"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
Fechín sneaks, walks, and then darts through the night like an arrow shot from a straight bow. She has better things to do than sleeping; the moors need testing. Winter is approaching fast and unlike her mother and sister, the green and pink painted girl can’t seem to be bothered with the cold. He mother had frowned once and said something about her father - so, her grandpa. Now, Fechín knows about two things about her grandfather - he’s rude, and he spits ice like dragons of tales spit fire.
To her, that sounds like he’s living the ideal life. And that she’s taking after him, of course, because clearly Brienna is like her mother. That Fechín is the cool one of the two is something she has accepted long ago; just like the fact that she doesn’t ever get cold.
She doesn’t really bother where she goes or who she may wake in her race towards the northernmost beach in Nerine; she’ll go to the icy water, and she’ll teach herself how to spit ice, even if it takes years.
anger’s like a battery that leaks acid right out of me and it starts from the heart, till it reaches my outer me
@[Nashua] @[Amarine] time for some nighttime fun! Or a little acid-and-ice-and-tornado accident. Whichever comes first.
05-01-2020, 03:34 PM (This post was last modified: 05-01-2020, 03:34 PM by Amarine.)
Tornados from a butterfly's wing
"Does your mam know you're out?"
The black coated yearling looked like she could have been chipped directly out of the night sky, was nearly invisible in the half-moon light. She'd followed the rose garden girl half a mile through the grassy headland, wondering exactly what Fechín was up to so late. It was a rhetorical question, she realized. Of course Eurwen wouldn't know her more mischeivous daughter was wandering the moors when she should be sleeping.
She waited for the inevitable guilty-but-not-that-guilty look to cross her friend's face before letting a wicked smile paint her own. They were friends for a reason, after all. "Where are you off to, anyway? Brienna is going to throw a fit if she finds out we've been exploring without her." Not to mention Neverwhere.
It had been established early on that the brisk mare was not Ama's mother. Nor was Eurwen, or Lilliana. Ama didn't really have a mother, not like Fechín and Brianna did, or Nash and Yan. Yet each of the three mares had participated in her upbringing. In some ways that made her feel lucky. In others, not so much. Such as when she got in trouble. Funny enough, trouble seemed much easier to find with the ravenous Fechín by her side.
05-02-2020, 02:01 PM (This post was last modified: 05-02-2020, 02:02 PM by Nashua.)
NASHUA
Celina encourages his wandering.
Nashua still comes home to the small clearing with Yanhua but his older sister has been telling him perhaps it's best that he spends more time outside of Taiga. The winged yearling has wanderlust still burning in his veins so that recommendation isn’t a hard one for him to follow. He followed it right to where it took him now: Nerine.
He’s been practicing his glowing - trying really hard at maintaining or hiding it altogether - and it pays off.
When he comes into Nerine one cold night, the golden aura coming from his stripes lowers to the resonance of a flickering candle. He can be seen but just barely, only for someone looking for him. He casts shadows on the ground, striping them like the ones he has on his legs.
He runs when he hears running. Out of habit, he spreads his wings and.. and.. His hooves lift off the ground for a few marvelous seconds. It’s happening! It’s really happening! He’s flying and the yearling colt laughs, boisterous and proud and loud, until he’s not flying anymore.
Nashua is falling, and with all the grace of sinking rock, barrels into what he assumes is a log.
Close enough. It’s Amarine.
”Augh,” he groans as he rises to his hooves, glancing to the dark silhouettes of the fillies. Girls aren’t so bad, Elio had told him. They are when you fly into them, he thinks, still struggling to rearrange his wings and legs in the dark.
”Ama? Fech? What in the Four Winds are you two doing?”
The same question could easily be asked of him - hence why Nash asked it first.
and for every king that died they would crown another
It doesn't take long to lure them out; in fact, she's really not surprised to find Ama quickly on her heels at all.
Turning to the midnight-and-gemstone filly, Fechín shrugs a little. "She knows about as much as Neverwhere." she grins playfully at the girl, though she knows Ama is a hundred percent right about her twin sister. Though Brienna doesn't often want to come, not giving her a chance to would probably result in the Silent Treatment for at least a day - she's good at that - Fechín didn't want to risk waking her mother either.
It's then when Nash crashes into the other filly - at least he has the decency not to crash into Fechín herself - and it conveniently excuses her need to answer. He still asks the same question however; to which the pink-and-green girl puffs her chest to declare. "I'm going to make ice. Ama is just a bad lookout." She sticks out her tongue to the other girl, expecting her to understand it as the playful gesture it is.
anger’s like a battery that leaks acid right out of me and it starts from the heart, till it reaches my outer me
@[Nashua] @[Amarine] So I totally forgot that it was my turn. I hope you're okay if I continue this <3?
![[Image: jCdBK6.png]](https://img.nickpic.host/jCdBK6.png)