"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
He moves through the forest as an elk, ink black with that same copper marbling through his fur. His antlers likewise glimmer metallic in the full moon as his long, slow strides weave between ancient trees and over gnarled roots. This form is similar enough to his that it’s easy to maintain. It’s also different enough that he feels comforted to be out of his own skin for a while. The spring nights are chilly and his breath forms thin puffs of white before his lips when he crosses into the meadow. He likes how he towers over the tall grasses here even after their sudden spring growth.
Lately, Hyaline has been more and more tempting to return to even if he doesn’t recognize anyone there. Would his reflection in that lake please him or would it revolt him to see what has become of his face? Risk is sure there is an ugly scar across his throat but he hasn’t gathered the nerve to see. Even now, the skin is slick and warped where those teeth found his pulse, hidden beneath shaggy fur. He lifts his head and it tilts at the sight of her. There’s a fury pulsing through her and yet he draws closer anyway.
Would she recognize him? She’s a clever hunter, he remembers. Of course she will.
And if not, what’s another scar or three?
But what to say? He pauses and realizes there are no words gathering at the tip of his tongue as they normally do. Risk swallows hard and bridges the space between them at last, lowering his large head to hers curiously. The changeling does not let his lips meet her coat but he searches her scent for some answer. What he expected, he does not know, but it provides him with no clue as to what she’s been up to.
“Sochi,” he begins, still so unsure of himself. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Risk wants to laugh at himself for saying things so stupid. Kelynen used to tease him for the way he stumbled through conversations and often spoke too loud. He almost craves that sort of picking and prodding these days.
“Or we can just walk for a while. I don’t have any more dying on the agenda, so I’m free.”
She wishes that she could understand the turmoil in her chest. She wishes it was simple to understand; she wishes it was simple to dissect and she could easily split it apart. Instead, she has a storm that brews in her veins that she can’t stop. Something that rages behind her eyes and makes her equal parts frustrated and confused and lost—driving her from the home she has made for years now and into the wilderness. She is grateful that she has more answers than she did before but she finds it does not soothe her.
Not completely.
Not even the hunt can do that some nights now.
Still, she pads her way through the forest this evening, her footfall heavier than it would be if she was actively stalking a hunt, the earth malleable beneath her paws. There are scents here and there that catch her attention, but not enough to stall her or divert her attention. Instead she keeps moving forward, feeling the chill of the air brush through her thick fur and wraps around her nose, a calming sensation.
When she does catch a hint of a smell—something familiar—she angles herself toward it almost without thinking. When she comes across the elk, she pauses, confusion washing across her feline face until she catches sight of the mismatched eyes. She stands still as he moves toward her as the giant prey, observing the jagged scar of his throat and battling the instinctual desire to rip it apart along the same seams.
Instead she remains until he finally says her name. She laughs quietly, shifting into her other form and shaking the dust from her black coat. “Do I strike you as the kind to enjoy talking about it?” Of course, he doesn’t know her that well, but she assumes he’s picked up enough details about her to understand that much. Enough that she rolls a shoulder. “Walking would be infinitely preferable. Even if you don’t die.”
A hint of humor as she eyes the elk, feeling a hunger roil in her belly that she promptly ignores.
she said a war ain't a war before both sides bleed
Risk had nearly drowned in the confusion and the hurt that came with his resurrection. He had picked it all apart a hundred times as though some new clue would help it all make sense and stop the ache. He wonders if he had the same look of rage and hurt in his eyes as Sochi does now but he doesn’t mention any of this aloud. She wouldn’t want him to waste his breath on musings that do nothing to salve her mood.
If she sank her teeth into his throat and reopened all those old wounds, he would probably find it in himself to forgive her. But instead she speaks and her words summon a strange laugh from the depths of his chest. Of course he had an inkling that perhaps she would not share her woes with him as easily as he confided in her, but he supposed he should offer anyway. What sort of friend wouldn’t at least ask? If they are friends, that is. He sheds the elk form in favor of his own – the broad black chest with copper lines marbling his torso. For a flickering moment, he keeps the antlers. They make him look rather handsome, he thinks.
“No, you don’t strike me that way at all. You like to remain mysterious, and that’s half of why I like you,” he admits with a softer laugh than before. He does not confess the other reasons he enjoys her company. Those are his own secrets to keep tucked away until the end of time. Risk takes the first step on their little journey to who knows where as he considers her words.
“Well I’ve got nothing but time, so we’ll see if we can fit a little death into our day,” he offers with a shrug to mimic her own. His smile is warm and sincere, lacking the nerves he usually held around her. He even lets his shoulder bump into hers. Risk is normally frugal with his affections but he finds it easy to be forthcoming when she’s clearly having a dismal time. “I’m thinking of going home to Hyaline. I’ve spent nearly a year wandering, now. You could come too, if you wanted?”
He keeps his eyes focused on the path ahead and his expression gives no sign of his emotions behind the offer.
@[sochi] wow they touched shoulders. that's like making out if you're in middle school.
It is easy to be in his company, she thinks—or, rather, as easy as anything was these days. He does not goad her into fury or push her into unpacking her emotions, and she is grateful that he can accept that is simply not ready to discuss it. She prefers the quiet between them. The way that he falls into step next to her and lets her simmer in her rage and confusion—living in the breaths of the hurt that exist within her.
“Maybe I don’t like to remain mysterious,” she says with a flicker of a smile, something like humor that catches the edge of her lip and then disappears. “Maybe I just am mysterious.” It is not a word that she often prescribes to herself. To be honest, she doesn’t do much self-reflecting of any kind very often, and she finds it strange to think of others trying to understand her more than she understands herself.
She rolls a shoulder and then falls quiet again.
Far be it for her to tell Risk what to think about or not.
She laughs at his next jest, feeling the warmth of his massive shoulder against her own. She doesn’t balk or step away and it is the only way that she knows how to tell him that she enjoys his company. His next words though cause her to flick her silvery gaze up to him, narrowing slightly. “It has been a long time since I’ve considered Hyaline home,” she muses. “I’m not certain that I am ready to see it again.”
Last time someone had led her there, she had been a pawn in a political game. A child traded between kingdoms. The Sanctuary hadn’t treated her poorly, but she always remembered what it meant to be someone passed between kingdoms without any true agency—even if she had volunteered for it.
“I would not mind spending more time with you wandering though.”
Then she turns her gaze back to the path before her.
she said a war ain't a war before both sides bleed
I was less than graceful, I was not kind
be out watching other lovers lose their spine
![[Image: sochi.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/rs3xFJR0/sochi.png)