"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
The nightmares come with less triggers. They are always the same – a dead colt, a fleeing filly, and a missing mare. Their names escape me – that must be the way my mind has chosen to protect itself from the irreparable damage I caused myself. I shudder, pulling my useless wings closer to me. If you didn’t look closely, it would appear that I was just exceptionally fat. But if you looked, you would see the vague outline of the wings I have trained to remain at my sides. When I do extend them, which is very, very rarely, you would see they are stunted, miniscule, and absolutely worthless. They were a cause of shame when I was a colt, and so, I trained them to stay at my sides.
Looking at the rest of me, you would see a small stallion, standing a giant 14 hands. My fur is thick and lush, even in the summer. That’s what made me such a good match for her. Her name is on the tip of my tongue, but I dare not think it. My ice queen. How I miss her every day. And our twins. I wanted nothing more than to die with them, for certainly that’s what happened. But instead, I am alive. Grieving every moment of every day.
As I enter this new place, I am assaulted by the scents of innumerable horses. Mares in heat, stallions reeking of piss and testosterone. New plants caress my senses, and I am curious about this place. Will it become home, like the land before? I could only hope so. With a heavy sigh, I continue to look around, wanting nothing more than to see her face once again, knowing that it would never happen. There was no reprieve for a soul like mine. Maybe one day, I will tell the tale of how I came to be the silent. Everyone has a story to tell, right? Does it still count if you won’t speak about it? Curious.
ooc: oh, ffs. forgive me. It's been years since I've done this, and I'm rusty af. :/
I didn’t know what to do with myself since I had returned to Taiga. I constantly found myself pacing the forest in agitation, wandering the now familiar paths through the giant redwoods, with Memorie at my side. Well, maybe not at my side. She had grown more and more boisterous as the days ticked on. Now she is constantly running ahead to explore the forest or dropping behind to examine intricate details that the forest reveals. And she always manages to bring a smile to my face.
Today was not much different, as she shoots past me, her little hooves scraping over roots and dodging rocks like a pro (she only falls once a day now). Her speed, however, does not cause her to miss anything of interest, and within a matter of fifty yards, she skids to a halt. “Oh, mama! What’s this?” There is excitement in her voice as she dances on all four hooves, flipping her little tail into the air as I smile softly and trot the short distance between us.
When I reach her side, I slow to a stop. On the ground a short distance from the path is the most unusual-looking creature. It is almost alien-like, with its banana yellow coloring, its long antenna that retract when you touch it, and its very phallic-like shape. I laugh heartily and look down at her. “That, m’love, is a banana slug.” She dances and whinnies excitedly, which causes me to laugh more heartily, the sound ringing gently in the warm, muggy air.
The laugh felt good, as it always does. The child is truly the only thing that brings light into my sad, lonely existence. It gives me a rush of energy, and Memorie seems to sense it. She grins brightly up at me and yells, “race you!” I give her a head start before I launch off my hind legs and give chase.
To run felt almost as good as the laugh had felt, and I allow her to take her own path for a time. The path leads us away from Taiga. It is a familiar path to me, though I had traveled it only once before, and in the opposite direction. I still remember the journey, though, because it was the first journey I had taken with a purpose since I’d left the land that I was born in. The memory is there like a warm beacon to home.
Memorie eventually slows, but she seems to know I am enjoying the run, so she falls in beside me and slows to an easy canter that I can keep up with at a trot. For a time, we move together. I point out little things to her here and there, and keep up a cheerful conversation with the child. And eventually, the path leads to a beautiful field, nestled in the hills with many paths that lead to many different places, where Beqanna seemed to converge on the rest of the world. I don’t remember which path had led me to here, but I don’t really care about that.
The field is just as familiar to me as the day I had come, except that there are different faces. One such face is that of a small, black stallion that looks forlorn and lost, though somehow hopeful. Memorie slows to a walk, her bright, blue eyes (that she shares with her father, not me) looking between me and him. She’s not exactly the most socialized foal so far, so there’s a shy note reflected in her curious gaze. I give her a nod before I move in his direction.
“Hello,” I say, as warmly as I can muster (for my happiness doesn’t exactly extend past the child). I force a smile onto my face. “I’m Borderline, and this is Memorie.”
The day seems to inch along. The sun slowly rising higher and higher before it will begin to set. I am enjoying the scattered sunlight as it falls on me between the trees. I move deeper into the field, away from the trees, and let the heat sink deep into my bones. I am not old, but I feel ancient. Maybe that’s what happens when you lose your only love. I sigh softly and doze on and off, fighting the nightmares that come even in the midst of the day. I see the colt that was as cold as his mother, and the filly that had wings – wonderful, full-sized wings that she was learning to fly with. I heard hooves in the distance, and knew it was my tiny filly, chasing her brother. My eyes opened slowly, expecting to see them, playing tag, or chase, or exploring. As my vision cleared from the dozing, I saw a stranger and another tiny filly. She was, without a doubt, not mine.
That didn’t stop the small smile that tugged at the corners of my lips. Children were always a source of enjoyment for me, but not in that creepy way. I loved that they were always curious, always wanting to play and so full of energy. Maybe that was the trick to staying young for so long. Surround yourself with children, and you could live forever. The child approaches first, followed closely by her mother. I watch the mare, hoping she wasn’t up for a fight. I wasn’t much of a fighter. I had scars from times I refused to return blows. Instead of puffing up and trying to fight me, she simply speaks, and my ears perk forward, listening to what she had to say. She seemed just as sad as I felt inside, though perhaps that was just speculation from being alone so long.
Borderline and Memorie. I gave a short nod of my head, a simple gesture that said I heard, I understood. I was a man of few words, my voice gravelly on the best of days. You see, I don’t see the point in talking. I mean, if there was something important to say, I would say it, but the useless fluff was…well…useless. There was so much focus on talking, and so little focus on listening, that it was difficult to really know what anyone was saying. But I digress.
“Ankou.” It was simple. Two syllables. One word. My name. I was certain that the mare would understand, even if the child didn’t. I gave her a look that I hope was considered “soft.” I wanted her to know that I wasn’t a threat to her or her child, before lowering my head to look at the filly. Were my twins that small? Was she big for her age? Was she normal? It had been so long since I had been this close to a foal that I could feel my heart fluttering. I wanted so badly to nuzzle my own children; but they were gone. As gone as yesterday, or the exploded star. They would not be coming back, and I had to find a way to move past it.
I did the only thing I could think of – I smiled at the child.
12-06-2020, 12:53 PM (This post was last modified: 12-06-2020, 12:54 PM by Borderline.)
despite the overwhelming odds, tomorrow came
As we approach the unfamiliar stallion, I can see in his posture and on his face that he is tortured, just as I am. I don’t know what nature the torture is for him, but it reminds me of my own pain, the pain surrounding Yanhua’s betrayal. It causes me to falter a step, and Memorie looks over at me, sadness in those blue eyes that she shares with her father. It worries me that she seems so perceptive of my emotions lately. Could she share the gift of empathic echoes that her father has? Or am I just being paranoid? I mean, she could just be responding to the obvious falter in my step. She could be responding to the tell-tale signs of sadness in my own posture and face.
For now, I shake my head, ridding myself of the thoughts. I give the filly a brief smile, then return my attention to the stallion, giving him our names. In response, he gives us his name. “@[Ankou],” I repeat the name, partially for my own sake, to help me remember. It reminds me of when I’d met Yanhua. I had repeated his name in my head probably twenty times in an effort to not forget it. The memory causes of tinge of sadness that passes over my face, but I quickly wipe it away in favor of a smile, though I’m sure my sadness still shines through.
“Well, hello Ankou.” For a moment, there is an awkward silence that hangs between us. Memorie stands at my side, hanging slightly back. She isn’t quite sure of herself yet around others. I glance back at her, giving her a soft, encouraging smile. Her blue eyes look up into mine, then she looks to Ankou. “Hello,” she says, and though there is cheer in her voice, there’s also a hint of shyness. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say, covering for the filly.
She seems relieved, which makes me smile, a genuinely happy smile this time. This child was definitely a blessing, and I found myself loving her more and more every day, even though she looks almost exactly like her father (except the blue tail, to match my blue mane and tail). I turn my attention back to the stallion, who is smiling down at Memorie. He must like children. I could see it in his face. “Well, Ankou, what brings you to Beqanna?”
What a frightening thought that a child could feel the emotions of adults. They are not meant to – they are meant to chase butterflies, to giggle with their friends, to play chase and tag. They shouldn’t feel the worry, the stress and the worry that we feel. But that is not my concern – as it isn’t something I am aware of. Instead, I notice that they are both very quiet – the silence spanning between us for an eternity. I shuffle absently, wondering if they are staring at my stunted wings that are pulled so closely to my body, that most others miss them. Or do they find me strange? Because I am a black Pegasus? Do they know? Are they aware that I was born of both white parents – both unicorns of all things – and I came out black as sin and with wings? That I never had friends growing up because I was a bad omen, but my mother couldn’t let me starve to death because that would certainly bring doom upon the herd? That I was only fed to prevent them all from dying, and the minute she thought she could wean me, I was kicked out of the herd?
Impossible. They couldn’t know that.
Moments passed and finally, Borderline spoke, breaking the torrent of worries that flooded my mind. My eyes snapped to her, and I smiled as warmly as I could. I dipped my head in response – hoping she understood that it was a pleasure to meet them both as well. There are several more moments of silence and then Borderline asks what brought me here. I almost felt blindsided by the question – and such a simple one at that. What did bring me here? I thought about it for a short time. I had no idea. I had been wandering since I had lost my Yuki and my twins; since I had lost everything that had ever given me a reason to live. I had been blindly following the stars, hoping to find a blizzard that I could lose myself in, imagining it was her embrace again.
”Life.” It was a fair approximation of what had brought me here. Different circumstances, different paths, different feelings on different days. I breathed a few breaths, hoping to steady my racing heart. It was the memories that got me. Too many, and not enough space to sort through them. I wanted to break down, to scream and rage, to throw myself at the ground, like a child who couldn’t get their way… but what would it help?
Instead, I inched closer to the two of them, my head low and curious. Was Memorie interested in a game of chase? I reached out gently and nudged her shoulder (assuming she didn’t move, of course), and bounced back a few steps, a bright grin on my face. Maybe we didn’t have to remember the sad things right now. Maybe we could just play and have friends and ignore the adult world. Was that even ok? I didn’t know, but I knew that if I didn’t change something in my life, things were going to get ugly.
Memorie might be able to see the emotional memories, residue from the immense amount of pain that I am in over this whole ordeal, but she certainly never showed it. She was such a happy child most of the time, and spent a great deal of time playing. She chases butterflies and loves to race–though I don’t often let her win, lest she get cocky. She also found fun to be had in playing pranks on me. She was as normal a child as anyone could have expected, except for those brief moments when she seems to understand that I need a gentle touch to remind me of her love.
It’s funny that @[Ankou] should feel as though Memorie and I speak so little, because he has said very little up until this point himself. In fact, all he’d said so far was his name. It left me feeling as though he doesn’t have much to say and is the quiet type. I, however, could talk someone’s ear off if I was in a good mood and the conversation was invigorating. Despite this, I wasn’t going to hold it against him. I give him a friendly smile when he says that life had brought him here.
Memorie gives him a friendly smile, as well. “I like your color and your shaggy coat,” she says, seemingly out of the blue. I glance back at her by my side, slightly interested by her statement. What was it that she was seeing in him? Was she seeing anything at all? The question torments me, because I didn’t want her to know of the pain within me, or the pain of others for that matter, and if she had her father’s gift... Either way, she shouldn’t be able to read in him what I could see–that he stands as though the world has come crashing down on his shoulders before. She was too young to be able to see something like that, and yet she pays him a compliment. Why?
I turn my attention back to the stallion, who is slowly moving closer to us. I’m not sure of what to think about this, because I’m not used to strangers approaching my child. A part of me wants to be protective, but the kind heart in me wants to give him the benefit of the doubt. The twinkle in his eye tells me that he is wanting to play a game with her, so I don’t act on the protective-mother instincts. I turn to Memorie, and she seems to understand what he wants, so she gives me a questioning look, and I return it with a smile and a very slight nod.
So when Ankou gently nudged her shoulder and bounced back a few steps, she rears back and twirls on her back legs with an excited whinny and canters away, glancing back over her chestnut shoulder to see that he is following. I back up to give Ankou space to chase after her, watching the filly carefully. I try not to think about how much she looks like her father, with the same flaxen chestnut coloring, the little goat horns beginning to sprout from her head, the light beard beneath her chin, and the cloven hooves. I focus on the blue tail, the only physical attribute she had inherited from me.
