"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
09-12-2021, 11:10 PM (This post was last modified: 09-12-2021, 11:14 PM by Falter.)
these days i'm becoming everything that i hate, my mind is a place that i can't escape your ghost
Falter runs.
She never looks back, not even to see the reaction of her abrupt departure from the nameless angel.
All she does is run.
(The hellhound running not too far behind her.)
Runs through the dark forest, over the rushing river, and into the meadow.
At the edge of the meadow, she stops, her head falling, exhaling deeply as she finally catches her breath. She breathes heavily, feeling her heart racing. It’s caught in her throat, beating violently.
(The hellhound stops behind her, sitting down, watching over her.)
Death, she thinks.
Why did she smell like death?
Falter shakes her head, tossing away the thought.
It would do her no good after all—she was helpless on the matter.
At least he had tried. She thinks of the angel now. At least he had the courage to tell her the truth, even if his honesty had made her cry and run away.
He had made her face she was not the same anymore.
And she would have to accept whatever that meant.
Looking up, Falter meets the morning sun rising above the horizon.
It was easy to lose track of time out here and tonight had been no exception.
The midnight meadow excursions with Lie (and the young soul that had become a constant presence) were always nights he looked forward to. The hours seem to pass too quickly when he is with her, watching the way she pulls down the stars around her like a brilliant opalescent flame. He had started to study them, a serious expression on his face as he tries to mimic their shimmering with the ones he creates out of fire. All too soon the sky begins to lighten and he had said his goodbyes to his friend reluctantly, still trying to find the courage to invite her over to his home.
The golden glow around him fades as the moon begins to descend and the sun starts to peek its head over the Mountain. His lengthening limbs carry his growing spotted figure over the glistening snow, hooves crunching white powder beneath him as he begins the trek back to the Pampas. Smaller hoof prints follow his own impression, pressed invisibly into the snow as the soul follows him. Feeling the chill at his backside, he calls up small balls of flame that rotate lazily around him and act as a small heater. The flames never seem to actually burn or scorch him when they sometimes flicker and kiss his jaguar skin and he smiles to himself, pleased with how far he has come in his training.
The abandonment by his birthmother and the dark time in the den seem like a lifetime ago.
He muses on this, almost missing the girl standing a short ways in front of him. It’s the soul that draws his attention to her as the ghost girl squeals sharply in a voice only he can seem to hear. He glances to her with his feral eyes, curious and confused. The soul tugs at his mid-length mane, pulling him towards the older midnight foal with excitement in her transparent red eyes. Something in his magic begins to spark as he glides closer, like calling to like. It’s her shadows he notices first, followed by the dog behind her, and then the tired expression (and tear tracks across her dark cheeks).
With the fire still rotating around him, he stops before her with a hesitant look. “Hey.” He starts awkwardly, shrugging a spotted shoulder as flames race down his backside. “This might sound weird but… Can you see her?” He asks her warily, looking to the spirit beside him who seems convinced that this girl smells of death, even more than he does.
these days i'm becoming everything that i hate, my mind is a place that i can't escape your ghost
Her nutmeg gaze is fastened to the morning sun that continues to rise above the horizon. The tears that fell from her eyes, are now dried, stained on her dark bay cheeks. She is set in stone, like a large boulder, uncertainty clouding her mind like a storm in the horizon, but she holds herself high for this moment where she must accept what the angel had told her.
Death.
Whatever that meant.
Something faint, in the distance, pulls her away from the slow-rolling clouds of uncertainty that were about to consume her. It’s a sensation she has never felt before—but the power flowing throughout her sings softly with it.
Blinking, the bay yearling turns her attention towards the approaching jaguar spotted champagne colt. She blinks again, noticing the ghostly girl now that pulls him towards her, guiding him almost by force.
Falter feels her body pulling her towards the two that come to her, but she holds herself back, fighting against the power that calls out to the other. It flared madly within her, burning, and cursing her against her resistance. Her mind screamed with caution and uncertainty at the force that burned her from the inside, tearing her apart as she resisted the familiarity that came at her with full force.
She stumbles back as the two stop in front of her, the young colt with fire dancing around him and the spirited girl that she felt so drawn. Her eyes are wide with uncertainty, glancing back and forth between them.
The force scorches her, she wants to scream out, to let it go.
But she cannot.
She knows it was too dangerous.
It would destroy her, she knows.
“Hey,” the spotted stranger says. Her ears swivel forward with caution. She focuses on him with wide eyes, fear filling them now, and she barely hears what he says next until he mentions her.
Her.
Falter doesn’t want to look at her. It pains her every time she does, but she can’t help it. She cannot help the power that burns within her, that declares to reach out to the spirit at the colt’s side.
She looks anyway, still wide-eyed.
“I see her,” she answers reluctantly.
But I shouldn’t, she was a ghost, a ghoul-like she had seen before, but there was no terror in her eyes, no fear that wanted to make you run.
The stranger stumbles back from him and he freezes, suddenly filled with old familiar shame and that sense of being wrong. She moves as if frightened of him and despite the friendships he has formed after a year of being away from the Den, he can’t help but remember their faces (those of fear and disgust) that he had found on the other abandoned children. And then remembers the sadness and jealousy he had sifted through amongst them when he was leaving. The lesson of fear attached to what most people can’t understand or refuse to see.
Despite the hurt that aches in his chest, and the fire that flickers down his back in his own doubt, he tries to smile at her and comes up with an awkward twist of his lips. It’s followed by his greeting and his question and then he comes to an understanding. He can see it in her eyes, the way she reluctantly answers him. A mixture of joy (to have someone else who can see them too) and empathy (understanding that fear and what it means). ”Is she dead?” The new girl whispers and he nods gently. “Yes.” He says, his feral gaze switching from the living to the dead. “It’s ok. She’s nice. She’s not one of the scary ones.” He tries to reassure her and the ghostly newborn filly also tries to put her at ease with a smile, lingering around the spotted colt despite the powerful draw to the dark filly.
He takes in the dark stains along her cheeks, the uncertainty in her eyes, and sighs softly. “I’ve never met anyone else that can see them.” He whispers solemnly, admitting this to her. “I’m Fyr.” But this time he says it like “fear” instead of “fire” because it only seems fitting. “That’s Revna” He introduces the soul to her, knowing that a thing with a name can become a little less terrifying or overwhelming. “Who are you?” And despite her own misgivings, he can’t help to be excited at the prospect of knowing someone else that was terrible in the exact same way he was.
these days i'm becoming everything that i hate, my mind is a place that i can't escape your ghost
“Yes”, he answers her.
She swallows hard, feeling the pit of her stomach drop. Her nutmeg turns back to the spotted colt with uncertainty. Not one of the scary ones? She questions silently. What did that even mean? Falter wasn’t aware there were good and bad ghosts.
“The ghosts I met weren’t very nice,” she comments softly.
The ghouls were terrible, frightening things. Full of terror. And dread—she had felt their pain and their despair now she remembers. Why could I feel that though She shakes her head, glancing down for a moment. The bay filly was only more confused.
Death.
Ghosts.
But why?
The jaguar colt’s words surprise her. “But why can we see them?” She asks sharply, glancing at the ghostly newborn filly. “I never could be—” she says angrily with a flick of her tongue.
Falter shuts her mouth suddenly; an apologetic expression touches her dark features for a moment. She knows she shouldn’t have reacted that way, it was uncalled for when she has barely just met the boy who introduces himself as Fyr and the ghostly filly as Revna.
“Sorry,” she softly, “I’m Falter. It’s nice to meet you both, Fyr and Revna.” Her nutmeg gaze glances at both.
A soft sigh then releases from her mouth, she realizes now that she was appearing rude with her sudden outburst and reactions. “I don’t mean to be like this, but I don’t know what happened to me. I never was able to see ghosts before. I don’t understand why I can now after my father, and I were on the mountain…” She says spilling her recent events, but then her voice trailed off.
Her anger is something he should understand, her confusion is reasonable. Even as young as he is, somewhere deep down he knows this. But old hurts are hard habits to break and flames ripple down his spine as he takes a step away from her, automatically filling in the blank with the words she hadn’t said. “I never could be…. So terrible.” Like him. A bad thing, a wrong thing. There are those that try to encourage his gifts, try to teach him that what he can do doesn’t mean he is doomed to a life of dark. That his powers are only what he makes them out to be, that he isn’t evil at his core. But then there are those like Falter (unintentional on her part) that make his fragile confidence break so very easily, that remind him that he is what he is. Reminds him that he will always be terrible in the bad way even if he can also be terrible in all the good ways. And while he should not apologize for it, he never will again he had vowed, he also can’t help but fear whatever he may become. That darkness inside of him that Terror preys on so easily when it takes control.
What he might be capable of.
It is Revna that holds the connection this time when it starts to stutter, remembering what had happened last time. She holds it firm and presses closer to him, reminding him that he needs to take control before those few seconds run out. He takes a slow breath and focuses as the the living filly apologizes and when he looks at her again, the connection is stable once more. There is a wariness in his tawny gaze when she speaks again but it softens just slightly when she mentions confusion on why she can see what he sees.
That, at least, is something he can understand too.
“I was born this way.” He says with a twitch of his spotted shoulder. “I’ve always been able to see them.” He thinks for a moment, a soft frown darkening his face. “My mom told me about the Mountain though, when she took me from the den. She said you can find magic there if the fairies want you to have it.” He pauses, wondering what the Mountain was like. He had never been there himself although he wondered if the fairies might make him not terrible if he asked them nicely.
“Have you lost your father? Is that why you’ve been crying?” He asks suddenly, unaware that pointing out her tear-stained cheeks might not be entirely polite. Would he cry if he lost Aela? Perhaps, although he’s sure the golden mare would not approve of such behavior. He must have a father too, somewhere. It’s not a thought he lingers on for long as it usually makes him feel bad and that’s when the bad souls usually took advantage. Fyr had met his father though, the golden spotted stallion Firion who he had met in the Forest. Deep down, they both must have recognized each other. Somewhere in those doubts and darkness lingered awareness. Still, it was easier believing the stallion was some sort of magical future representation of himself because ignorance was bliss after all.
these days i'm becoming everything that i hate, my mind is a place that i can't escape your ghost
Shame had never been something she had felt. She never needed to feel it before either. It wasn’t until now she has become shameful for not knowing what to do, not knowing what she has become.
The angel had told her she was death. Was that what she has become then?
Is this the power that flows through her? The power to control death, the danger that it would bring her.
It was so powerful, flowing through her like a hurricane, snarling like a wild animal.
Falter held it back, with every strength she had left in her. She didn’t want to let it be released; she didn’t want it to consume her either.
She focuses back on the colt, listening as he tells his own story about his ability. Fyr had been born with the ability to always see them—it was natural for him, something he had always known. But then he mentions the mountain. “The mountain,” she whispers softly, realizing what he was saying had been the place her father and her had gone.
The mountain had been magical her father said. She had not realized why they had, not until he wanted to talk to the fairies. He wanted to be rid of something—some sort of power, a curse if anything. But what?
Falter pulls away from her thoughts and focuses back on Fyr when he asks about losing her father. “I was with my father on the magical mountain,” she says softly, piecing everything back together now. It came back to her with ease this time—unlike it had with the angel she had met in the forest. Maybe she had been afraid to relive what she had witnessed there.
“I don’t know how I got here when I was on the mountain,” she continued, “My father was there, and I was too. Then there was this angry voice, a powerful voice. He sounded like he was some monster, some terrible god in a story my father told me once.” She didn’t know how else to describe it, it was terrifying, and she still shutters at the thought of hearing it. “Then there were these ghosts, such terrible things that were screaming and then they took me away, I think. I don’t know. All I remember is darkness and appearing in the forest.”
She shakes her head, looking away from the colt and ghostly filly. Within the horizon, she could see the mountain, the magical place she had stood at the edge of to see the entire world of Beqanna. Now she was here, and she felt so small. “That’s why I have been crying. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what happened to my father. I didn’t grow up here…” She trailed off still staring at the magical mountain in the distance.
The story she tells is a scary one but he finds himself fascinated instead of afraid. The Mountain was an even cooler place then he had realized. Perhaps one day he would go to the Mountain as well, if only to discover what misguided souls were trapped at its peak. Honestly, the place sounded fascinated and he has half a mind to try the trek up it right then and there. She is upset though and so he keeps those thoughts to himself. Instead, he nods solemnly and starts to think.
“Listen…” He starts and stops, his insecurities apparent in the flames that flicker along his backside. “Why don’t you come with me? My mom might be able to help find your father.” He asks quietly, looking at her with those wary yellow eyes. Surely Aela wouldn’t mind. In fact, she might be pleased if he brought home someone with the same powers as himself, unaware that hers ran deeper and outranked his own summoning in spades. “Plus…. We can help each other. I could use someone to practice with that can see them. And I can show you how to keep the bad ones away… If you want.” He shrugs as if it doesn’t matter at all but it does. It does matter.
