing under a tall pine, basking in the shade, the quiet, the--
One of those aforementioned green shadows is moving.
The blue stallion stands up a little straighter, eyes narrowing as the shape - indistinct in the dappled gloom of the trees - draws nearer and resolves itself into something more horselike. Someone sturdier. Greener. Fuck. Is he looking at him? Kudu stands very still for a moment, as if his vibrantly blue and green self is somehow going to fade into the trees like their mother used to do. Perhaps, he thinks, if he turns and starts toward the Meadow this instant, Wyrm will think he's got somewhere to be and won't follow.
Only in his wildest dreams. Kudu remains rooted to the spot, cobalt ears pricked resignedly as his twin steps through the trees. He manages a weak smile, which is better than none at all; he'd probably be glad to see his brother if it weren't for the years that stretch between them.
"Let me guess," he says at last, tilting his head a little in a gesture that is, unwittingly, reminiscent of their mother. "Where've I been, right?"