"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
09-09-2016, 03:14 PM (This post was last modified: 09-13-2016, 02:05 PM by Dovev.)
Dovev
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The little dark colt pranced proudly forward, his white tobiano splashes dancing happily, and his very own mare at his back. She followed so faithfully. Such a perfect find. So beautiful, too.
"Maybe one day you can meet my father," she'd said earlier, "or maybe someone I knew from before." He saw that divine light in her eyes die out once more, at some memory perhaps. He instantly didn't like anything or anyone that would snuff that out of his beloved Mother. "We will find a place to go where we won't be alone," she'd said lastly. Her heart was so big, so easily hurt. He'd protect it. He was all she'd ever need now.
We wouldn't need to find a home, he knew. He would do it himself, as the stallion of the pair. And so he naturally took the lead, and brought them deeper into the wide meadow. There were so many others milling about, but it was much less frantic than his birthplace on the mountain. But first, he needed to see that brilliant light return to her lovely eyes.
Do you recognize anyone in this part, my Cerva? he sang to her. Big, bottomless eyes of rich darkness turned to find her gaze. She never failed to take his breath away. He was such a lucky colt -no a deserving colt. The stunning bay was perfect for him.
He slid in next to her, snuggling into her warmth, and watched her look around for familiar faces.
It is unfair to expect so much from them. She knows this. But to her it is like being asked to let go of the base things that drive her – to eat; to gratify her thirst; to draw breath; to seek warmth and propagate. She tries to understand the ways they change her world – for better, to be sure by far – and it comes to her, mostly, as nature intends it to. Like a creeping suspicion that she should be doing this, or that, and so she does. And these this-es and thats occupy her, wholecloth.
But she wishes they could climb, because she could feel all along that they were many-minded – by the grace of her Mother and his Coyote; the Seamstress and the Trickster. And they deserve to know.
She wishes they could walk longer with her before they fell, silly and sullen, to their knees and complain of achy feet or empty bellies.
But it cannot be helped. She always knew she would have to slow herself for them and for motherhood. She knew that the endeavors that had kept her ceaselessly in motion for so long would be all but snuffed out until they gained purchase on their gangly, little legs. So they only wander slightly, out across snow drifts (she is glad for the fat she still bares, her coat had not been readied for this), and she tells them of winter – why the trees are naked, what they would come become in the melt; she shows them delicate hoofprints in the snow as they cross the paths of winter-hungry deer.
She does as her mother did – lessons of seeds. And harvests. And deaths.
“Go on,” she lets them escape from her pull, though they never stray too far. They tumble and make patterns in the snow and giggle girlishly with each other.
She considers the mountain in the distance, purple and misty (somewhere, bodiless and alone on those spires, she waits), always watching for them – for the flash of bright white from Mauve’s tail (just like her own, a scut like that of common cottontail’s), a warning of danger. She might be missing her second half, but not all of the things she had taught her were gone. She does this, slowly wandering, a bit away, and then back in closer, until she sees the familiar (vaguely) bay form. Slowly, bodies and minds from Before are surfacing. She is happy to see most, if not all.
“Cerva?” she moves towards them – the proud boy nestled into her – “hello. I had wondered… a few of us met here after…” ‘Us’ seems a disingenuous word, she pulls it back. The Gates had hardly had a chance to be Longear’s at all. But, still, she had noted the gatekeeper's absence when Magnus had beckoned them all to a home, “who’s this, then?” She looks from the boy and back, smiling, keeping an ear on her own girls. She remembers Cerva as lithe and pretty, Before, having had none of the bigness that had made the pony so strangely round.
“My heart has joined the Thousand,
for my friend stopped running today.”
This boy, so confused when he found her, is sprouting into something much braver and much greater (is that possible?). Their eyes connect briefly before he quietly lures her away toward the heart of the meadow where there is an increased congestion. Faces whir by and she tries to see them and identify them, but her eyes keep finding the boy. They adoringly drink in the sight of him and how he tries to bring familiarity back into her life when everything is so new, so strange. Despite the hurt thrumming in her veins Cerva manages a weak smile in gratitude of his efforts, but the softened lines of her face falter when she looks up to see Longear. Although their meeting had been brief Cerva latched onto the names and faces of everyone she met during her brief time in the Gates. Patrolling the border sated her need for social interaction.
Cerva recoils when she hears her name. Her muzzle buries into Devov’s mane for comfort and reassurance, but her nutmeg eyes placidly settle onto the mare as they meet for the first time since The Before. Her heart patters anxiously and her heartbeat is pounding in her ears, but she still hears her. ”Longear,” she murmurs into Devov’s crest, forgetting how it muffles sound. A last breath of him is drawn into her lungs for strength. Cerva is weak, too elusive for confrontation, and so simply leveling her eyes on the mare is enough to sap her of everything. The bitterness that has been festering squirms in her gut, but she can’t bring herself to be angry at the mother. They didn’t know each other well enough.
”I stayed in the Gates as the ground ripped apart and stitched itself back together,” she remembers hearing the roar of the world as it came to life and took revenge on itself. Her eyes had shut and her body trembled fearfully. She thought Death was unfurling its hand to pull her in. What life she thought she had left was going to end and those she cared for would never know what happened to her.
But she opened her eyes to an entirely new Beqanna instead.
”I’ve been here since,” she contemplates how she had missed the Gates congregating, how she had been left out, and if she had another moment to mull it over she may have let the anger burrow its way into her heart again. Alas, Longear’s attention diverts and so does Cerva’s. The frown that was deepening the edges of her face flickers away as her eyes sweep down to see the boy nestled to her side. ”This is Devov,” her voice is proud, her eyes alight, ”my son.” When she touches him again, the white bark of her blaze grazes his skin. She’s gentle, loving. ”He found me when I was alone,” she adds more darkly because the “family” in the Gates had left her.
09-12-2016, 08:12 PM (This post was last modified: 09-12-2016, 08:14 PM by Dovev.)
He shivered at her gentle touch, sighing happily as her sweet velvet buried into his mane. Content to let them greet without his interruption, he observed silently, calm gaze passing from one to the other, though always lingering longest on Cerva, admiringly. Occasionally, he would brush her shoulder lightly or breathe sweet kisses on her. She'd never forget he was here. And he'd never be anywhere else.
He didn't like the frown that creased her pretty brow, but it was swept away as she turned to him. A big grin lit his face, comforted in knowing he had done that, took her pain away. He turned his smile to the newcomer, bowing his head graciously at Cerva's introduction of him. "He found me when I was alone," she finished darkly.
Dovev touched his small nose to her again, comfortingly, and gave a soothing lick to her soft coat. He was beginning to wonder if he'd made a mistake in helping her seek out her old acquaintances. She didn't seem to enjoy it. But she enjoyed him. Maybe he would guide her away soon, and she could be happy again with him.
Reflecting on her words, he knew she'd never have to be alone anymore, for he'd never leave her. He'd tell her one day, but that day wasn't now. He'd take care of her, his Cerva.
Big black eyes slipped to Longear once again. Hello, he murmured politely with a lazy little smile. We may need to leave soon, he said gently, opening an escape if Cerva grew too anxious. The mare's children were playing in the background, and not once did he think to join them, solidly attached to the lovely bay mare. His mare.
