handcrafted by confusing love; kult and kersey

[capture]

 

In the shadows beneath the trees, a dark green mare gave birth to the smallest child she had ever seen, with pale blue pupiless eyes fogged and clouded in white. In the shadows beneath the trees, a dark green mare missed the subtle quiver of that tiny ribcage drawing in shallow, ragged breaths. In the shadows beneath the trees, a dark green mare coaxed root and branch and bush and grass like a tomb around the dying child.   And she left.   Hours passed, entire worlds born and destroyed, and still nothing happened. The steel and emerald girl with her bones poking welts through her skin and great valleys drawn in shadow between the ridges of her ribs remained buried barely alive in the tangled tomb of her mother’s making.   But just as the sun had dipped low enough to kiss the horizon, to draw streaks of pink and orange across a pale cornflower blue sky, something changed. It was like a shift in the air, a ripple of magic from the heart of the tangle. It was as though time was racing past, like watching summer in fast-forward as the plants wrapped around the tiny child turned brown and brittle and wilted away. They were as dry as the bones poking up through her skin, and their moisture spread outwards in rivulets like tearstains across the dirt floor of the forest.   All bird bones and spindle legs, the girl rose and stumbled from the tangle of dead plant meant to be a tomb, falling several times before she managed to keep those steel grey legs tremblingly beneath her. There was a noise to her left, a rustle as a bird took flight from a branch in a nearby tree, and those sightless blue eyes followed the trail of sound.   “Mother?” She whispered into the dark, the tiny rivulets of water snaking up her legs and pooling in the hollow places of an impossibly delicate body.     I KNOW THE RULES; THE WEAKER TREE BENDS capture

[Kersey]

KERSEY || this would be a place for a quote

Kult and I are prowling the forest when we find her. The impossible child.
Hunting is always best during dusk, when creatures are lulled into believing that night is safe. Streaks of color paint the sky. Nature tells her creation that nothing bad could possibly happen while such pinks and oranges and reds exist. Beauty, however, comes in many forms and I happen to believe that the end of life can be as breath taking as the end of the day.

She is standing in her grave, a mass of dried plants and scraped dirt clinging to her spindly legs. Her foggy eyes are unseeing, unfocused. Sharp new bones poke against her skin. She is young. Younger even than I was when I first took a life. Mother's milk should drip from her lips, but it does not. If she were one of Khaos' children, she would not be alone.

She calls for her mother but the silence that greets her plea as well as the rooted ground tells me that there is no one around except Kult, the girl and I. At first I think that she is prey (almost too easy) and I turn to raise a brow at Kult, wondering if he will want first blood. A sudden thought itches my brain and I turn back towards the girl, confused.

“Kult. Look.”

I move aside so he can see, nosing the brittle leaves reaching out from the girl. Why, in this lush forest where everything is green and growing, is there a ring of dead things around the child? It almost looks as if the moisture has been sapped until nothing is left. My purple eyes follow the trail of water to find it nestled in the hollows of her body. A slow, lazy grin appears on my face.

“She's special, this one. Kirin will want to see her.” I have moved from contemplating her death moments ago to saving her life. I nudge the filly, not ungently. “Mother's gone. I'm Kersey, and this is Kult.”

I touch my nose briefly to my brother's side, letting him take the lead.

[Kult]

They have learned to adapt, those that call the Cove their home. They become what is necessary. They meet their own needs, whatever they may be.

Kult follows the purple pointed mare, not because he has to, not because she asks. Kult does so because he wants to, it is easier than breathing following Kersey. and usually it is entertaining. The Cove is growing, as he knows it must, yet still he is often sent to search for more toys. Dusk is the best time for hunting, as most things tire from the days events, letting down their guard as they settle in for the night. Not Kult, he has been dozing off and on all day, enjoying the warmth of Summer on his back.

Now is the time for entertainment, now is the time for study. He knows the part he plays, he would lead the chase, he would subdue the specimen. He would be rewarded with his sister's performance, watching hungrily as she plucked apart their trophy.

Today is different. They find prey, as always, no matter what they have to settle for. A very small, sickly looking filly trembles against the dying plants. She calls out for Mother and Kult tenses, listening, watching. But there is no Mother- there is no one.

His sister nudges the girl, helping to lift the child on the frail sticks she calls legs. His name is said, his one ear turning towards the sound, eyes flat as he looks over the girl. An odd thing, with water trailing up her body, and sightless eyes.

"Eyes." He hisses, pulling away as Kersey touches his side, head whipping to glare at her. Snorting at her like she is a fly sent to pester him, and turning to the girl. "Come. Cove. Kirin." He breathes into the girls face and he can't imagine what he must smell like.

Khaos x Killgore

[capture]

The seconds that pass in silence seem to stretch into minutes and hours and days and years, and each new moment bleeds more unease into the tremble of that perfect steel and green skin. Everything about the world seemed so quiet, like the forest had been cut away by magic and dropped into the empty black of an endless sky. She could not trace the gentle pinks across the sky, would never see those streaks of pale orange and blue like there was a fire burning just beneath the horizon. Her world would always be the same, would always be black and lonely and incomplete. But then the silence breaks and she stumbles toward the sound, too young to be scared, too new to know the fear that pressed cold fingers against her belly. Her small ears flicked quietly, taking turns to point forward and back and to disappear into the rigid tufts of her charcoal dark mane. The string of words that greeted her were entirely disorienting, incomplete sentences split with voices as slick as blades. She could not make sense of any of it. Each word seemed different, but there were sounds being repeated again and again and again, and she clung to it like a beacon. “Kuh,” she mimicked, her tongue twisting in her mouth like a worm cut in half. It felt awkward this sound, so much less crisp than how it sounded on their tongues. “Kuh.” She tried again and it sounded as though her small voice was choking on the effort. Kult. Kirin. Kersey. Kult. Come. Cove. Kirin. “Kirn.” She repeated uncertainly, the word inelegant on her unpracticed tongue. But then they are beside her and she can feel the warmth of Kersey’s skin where her nose touches the green. Her face lifts reflexively, all delicate curves and gentle hollows etched in bone and shadow. With as much caution as a bird inching along a branch, she reaches across the heavy dark in search of that warmth again, the absence of it sitting like stones in her empty belly. But the only thing she finds is a huff of breath ghosting across her face and tousling the corn-silk wisps of her black forelock. It was a smell she would come to love though, the stink of ocean and brine and sunshine and sand.   It was the ocean. I KNOW THE RULES; THE WEAKER TREE BENDS capture

[Kersey]

KERSEY || the academic executioner of silver cove

I flick my tail, impatient with the girl's youth. She stumbles forward and I grimace. I know what she seeks; warmth and food. I possess one and not the other, but perhaps Kirin will have an idea. All I know is that I hope he doesn't ask me to raise her. She's little more than a baby. I have never liked children.

Still, this one has something about her. An affinity for water that could make her useful, especially in the Cove. It isn't my job to decide, however. I'll leave that to Kirin and Nicia.

“That's right. Kirin. You belong to us, now. Stay close to my side or you'll get lost in these woods and become prey.”

She was so very close to becoming prey to us, in fact. There are worse things in the woods than Kult and I and a blind child is the perfect victim. I am also inclined to pout for the lost fun.

“Come.” I say, repeating my brother's command, and nudge the girl so she is by my side. It's a job I know Kult will not want.

Ooc: lameness, but I wanted to transition to the Cove. I'll put up a post for these two and anyone else in a few minutes.