"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
05-12-2020, 07:23 PM (This post was last modified: 05-19-2020, 03:18 PM by Celina.)
Her breathing is heavy when she lands in the shallow snow of the dry creekbed. The earth here is flat and predictable, which the tired mare needs. She’d found this empty channel some months ago, and marveled at the strangeness of the thing. IT was like one of the canyons of Loess, but of earth alone. A few miles upstream the beavers who’d so industrially dammed the creek are enjoying their new lake, and Celina enjoys the certainty of a good landing even in a forest place.
It is important to have a good landing place anywhere you mean to fly, she’s been taught.
She remains still for some time, allowing the fast beat of her heart to slow along with her breathing. When her breath clouds the snowy air in large and even clouds she finally moves forward again, keeping to trail of the creek until she arrives at the River itself. Pulling her feathered wings tightly to her sides, the white mare makes her way down the edge of the water. Her nostrils, lined with dozens of delicate silver scales, flare rapidly, searching for her father’s scent. She’s been looking since she left Nerine, and had found nothing in the Field or the Forest. This is her last best chance, yet Celina finds nothing after several hours of searching.
The green-eyed mare glances up at the swiftly darkening sky, her long-jawed mouth slightly agape. Each of her sharp teeth are illuminated in turn by the bright yellow green glow of the fireflies that circle her head and neck. Soon it will be night, and there is no use searching in darkness. For all her use of scent, she is no hound to track what she cannot see or hear. She looks around and spies a thicket that would make a good resting place, then wades into the stream to begin luring in her dinner. Her face is expressionless as she stares down into the water. Even were she to smile, it would have been gruesome, for her mouth is far too wide. Celina is no beauty, but as the blinking fireflies work in unnatural unison to draw in a catfish as long as her foreleg, it is clear she possesses other, more useful attributes for survival.
She is hauling the catfish up the bank when she hears the sound of another creature. Celina freezes, dinner in her mouth and preventing speech, and casts about with her eyes and flicking ears to find the source of the noise.
@[Squirt]
celina i'm that bad type, make-your-mama-sad type make-your-girlfriend-mad type, might-seduce-your-dad type
For most of Tamlin’s life, he had not thought about how wolves are not exactly native to the jungle. At least, not the grey wolves he had taken to hanging out with since his powers manifested. His pack had ‘moved in’ when they were attracted to him one day and it was only recently that this intelligent stallion pieced together why they usually hung out on the edges of Tephra.
They didn’t like it!
A truly distressing notion for someone who basically only had wolves for friends. This evening, in an effort to see where they preferred to hang out, he was following them. Lightly stalking, if you will. He flew above them in the sky, trailing behind them as they inevitably moved away from the humid world he called home.
As a failing of his own biology, when darkness began to set in he had to abandon the pursuit and land for a rest and that is when he saw some glowing by the river. Like the catfish she had ensnared, the fireflies drew Tamlin in. He folded his mis-matched wings against his side as he approached, not feeling any sense of cautiousness to deter him.
Maybe if Tamlin hadn’t made a habit of hanging around with wolves he would find the sight stranger than he did. Of course it was definitely strange but it wasn’t repulsive, more on the amusing side of strange. He tilted his head to the side the way a curious pup might, a bright grin lit up his warm brown eyes.
She seemed to have paused upon his approach, so Tamlin stepped a little closer and eyed the impressive catfish. “Well, don’t let me interrupt. That’s a pretty big snack you got there.”
She remains all but motionless while she searches for the stranger, only her silver ears flicking back and forth until he finally hears him speak and is able to pinpoint his location. Celina does not like having the wind used against her, and it makes her somewhat more cautious even as she resumes her climb up the bank. The horse there is not one she knows but he seems content to leave her to her meal, which is the way that Celina prefers strangers.
So while he grins at her, Celina drops the fish and begins to consume it. This is a messy ordeal, mostly involving ripping it into smaller pieces and tossing her head back to swallow them whole. Through it all, she does her best to maintain eye contact with the winged horse, assuming he does not simply leave her to finish alone. Her eyes flick across his wings and skin, both a rosey shade of fading chestnut. His hair is so thickly twined with greenery that she knows they must grow there with magic. His hooves, what she can see of them, are shiny. Is there more to him, she wonders, recalling her encounter with the splashy buckskin?
By the time she’s eaten three-quarters of the catfish, she is beginning to feel uncomfortably full.
She considers leaving it, but what if this flower-haired stranger tries to take it?
Perhaps it would be wise to not give him the chance at all, Celina thinks.
“You can have the rest, if you want.” The dark haired mare tells him, taking a single step away from last of her mangled supper. How close will he come, she wonders? Will he come at all. Her pale face tilts curiously, watching him with unshielded interest. The look is not hungry (not with her belly so full), but it is likely to be uncomfortable intense.
@[Tamlin]
celina i'm that bad type, make-your-mama-sad type make-your-girlfriend-mad type, might-seduce-your-dad type
Tamlin waits while she eats - surprised a little that a horse eating flesh is no different than watching a wolf. He might have diverted his eyes, but he could see the glint of hers on him while she feasted and if this creature can watch him, then he can certainly watch her back.
It doesn’t take as long as he thought, and he was just about to ask her whether the bones caused any problems, when she invites him to have the rest.
After only a heartbeat of thought, Tamlin approaches. He does not feel any sense of unease while near this fish-eating girl. Should he? She’s shown no aggression towards him so far, just towards the unfortunate catfish. Whether it’s bravery or stupidity, Tamlin steps clower - lowering his head to the fish. It stinks but he doesn’t jerk back his head like he wants to. He is careful not to get his hair in the goo, though, as it cascades down around him.
This feels like a game, one that he thinks he knows the rules to. It is like something he would play with his siblings or his wolf friends - and just as he would with them, he shows no fear or hesitation with this firefly-adorned mare. He takes one bite and holds the gooey flesh in his mouth for a moment, tasting it, before opening his mouth again and letting it fall out.
Far from being defeated though, he just laughs as he raises his head up again. “Guess I’m just a boring old herbivore after all.” He doesn’t retreat (that’s part of the game too, isn’t it?) and instead just grins through the darkness. “Worth a shot though.” This would be a great time for him to have been one of the luck siblings to glow but the others sucked up all that light before he could get any of it.
When he comes closer, accepting her offer, Celina sidesteps again, giving him better access to the fish and herself a better angle to watch him from. Her seafoam eyes are partially obscured by the long fall of her navy forelock, behind which she stares unceasingly.
His open mouth reveals flat teeth even before he bites down, and Celina’s forehead furrows farther as he takes one of the smaller pieces she’s already torn loose and holds it in his mouth.
When it falls, she smiles, even before he begins to laugh.
So he is not a hunter, but he had been bold enough to try. That endears him to her in a way she does not quite have words for. Her appreciation for boldness is not small, and lingering this near to her is a bold enough action itself. Most often, she is used to being fled from. She enjoys it, even, and harkens back to the paint stallion who taken so quickly to the sky.
“I’m Celina,” she tells him. “Perhaps fish are not your forte. I have heard deer are better.” She has not tried, at least not tried to catch her own, and the haunch that she’d once found drifting along the Taigan shore was too salted to get a good idea of the flavor. Deer are quick things, yet they do not feel like prey in the same way that fish do.
@[tamlin]
celina i'm that bad type, make-your-mama-sad type make-your-girlfriend-mad type, might-seduce-your-dad type
Her smile seems worth the gross fish taste in his mouth that he is pretty sure is going to stick around for at least a few seasons. There’s certainly no sense of fear associated with her grin or any repulsion at all. His manner doesn’t shift from the relaxed, carefree stance that comes so naturally to him. He appreciates that she doesn't laugh at him, though, more than he'll ever let on. Tamlin hasn't met many cruel individuals in his young life but it's always pleasant to get confirmation that others are great.
His grin brightens a little more as she introduces herself and theorizes about deer being better. There’s another laugh from him, this one shorter but just as warm and showing his obvious delight as they both seem to enjoy this odd - but wonderful - conversation.
He does consider the idea, though it doesn’t require too much thought. Tamlin's thought about trying deer before. “I’ve seen my wolf friends eat deer, but deer are a little too… horse-like for me. What with the hooves and all.” He says this with a grin, though, pretending like his inability to eat deer is just about their relation to every single friend and family member he's ever had - and not because biology indicates that he is just not a carnivore no matter who he hangs out with.
