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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    Circinae;
    #6
    It saddens her that even when they seem to find the right path together, he refuses to follow or be led. “Fine.” Circinae thinks as he pulls away from her touch, her warmth. She can only do so much and after all, she’s not the grey mare, is she? But the sting is good for the woodsy girl - it reminds Circy with a sudden clarity that he’s not hers to be lost in, not in the way that she can lose herself to the golden stallion. No matter how much she wanted to suffocate in the watery depths of that hard, unforgiving stare, it was nothing she could decide on her own. “Perhaps it’s not a chain you want to be linked to anyways.” She reasons, ears tilting upwards while the dim light of the forest ripples in a soft, passing breeze.

    Of course, his lips are upon her then: teasing briefly after the soft touch of his forehead against her neck. Her eyes return to him, a playful smile budding over her serious features, blooming wildly after he speaks. “You like that, huh?” She chuckles, a high note to cover any hint of disappointment. “Old habits die hard and I was born in the old world.” She offers, shrugging before turning to peer at him with a curious gaze. “No, that’s not strange.” The green mare says, though inwardly it makes her feel like an outsider. Family, the word she’s not been a part of until he’d found her in the Field. The one thing she still cannot touch or immerse herself in while she remains here. “I can understand the Pack and it’s needs, if anything.” She reasons, voice lowering.

    For a second she mulls over the thought, knowing it to be wholly true, but Ruan seems to be forgetting something that she certainly is not. Her head tilts, slender neck curving so that she can offer him a rather out-of-character serious gaze before softly asking, “And Reagan, she guides and protects us too, does she not?” The words tumble out before she can retract them, ending with the sharp snap of her jaw as it shuts tight. “Stupid.” She chastises inwardly, but the comment couldn’t have been helped. It was Reagan, after all, who had revealed her second trait and led her on the hunt too. Together they had equally brought her happiness and confidence, lifted her when she felt so incredibly low. Credit was due.

    It just seemed so unfair to her that after everything he already had, Ruan still seemed to hold power over her emotions.
    Circinae
    I need the crack of a whip, I need some blood in the cut
    HTML by Call
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    Messages In This Thread
    Circinae; - by Ruan - 03-10-2017, 01:46 PM
    RE: Circinae; - by Circinae - 03-10-2017, 04:32 PM
    RE: Circinae; - by Ruan - 03-11-2017, 09:02 PM
    RE: Circinae; - by Circinae - 03-13-2017, 01:08 PM
    RE: Circinae; - by Ruan - 03-16-2017, 12:52 AM
    RE: Circinae; - by Circinae - 03-18-2017, 05:41 PM



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