"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
12-29-2019, 08:45 PM (This post was last modified: 12-29-2019, 08:52 PM by lilliana.)
When the fog recedes, the sunlight is dazzling.
It smiles into her eyes and blinds her, causing the chestnut mare to blink as Lilliana tries to adjust her sight. Her blue eyes see the familiar ghosts of the massive redwoods emerging through the haze but there are other images that flash through her mind too, specters that remind her she has been in a waking dream.
(A palomino child, defiant and daring with wildfire amber eyes, glances at her as Lilli presses herself shyly into her mothers side.)
(A gilded face in sunglow that registers shock as his blue eyes find their mirror in the chestnut yearling that looks up at him.)
(A golden shoulder, striped in blue and shadow-)
That thought brings an iron wall in her mind and she shuts it out almost as immediately as it came. She blinks again, realizing, remembering, telling herself that she is home. That the grassy knoll she stands on, the trees that tower above her, that the cadence of waves that crash in the distance all tell her she is home. She is home and she lets the scent of pine and evergreen wash over her. There is nothing that brings her as much peace as knowing that she is back in Taiga.
Air can fill her lungs again. She is away from that desert, from that place that was and yet wasn't.
Lilliana turns her head, thinking that it must have been a dream. Her mind is again grasping for reason and it goes first to Neverwhere, remembering a touch on the shoulder that felt real. She thinks it must have been a trick of her subconscious, another reminder of all the wrongs she has done to perhaps her only true friend in Beqanna and that knots around her heart. She needs to go to Nerine.
('Nobody is looking for me,' comes her heavy admission. A familiar touch comes in reply, 'I am sorry if thats true.')
She feels oddly weak, like a newborn foal grasping their legs for the first time and so Lilliana doesn't move. She takes the moment to steady herself before she takes that first step. An ear twitches to the sound of the ebbing tide in the distance and a brief glance above shows the mist lingering at the treetops, a whole world existing above their heads that they would know nothing of. It's easy to imagine those clouds that Smidgen had spoke of, how it felt to spread imaginary wings and cut through them.
A moment, a moment is all she wants and then there it is.
It is the smell of the deserts in these woods and her bruised heart panics, rattles against her ribcage and her blue eyes widen. What weakness, fatigue had been there, tells her to flee because she can't go back. She doesn't want to return to that place of impossible choices. She can't. Even if it had been a fever dream, she doesn't want to revisit it even in her memories.
But it comes.
(A black mare too close to a cliff's edge, an angry stallion with orange eyes who extinguishes the life of a flame.)
And then she sees them. It stops her heart. How was any of this possible? How was this real? It had been a dream.. like Kagerus's dreamscape. It had been a dream... hadn't it? None of it could have been possible and yet when she sees the gold and black forms standing together beneath the Taigan trees, she remembers all of it. She remembers and even though she is confused (and they must be as well, to not exist and then to suddenly be), the Diplomat takes one step forward. Her gaze first goes to the flame and Lilliana feels the start of a wistful smile, "You're real." She murmurs. And then she looks to the black mare. She has never been so grateful, so relieved to see a stranger. "And you're together."
LILLIANA
light me up, i will blaze like a soul you have saved
01-16-2020, 01:43 PM (This post was last modified: 01-16-2020, 01:44 PM by anatomy.)
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i don't feel anything until i smash it up
It’s strange that they would be drawn to this land.
They’d both felt suffocated — claustrophobic — by the trees that surrounded them upon their return and yet, here they are, amongst the redwoods, trees higher than they could imagine. Anatomy is tempted to flatten the land, to carve out an oasis, to recreate her home; instead she continues on into the dense forest, pressed against her golden companion for comfort.
It’s beautiful in the spring, she admits. It’d been hundreds of years since she’d last experienced any season at all but here, the trees were green, baby squirrels and rabbits scurrying across the forest floor. It doesn’t suit her like the deserts did — dry, unforgiving — but it will do.
She and Craft come to a stop, aimless, and predictably, it isn’t long before they’re approached. The mare seems to know them, looks at them like she’s seen a ghost (or two).
“Yes,” she says, searching her brain for how she would know the small chestnut mare in front of her and coming up blank. She continues regardless, feigning recognition.
“Your home is lovely,” she says after a moment, politely, “we’d like to stay, if it’s alright with you.”
“We have a few... gifts we’d like to give our new home.” She touches her muzzle to Craft’s, then, and an invisible border surrounds Taiga. “Protection, from intruders,” she pauses, looking around at any others milling about, “and blessings for any children born here.”
She looks to Craft to see if she has anything to add, then back to the chestnut mare. “Would you show us around?”
ooc: Craft & Anatomy bring to their land protection in the form of an intruder alarm. Only those who belong to the land can hear the alarm informing them of an outsider. In addition, these Magic Entities will bless every foal born in their land with a zero- to one-space trait. In order to claim this trait, the foal (or foal-carrier) must post to Craft and/or Anatomy with their request (they do not need to wait for the Entity to reply as all requests are granted, but the post is required). “Those who belong to the land” is defined as any character who has the land icon next to their name.
@[lilliana] @[craft] @[Pteron] if you want to join?
finger trips across my cheek---------------- ----------------kiss me until i can't speak
From the part of the woods where the fog is still thick, the skewbald dun emerges. He could look ghostly – tall and pale and winged – but there is a pleasant smile on Pteron’s blue mouth makes him anything but. As always when in Taiga, the soft buzz of happiness colors his mind, a projection done out of habit. Pteron keeps the projection to himself, of course, and there is nothing in the air between himself and the three mares except a sense of anticipation.
The stallion comes to stand beside Lilliana, who he knows (if not well) and arrives shortly after the black mare’s request to stay.
Before he can answer, the darker mare offers a gift. It is not one he’d expected. Pteron has always been fond of magic, but this isn’t a sort he has heard of before. Protection from intruders is a useful boon, and the idea of blessings for children too. But why? He nearly asks, glances at Lilliana, and chooses not to. It’s better to not know some things.
“You are certainly welcome in Taiga,” he tells the black mare and her quieter golden companion.
“My name is Pteron. If you don’t mind, I would like to come along as Lilliana shows your our home. Perhaps you could tell me what has inspired your benevolence?”
She doesn’t know, really, why she’s here.
She knows she is compelled here, that her feet led her to this unknown kingdom (oh, how she aches for the deserts, for the dry sands and baking sun). She doesn’t know what Lilliana has seen, or even who the mare is, though Lilliana has seen some of the worst parts of her, parts Craft pretends don’t exist.
She pretends she isn’t wicked, see, that there is not a cruel streak running through her like a gold vein in the rock.
She pretends she isn’t wicked and so she smiles, standing beside Anatomy. She lets her speak, and she is glad, because she doesn’t know what she would say. She is still so confused, so much of the time, like she is trying to complete a puzzle with too many pieces missing. All she sees are the gaps.
“Protection,” she echoes, “and blessings for the children.”
As if she did not scorn her own son, born black and cursed from her loins.
She pretends she isn’t wicked.
She smiles as the pale stallion approaches, a hint of her old kingdom diplomacy coming back. She nods her head to him, listens to his name, his question.
“I think,” she says, “that Lilliana…helped us. And we’re very grateful.”
She is vaguely, purposefully so. She is compelled by forces she doesn’t understand. But she is here, in this strange kingdom, and polite as she waits to move on, to tour the land that she might call a home.
In the nights and weeks and months to come, she will dream of them.
She will dream of a desert blaze - the sinking feeling of the sand beneath her hooves and the way the ground never felt solid. She will dream of the intense heat on her back, a Sahara sun on her hide that she has never experienced anywhere else (in this world or any other). She will remember the fever that made her ache for thirst, the Oasis that almost made her beg for water. These are things she will dream of with faint remembrance. These are things that might even dull with time.
But is the death she will always remember.
Until the end of her days, there will be no unseeing the way that Craft’s body crumpled beneath the hooves of Garbage, that last fragile murmur of please before there was no sound at all.
Until the end of her days, there will be no unseeing the way that Anatomy had been a black shimmery shadow through the fog and that edge she skirted. There is no unhearing frantic her cry - Aida!
Lilliana isn’t sure how she knows. It isn’t so much Anatomy but her gaze never lingers there long. It goes to Craft who is still as regal and proud as Lilliana remembers but there is something different about her - something about her in this plane of existence - that seems different from the other. It reminds her of her mother when strangers gathered at their borders and Aletta could neither invite them in (never bring strangers to their sanctuary, she remembers) but the Regent was never so callous as to turn those away in need.
She isn’t sure how she knows but some part of her recognizes the conflict on her golden face.
Pteron, thankfully, comes. Lilliana glances behind her and smiles at the Comte, relieved to see him approach. When he comes alongside her, the chestnut settles into her role as a diplomat of the Taiga and nods her head at his greeting, an indication of his position within the Taiga - their leader. She manages to glance sidelong at the pegasus beside her, "They needed a place to stay so I offered respite in the Taiga.”
It’s a half-truth again; but not so far from the ones she usually offers. It’s the same one she offered Tyr. It’s the same one she had helped Aten offer Ruth.
When she glances back to the golden mare and her dark companion, Lilliana listens carefully as they mention the subject of gifts. Protection from intruders. And blessings for the children born. Something tugs at her heartstrings and her expression softens, "Thank you.. Your presence here though,” something fiercer burns in her chest, "is a gift in itself.”
They won’t know what she means. They won’t understand, she realizes as she looks to both mares. And Pteron would understand even less.
They don’t know, she thinks. And she decides then that in itself is a gift. They have been given their rebirth. They have been given the chance to rewrite their own endings. Not all are so fortunate and she will not squander it for them.
And then she smiles, "How do you feel about the sea?”
LILLIANA
light me up, i will blaze like a soul you have saved
