"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
There is the melancholy sound of a lone whippoorwill somewhere in the near distance.
It should be an omen, perhaps.
His Ma would have said so, certainly. His Ma would have told him to turn tail and find the water, find the current, find home. Of course Ma would have wanted him to come home. She would have welcomed him back into the fold. She would have fussed over him. Every stray, coppery tendril of his wild hair would be put back into place. She would tell him he looks thin and ragged; she would tell him to eat more ‘fore winter comes a‘steppin. She would kiss the top of his head and say he could stay as long as he liked a’course.
Hearing that whippoorwill should be an omen, would be to anyone else in his Clan.
Finian throws a withering look in the bird’s general direction, chortles to himself, and pushes ahead.
He’s not completely unfamiliar to Beqanna, after all. He had passed through half a year or so ago on his epic journey. It was meant to be a stepping stone into the greater world beyond, a place he could mentally check off and write off and never visit again. But there had been a catch. The last time he came, Finian went to the Mountain. And ever since then, the sunrise lands have rudely pushed their way into his thoughts.
Now, he finds himself hopelessly lost in the place. He loves being lost.
There’s a decent field he finds just beyond the shore he had beached himself on. Reasonably hungry, Fin makes his way slowly through the tall grasses, chomping as he goes. He’s utterly alone and rather discouraged at his quiet re-entry to Beqanna until he sees a pair of ladies in the near distance. With a compass to finally guide him, he plods in their direction. Poor Ma would have a lot to say about me chasing girls, wouldn’t she now? But he doesn’t make it to them. There’s the crunch of other feet and he turns -
She is all soot and sweat, blood and tears. The sky above Loess had been reduced to smog; it was still in flames when she had left the territory behind her, but there was nothing more she could do for it right now. Nothing more she could do for her people except hope they had made it out of the chaos and to safety. She would let the foothills burn without her presence to lament them, and would hope for rain in the meantime.
It is Spring, after all ─ perhaps the Fairies will gift them with relief.
It's not until she reaches the Field that the smoke in the sky begins to lessen. She is able to inhale her first soot-free breath in hours, and she partakes enthusiastically. Oceane coughs the ash from her lungs and allows her wings to lay wide open as she coasts over the flat meadow. Towards the center, a small pond rests. She continues to cough, the force of each one bringing tears to her eyes, until she stumbles upon landing behind a rabicano stallion.
Oceane sees him turn in reaction to the sound but pays him no immediate attention as she stumbles her way into the cool pond. Ash falls away from her opaline body, drifting on the surface of the water in ringlets away from the Loessian Queen. Her turquoise head dives beneath the surface, filling her mouth and her nostrils and her ears until she raises once more from the basin.
Sobs threaten to grip her chest but she refuses to let them do so ─ not here, not away from the sanctity of her sandstone canyon. Instead she turns in the water until she is facing the shore, allowing her feathered wings to settle against the surface beside her. “Sorry,” she whispers, the singular word raspy, as her gilded eyes collide with the stallion whose trek she had interrupted.
09-17-2020, 04:07 PM (This post was last modified: 09-17-2020, 04:18 PM by Leilan.)
Leilan
His homecoming hadn’t exactly been what he’d expected, and sometimes when he lets himself, he can still be upset with the ease with which his actions had been dubbed as fleeing the scene, of leaving them behind. Never trust a dragon, sure - not for protection in the way a mother hen does he chicks. But it kind if stinks that Pangea’s new pool was the last thing they’d expected.
Speaking of pools, however - the stream he’s drinking from brings soot and ash, and he lifts his head accordingly. A familiar pearlescent purple catches his eye, even when not fully cleaned, and he calls to her. ”Oceane!”
She looks unhappy. Distracted.
Loess had burned too, he remembers now.
He draws closer to her and the man on the shore, nodding politely to the latter. ”Sorry for disrupting you on this morning. I hope you’re well.” he says by a ways of greeting. Unlike Oceane he doesn’t smell of soot and ash a lot, anymore. But his home was a burnt one too.
Sadly, seemed that was no longer a unique feature.
I am the dragon and you call me insane
Image commissioned by Vanilla, made by AshesDrawn on DA
@[Finian] @[Oceane]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
09-29-2020, 05:00 PM (This post was last modified: 09-29-2020, 05:01 PM by Finian.)
I fell for your magic, I tasted your skin
He hears the cough and the crunch of a rough landing and swivels his ears to track the aftermath. His head follows in short order, and when he sees the new girl who has fallen from the sky, he finds himself now surrounded by Beqannians instead of hopelessly alone.
A grin twists his lips at her rather dramatic entrance. But just as Finian is moving forward to greet her, she brushes by him and heads for a small pool just beyond. He had seen the pool before, but it was merely a shallow dip between one rise of the field and the next. Probably it is filled and emptied depending on the variability of the local rainfall. It is nothing like the tide pools of home. Seeing it reminds him of his fryhood, though. He remembers cavorting through the rough wavebreak with his friends, wearing himself ragged, and then curling up in the sun-warmed tide pools and sleeping alongside the starfish. He remembers the cold brine in the wind as it lifted and tangled the dual hairs of his mane, the clinking of the seashells already caught in his hair as if it were a net at sea. He remembers the hard clash of the ocean and the soft breath of his mother wuffing in his face and waking him. Ah, the things he will miss if he stays here.
The mare seems to enjoy this pool, at least. He watches her with his curious seafoam eyes. She goes to the water easily, unwinds within it as if spilling her secrets to an old friend. It is then that the acrid scent of fire and ruin reaches his nostrils and her intent becomes clearer. Water is a balm whereas fire is blight. He curls his lip in disgust even as understanding begins to grip him. He can see the moment she teeters on the edge of wanting to dissolve into the water, to let loose her composure and sink into the mud that is surely under her feet. Somehow, she remains standing instead.
Her resolve is admirable even if her voice betrays her. “S’all right. Don’t worry ‘bout me.” Fin moves toward the bank of the pool, stopping only when his front hooves are wetted by the disturbed water. His normally jovial mood is absent in present company – even he knows a time and place, mostly. “Wha’ about you? Are you all right, lass?” He tilts his head to take her in with a more critical eye. “Looks like you’re the holder of an unfortunate story. I’m right sorry for it.”
Just as he’s going to tell her she can maybe tell him one day, that this day should be spend recovering, they are joined by another. This one is a male, and Finian is disappointed to find that he’s not the only stallion in the land after all. He nods in the stranger’s direction when he reveals Oceane’s name but not his own. “Never well when a pretty lady is hurtin’. But thanks anyhow.” He’s no knight, but some kind of protectiveness bubbles up within him. The earth-toned stallion seems to know Oceane to some extent – maybe they can both get her home? “Name’s Finian. This is only my second day here in this land. Wha’ happened?”
The water, cool from the crisp spring mornings, is comforting. It shocks her away from catatonia and, though her voice rasps as she turns to face the rabicano man, she feels much more alert when her golden eyes befall him. Oceane remains in the basin; the water laps at her endearingly and the mud beneath her hooves holds her tight. It feels safe.
She tries not to think of Loess. Or of Lepis.
An image of Lepis' charred wings, burned into the woman's head, rises unwelcome. She inhales sharply through clenched teeth and tries her best to keep her attention on the stranger before her. She focuses on his warm expression, on the spotting of his coat, on the accent with which he speaks. Anything to keep her from falling to pieces.
He excuses her abrupt landing, offers her comfort.
Oceane smiles, and though it doesn't come anywhere near reaching her gilded eyes, the appreciation she feels is apparent. Oceane! Her gaze is pulled swiftly to the side and to the comfortingly familiar form that approaches them. “Leilan,” she whispers, the rawness of her throat hindering the projection of her voice. “How is my boy? And the Isle?” Her questions are hurried whispers. So much has happened - and none of it good. She can only hope that Alcinder is still safe upon the northern isle.
“Finian,” she turns back to the rabicano stallion, repeating his name aloud with warmth to convey her appreciation of his presence and the kindness he has already offered her. “My home has burned,” she whispers to them before forcing herself to take a deep breath. She lowers her head to take a sip of the cold basin water and then, with as much strength as she can muster, she turns her gilded gaze back to the men.
“Loess has burned and the Queen - my friend - who ruled at my side has been murdered. I have to go back and -” she pauses, because what is there to do right now when the land is still aflame?
“I will have to rebuild,” she adds as an afterthought, her gaze slipping from her grasp so that she stares into nothingness once more.
The conversation he has busted into is not a very bright one, all things considered. Truth is, when he’d called out to the Southern Queen he hadn’t honestly thought about anything at all. The first thing she asks about being Alcinder, he gives a reassuring nod. ”The Isle remains,” he says and with that, she should know, Alcinder does too. Last he heard, him and Cormorant and Nashua were having a good tome together.
Remembering that Loess had burned as well, and hearing her say it, his mouth draws a rather straight line across his face, nodding sternly when the other stallion - Finian - says it’s not too well when the lady is clearly not. ”Lepis...” the name feels foreign on his lips. He’d always assumed she’d be there, stick around - that she was gone was something entirely new to Leilan’s mind, something he still didn’t quite understand or yet realise. ”So that’s where he went,” he adds in softly, more like a murmur than anything else. ”Nerine, too, and part of Taiga, but the children he sent were more easily contained. We’ve had a bunch of magicians visit us though - Brennen disappeared, I hear he nearly died.” A small sigh escapes the icy roan as he looks to the mare, offering a nose to her cheek should she let him. That they share the moment with Finian now comes to mind only a moment later, and so the tattooed male smiles politely at him, too. Deep blue eyes surface him for a moment, then Leilan makes a shrugging motion. ”I’m Leilan, as she said,” he continues trying not to sound too grave. ”King of the North, for all the good that does -“ not much, really, in his opinion, ”Oceane is Queen of the Southern lands.” he smiles. ”Seems you chose a difficult time to search for a home though. Both our kingdoms have burned - we have the former king in the East to thank.” Former, because even if Leilan doesn’t know of his death, he certainly knows about Straia succeeding him. Whether that was something the draconic stallion had wanted doesn’t matter to the shifter; it’s her he doesn’t feel like getting mad.
All things considered she already might be, but that’s a madness of the other type - and Leilan knows he’s not the one to be pointing fingers in that regard. ”You could say rebuilding is something I’m good at, though. If there’s anything you need, let me know.” He knows full well that Noah is a southerner, and that Loess is more likely to get a fast recovery than the North; but Oceane herself, well, she needs to be strong too - but the strong need their own ways of coping, he knows first-hand. Somehow he doesn’t think she wants to go raiding the lands in the east, but whatever else he can offer, she can have.
I am the dragon and you call me insane
Image commissioned by Vanilla, made by AshesDrawn on DA
@[Finian] @[Oceane]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
10-19-2020, 10:04 PM (This post was last modified: 10-19-2020, 10:04 PM by Finian.)
I fell for your magic, I tasted your skin
Her smile makes him feel better. Not a lot, but it is a start.
It is not the gut-busting heartiness he is used to procuring from his audience. He is rather a scholar of smiles, is used to being the source of them, and knows that the one Oceane sends his way is not his best work. It is obvious that she is hurting more deeply than a perfect stranger can easily resolve. It is clear that his humor – the sword he has used to slay many a dragon – is ill-suited in this instance. Finian knows water too, though. The way she lets the water hold her is telling of the gravity that would otherwise pull her down outside of her safe pool. He’s been there himself and the water has never drowned him.
The opalescent woman turns to the other man – Leilan, he learns – and Finian is quiet watching them, listening to the cadence of familiarity between them. My boy. The Isle. So she’s a mother, then. And Leilan? Is he charged with watching her son as a ward of his home? Fin has heard of such different customs from some of the other lands he has traveled to. It would be inconceivable in his homeland, the thought of children leaving the nest so early. When he was but a fry, his Ma threatened to tie his tail to the biggest and deepest coral to keep him from ever leaving the shoal. He laughed then (as he was wont to do often and emphatically), but he couldn’t know how he’d break his mother’s heart by leaving only a few short years later.
Shaking away his own demons, the pale stallion readies himself to deal with someone else’s. He hasn’t come to Beqanna on some mission or hero’s journey. He had come back because something in the land spoke to him of a potential adventure waiting just around the next cliffside or under the next wave. The Mountain, with its imposing façade and shroud of fog spiraling around the peak, told him that he could share in a greater story than he could have otherwise imagined. And now, here in front of him, could be the first chapter waiting to be written.
He’s no knight, but maybe he can be the jester bringing some joy and light back into their soot-darkened world.
“I’ll help,” he says sooner than he knows what he is committing to. “I don’t know this land – you’ll have ‘ta show me what’s right side up and upside down – but I’ll help.” Finian meets Oceane’s gaze with his own, holding it like a tether in rough seas, an anchor if she’ll take it. He turns to Leilan then, too, shifting his leathery wings to a more comfortable and looser position. “You too, if you need it that is.” He rolls his shoulders in a shrug. “I’ll follow Oceane first and find you next.” Fin shifts his attention back to the water-bound woman. “No one should ever have ‘ta walk through the aftermath alone.”
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