06-20-2019, 09:28 PM
SO GIVE ME HOPE IN THE DARKNESS THAT I WILL SEE THE LIGHT
'CAUSE OH THAT GAVE ME SUCH A FRIGHT
'CAUSE OH THAT GAVE ME SUCH A FRIGHT
It’s dark, though it’s rarely truly dark in Nerine. Somehow the stars and moon keep the rocks and sand and cliffs lit in all but the most extremely cloudy weather. Even Brennen is dozing, knee-deep in the crashing surf, numb to the cold of the ocean here even as he’s half-dreaming of Ischia’s warm waters. And when did that happen? When did he stop dreaming about the Tundra and the water there so cold it steals breath from your lungs, and start dreaming about a tropical Island he’d abandoned for a woman who couldn’t really promise him her heart?
He’s not in the habit of intentionally reading minds, but he keeps his own mind open and scanning for things that could cause himself, his family, or his home problems, and he’s made even more sensitive by the way he’s wide open channeling magic standing in his prime element, and so her distress is like a homing beacon. It draws him away from dream-Ischia and the phosphorescent algae and back into the dark night, and he only pauses to throw a mental rope for their queen, which if she chooses to catch it will draw her into the maelstrom of this mare’s distress as well, and act like a homing beacon to bring Heartfire to them.
And then – in a blink – he’s out of the water and standing in front of the stranger instead. His amber eyes are sharp, not at all like she’s pulled him out of a half-trance half-sleep state. There’s a readiness in his posture, not a tense look but as if he could be once more a warrior at any moment. He’s still soaked, wet to the knee and hock and half of his wings dripping from where they were submerged. “Hello,” he keeps his voice quiet out of respect for other sleepers, and it’s raspy from disuse. “You’re upset. I’m Brennen, the champion, and I’ve called for Heartfire. What is the matter?”
He’s not in the habit of intentionally reading minds, but he keeps his own mind open and scanning for things that could cause himself, his family, or his home problems, and he’s made even more sensitive by the way he’s wide open channeling magic standing in his prime element, and so her distress is like a homing beacon. It draws him away from dream-Ischia and the phosphorescent algae and back into the dark night, and he only pauses to throw a mental rope for their queen, which if she chooses to catch it will draw her into the maelstrom of this mare’s distress as well, and act like a homing beacon to bring Heartfire to them.
And then – in a blink – he’s out of the water and standing in front of the stranger instead. His amber eyes are sharp, not at all like she’s pulled him out of a half-trance half-sleep state. There’s a readiness in his posture, not a tense look but as if he could be once more a warrior at any moment. He’s still soaked, wet to the knee and hock and half of his wings dripping from where they were submerged. “Hello,” he keeps his voice quiet out of respect for other sleepers, and it’s raspy from disuse. “You’re upset. I’m Brennen, the champion, and I’ve called for Heartfire. What is the matter?”
BUT I WILL HOLD AS LONG AS YOU LIKE
JUST PROMISE ME WE'LL BE ALRIGHT
JUST PROMISE ME WE'LL BE ALRIGHT
Brennen
@[Heartfire] @[Izora Lethia]