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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


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    [open]  I walk these lines of blasphemy every day || Any
    #3
    I am Heaven sent, don't you dare forget

    One minute there is only the soot on the wind and then there is a shimmering panther, a shade of blue he’s never seen before, at his side and surveying the wreckage with him. He flinches for a moment but doesn’t pull away, instead craning his neck to better look at her with his vibrant yellow gaze. “Me.” He finally says, remembering she had asked a question. He sighs and looks back at the crisp remains blowing around collective hooves and paws. “It seems pointless to destroy it all if I can’t bring it back.” He muses aloud as a flicker of flame dances across his lengthening mane and ripples across his backside in time with his rapid thoughts. This was much like the conundrum with the souls he connected with, that reasoning of their purpose still far beyond him.

    He finally turns to her, giving her his full attention as his eyes widen with a sudden dawning. “Oh, you’re the new girl aren’t you? My mom told me about you.” He says quietly, wondering what she looked like in her true skin. Aela had told him that the filly was trying to figure out her kind of "the good terrible" too and perhaps they could learn from each other. He wasn’t sure what he could learn from a shifter but he was curious to find out. The golden mare hadn’t steered him wrong yet.

    “I’m Fyr.” He says with an uncertain smile, shrugging his spotted shoulder as if to say he didn’t care how she pronounced it. The stirring of shadows mark the presence of his reach to the beyond and he can feel their icy touch as they try to make contact and come through. He resists the call for now, always uncertain of what reaction he might receive with a stranger. “Do you like it here so far?” He finally asks awkwardly, wondering what it would feel like to be stolen from the Pampas.
    fyr


    @Sickle


    Messages In This Thread
    RE: I walk these lines of blasphemy every day || Any - by Fyr - 09-06-2021, 11:33 PM



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