"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
don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years
Since entering the sea, he has not returned to the drier parts of Beqanna. He also still has not ventured to Baltia, for he still does not understand what he expects to find. The fallen kingdom acts as a relentless magnet, continuously pulling him toward her, but thus far, he has still managed to cling to the edges of her briny boundaries.
If he is honest with himself though, he is just as hesitant to set foot on land again. He delights in the feel of the cool water slipping over his skin, the way his tentacles move so delicately, and yet so powerfully at the same time. Moreso, he enjoys feeling so connected to his father and brother, both of whom were also aquatically inclined. It’s not that he did not love his mother and sisters, but as they were more Stratosian than Baltian, they simply could not share the same bond as the boys had.
Oh, how fiercely he still misses all of them.
He lazes about in the slow-moving currents, contemplating… well, everything. He doesn’t know what to do next. As he drifts along, the gentle voice of the fairy that had visited him begins to echo in his mind. She had challenged him to try to impact the world he lives in now. He can only assume that she meant Beqanna, since neither Baltia, Stratos, or the Ruins had returned to the world that had birthed them.
That seems to rule out the idea of venturing to Baltia, at least until he figures out how to fulfill the requirements of his quest. But he hasn’t seen many others here in the depths, so he takes that to mean that he must return to land. He sighs quietly to himself and vows that he will not let so much time pass before he returns to the water again.
He reluctantly begins the ascent. It does not escape him as the water’s temperature rises correspondingly, nor that his slitted pupils narrow as the sunlight more easily permeates the darkness. It is not quite a sense of dread that also rises with him, but there is certainly some anxiety that prickles his skin.
Eventually, his head breaks the surface, and his gills quickly adapt to breathing in the oxygen-rich air as he begins propelling himself toward the shore. When the water becomes too shallow to go further, he pauses to gather himself, to close his eyes and focus on returning to his wholly equine form. When the transformation is complete, he opens his eyes and pulls his tall, lanky body into a standing position in what can only be described as an ungainly fashion. He really is far more awkward on land than in the water and he is painfully aware of it as he strides to the shore.
Unsure of himself, he stands there, staring through the stringy, dripping forelock falling over his bright blue eyes.
— and how long must I stay, will I lay by your side just to say that I’m yours and you’ll never be mine;
She is learning that she is not as good at being alone as she had previously thought.
She wished she did not feel that longing inside of her chest, wished that she knew of some way to quiet it that would not lead to her feeling abandoned and hurt yet again. Because that always seemed to be the way when she tried to get close with someone, and she never has been able to figure out if it’s something she does wrong or if it’s just her fragile appearance that drives them away, that maybe when they look at her all they see is a clock counting down to the moment she will inevitably shatter into pieces.
She thinks these thoughts even though she knows they cannot be true — her father is made of glass, and he is still alive and loved by her mother. If anyone could find a reason to not love someone, it would have been Desire, and so Hourglass doubts that it is her perceived frailty that alienates her.
From her place along the riverbank she exhales a quiet sigh, her pale-colored eyes clouded with her troubled thoughts, and she is so lost in her own mind that she does not even realize that something is rising to the surface until his body breaks through. He is close enough that she can do nothing to stop the startled sound that flies from her mouth, her glass legs making an odd sound as they knock against each other as she scrambles backwards.
Inside her chest her glass heart is beating furiously, so much so that she thinks he must be able to hear it, and she can feel heat rising to her cheeks when she realizes that it is just a stallion. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes for a reason she can’t quite discern, her voice still breathless with fear, but she straightens herself and takes an unsure step back towards him, her lilac eyes now wide with curiosity and wonder. “You startled me. I guess I forgot that living in the water is a possibility.”
don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years
Though his forelock does not obscure his vision, it is a blank stare that peeks from beneath the yellowed curtain of hair. In the time it takes to fully step onto the dry land, memories of happier days have begun to dance vividly in his mind and he can’t help but lose himself in them. From the hours spent chasing his brother through the tall summer grasses, to the splashes of laughter ringing through the air as they explored their aquatic sides with their father. Even the constant bickering that occurred once his sisters arrived on the scene. What he wouldn’t give to fight with one of them right now.
A peculiar, almost grating sound disrupts the rapid-fire flashbacks and his eyes slowly begin to refocus on what actually lies before him. A quick scan of his surroundings reveals the red mare nearby, looking as though she has received the fright of her life. At first, he cannot fathom what might cause such alarm and he tenses, expecting some dangerous creature to make itself known. Then, it dawns on him.
It’s him.
She confirms this idea after tossing an unexpected apology at him and he smiles rather sheepishly at her. He takes a moment to shake off some of the water that still streams down his side in shrinking rivulets, then he mimics her hesitant step forward. The spiraling smattering of stars on her chest draws his attention and holds it for perhaps a minute too long, but the pattern is quite mesmerizing, especially for one that is both forbidden and unable to spend time among the stars.
Well, was forbidden. He supposes that it wouldn’t matter now, if he were able to fly instead of swim. His eyes eventually move to her face, to her widened eyes and he notices that something is not quite right. He can’t quite place the difference, so he decides to ignore it for now. “To be fair, I don’t really live there. I was just out for a swim.” As his smile broadens, it also becomes more crooked, and it reaches up to his ice-blue eyes.
“I’m Eddie...” It is on the tip of his tongue to ask if she is from Beqanna, but he unexpectedly realizes that there is an unnatural smoothness to her skin. Unable to stop himself, he instead asks (somewhat rudely), “What are you made of?”
— and how long must I stay, will I lay by your side just to say that I’m yours and you’ll never be mine;
She is pleased to discover that even though he had alarmed her, he does not appear to be at all unfriendly. He has the kind of smile that reaches his eyes, and it encourages her own smile to shift from nervous politeness to something more authentic and easy. His gaze seems to be transfixed on her chest, though, and she glances downward to the stars that spiral there. “Nearly my mother’s entire body is galaxy colored,” she tells him by way of explanation, lifting her lilac-eyes back to his face. She pictures Desire, with her brilliant display of color that bleeds down to her white legs, and her moon-halo above her head — ethereal in her own way, and a near perfect display of the strange relationship she had been born from. “I only inherited a small piece of it, but I’m glad that I did.” Her mother is so many things that she could never be; fierce and direct, ruthless and cunning. She admired such traits even if she didn’t necessarily want to emulate it.
Mostly she just wondered what it might be like to meet the world head-on without the fear of breaking.
He tell hers that he does not actually live in the water, and she nods her head in understanding. “Do you spend a lot of time in the water? You look like you belonged there,” she says, recalling how just a few moments ago he had been so submerged she had not known he was there. She realizes then that she has not encountered many with such an affinity for water. Her father could manipulate it, but that was not quite the same as being able to breathe under it. It was a fascinating idea, perhaps even moreso than being able to fly. She can tilt her head back and look at the sky — she can stare at the clouds and the stars and imagine what it might be like to soar through it. But she cannot see down into the water, cannot even begin to fathom what it might be like to be able to truly explore it.
She wants to ask him more questions, but shortly after his introduction he asks her one of his own that, even despite the bluntness of it, inspires another smile from her. “Glass,” she says, but she does not tell him how that fragile heart of hers that beats dutifully inside of her chest is made of glass, too, and how she lives every day afraid that the world will shatter her to pieces in one or another but she is too in love with the world to keep pushing it away. “And my name is Hourglass.”
don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years
A flush of embarrassment warms his cheeks when she mentions her mother’s galaxy markings; the heat spreads further as he realizes that he is behaving no better than an uninhibited child in this moment, staring unabashedly at the swirl of stars on her chest. His mortification creeps into the odd slant of his smile and he is grateful that she does not comment on his gawking. When she speaks of her appreciation for the inheritance of her mother’s entrancing stars, a dull sadness dims the light of his eyes, perhaps for longer than he would like.
His feet shuffle quietly and he relishes the gentle way the feathers of his forelegs wave in the currents of air the movements create. They, along with the striking blue of his eyes and his slight build, are the small ways that his mother’s appearance has manifested in his own and he, too, is grateful for the reminders, though for different reasons. He is of a mind to share this with this stranger, but he ultimately refrains; he knows his melancholy can be overwhelming for some and he does not wish to scare her off just yet.
But perhaps it is inevitable that he must reveal something of his past, for she inquires about his affinity for the ocean. He does his best to arrange his features into a contemplative mask to disguise the new bout of sadness inspired by the idea that he belongs to the water. He nods, almost absently, at her question. “I haven’t been in for a very long time now.. too long, actually.” He pauses, realizing now that part of his long-standing discomfort has been due to his avoiding the water and his Baltian blood, once returned to its natural surroundings, had been behind his reluctance to resurface.
Eventually, he continues, “I didn’t realize how much I’ve been missing it, so I guess I’ll have to be better about sharing my time between land and sea.” In that moment, he knows that he will certainly be more diligent about balancing the conflicting needs of his mixed heritages.
The warmth of embarrassment returns to his face immediately after he blurts out his somewhat crass question and any traces of cheerfulness slip from his features just as abruptly. “I’m sorry if that was rude,” he apologizes profusely, not quite wanting to meet her eye now. But as he averts his gaze, he notices the smile that she gives with her answer and that encourages him to look at her again just as she offers her name to him.
The corners of his lips turn up once more as he lets the feel of her name roll over his tongue. “Hourglass.. that’s pretty.” His voice is soft, shy, as he says this, but it quickly turns both stiff and hurried, as though in attempt to gloss over the compliment. “I’ve never…”
He is on the verge of saying that he’s never met anyone made of glass before, but the memory of his first encounter in Beqanna stops him in his tracks. He had nearly forgotten the entire experience, for it had soured rather quickly, but now he remembers that she had also been of a similarly glassy make; and the longer he thinks of her, he also remembers the stars that decorated her petite figure.
He casts a suspicious eye over Hourglass, wondering if it is possible that the two women are related. If that’s the case, he’s not so sure that he wants to find out just how similar the two really are. But he swallows down the bitter distrust and continues, “Does the glass come from your mother too? It’s not something I’ve seen much of around here..”
— and how long must I stay, will I lay by your side just to say that I’m yours and you’ll never be mine;
She notices the way his facial expression changes just slightly at her suggestion that he appears meant for the water, and she tilts her head at what he says. “What made you stay away from it?” She hopes it isn’t too bold of a question. It only occurs to her after she has said it that perhaps something happened that he wouldn’t want to speak about. She is not sure what it’s like, being able to live half in water and half on land, but she remembers, belatedly, Baltia, and the stories of their war against the skies. She has never met a Baltian, or even a half-Baltian; she does not know how to recognize their traits or what differentiates them from the usual kelpies and other water creatures that have always roamed Beqanna’s waters.
She doesn’t apologize for asking, though. The question had already been asked, and he could choose to answer if he wanted.
When he compliments her name, she smiles, a soft flush of shyness flooding her cheeks. She had never grown accustomed to compliments, even though she received them frequently. Most that she met were intrigued by her — it was difficult not to be, with the smooth, red glass that her body was made of, beautiful and peculiar all at once. “Thank you. I suppose it’s a rather fitting name, too.” Glass, is surely what he will think of when she says that. The word in her name, and what she is made of. But she is thinking, too, of her glass heart, and how long it can go before it weakens and breaks — not an hourglass exactly, but running out of time all the same.
“No, it’s actually from my father, Thomas. Supposedly the glass started with his family, and I don’t think there are many made of glass that I would not be related to. All my sisters are made of glass or porcelain, too. Only my brother did not inherit it.” She gives a small laugh, shaking her head. “I’m not sure if he considers himself lucky or if it makes him feel like an outcast, though.”
don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years
When Hourglass asks about his avoidance of the waters, uncertainty wraps her delicate fingers around his throat and squeezes lightly, reminding him of the details of his strange conversation with another glass mare. He had hesitated to mention his family before, and now that he wonders if she might prey upon his emotion, he also wonders if maybe his subconscious had been nudging him toward . Still, there is something different about the girl standing before him, and he stares at her for a long moment as he wrestles with his immobilizing indecisiveness.
He can sense that the silence grows increasingly uncomfortable between them, and yet he still does not break it. Nearly every inch of him crawls with distrust, but there is that tiny fraction that wants to believe that there are still some who are inherently compassionate. Much to even his own surprise, that starry-eyed bit wins the argument and he decides to give a shortened version of his story.
“It makes me think too much of the past.. of all the fun I used to have with my father and brother. And it reminds me that I probably won’t ever get to have that again.”
The barest trace of tears begins to glaze his eyes but, feeling it building, he hastily turns his head to blink it away (hopefully before she notices). When he believes himself collected, he looks back to her and offers that lopsided smile again. “But now that I think of it, it seems silly. The land reminds me just as much of my mother and sisters, so I can’t really avoid both, now can I?” He can see the truth in his words, but at the same time, he’d idolized his father and brother so much that the water will always hold a different meaning for him. And that’s just something he doesn’t know how to explain to someone else.
So, he merely shrugs and lets the conversation continue.
He quietly admires the quiet smile she gives and nods in agreement when she brings up the appropriateness of her naming. He means to comment further, but she goes on to talk of her family and indirectly confirms his suspicions. Again, the sour taste rises unbidden in his throat, but he is quicker this time to force it down. He reminds himself that water of the womb, while it may nourish similar appearances, does not always foster like minds. His own existence should be proof enough of that.
The thought makes it far easier to overlook his previous experiences and he laughs readily at the mention of her brother. He could understand how the unknown young man might have conflicting thoughts about possessing such frangibility. “I guess it must make life… interesting?” He pauses, wondering if that might be another rude remark, so he rattles on, “But I bet you’re all tough as nails though.”
