"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
Gone was the age of his father. Of his father’s father, whose name Wyrm has never known, nor will ever know. And with it, so was the old wolf silenced. It had been what seemed like centuries since the striking green stallion had seen any indication of his family. Perhaps (since the unusual seems to have become so regular in this place) they have faded with the wane of magical powers, laid low by the inability to flex the muscle they’ve become so dependant upon. Whatever the reason for their disappearance, Wyrm cannot think that it should concern him any longer. He hears no whispers of kingdoms warring, smells no magic in the air, tastes no blood. Instead, he’s left to watch the seasons pass one by one, all the while his body remains untouched by the time that so eagerly eats away at other living creatures.
He supposes that he’s traded his gifts, in some sense. The entire purpose of gaining the Gates throne had been to secure immortality until he could make his next move. In a world where everything subjects itself to the whim of decay, Wyrm knew that stolen time was his only hope. So he’d taken only a minor gift from the kingdom and left it at that. What other need did he have for power? He’d been born with such an immense gift that previously, it had been unnecessary to strive for more.
But now … now things were different. The anger of the Gods had come down upon them all, so that they could suffer. Waking one morning and finding that he’d become powerless had nearly crippled the once terrifying horse. Then again, he was who he was, so in essence even death without power was only a dark foreboding until he’d begun to realize that he had been left with something. The moment Wyrm recognized the smooth lines of his nose never greying he’d chuckled to himself. What was there to fret about if he now had all the time in the world to gain back what he’d lost?
She has seen ages come and she has seen ages go, like dust on the wind. Nothing ever lasts forever. But this, this is different. She has never seen anything like this. In all the eons Beqanna has existed, in all the times she has changed and buckled and reshaped herself, it has never been like this. Never has she wiped the slate clean in order to write history completely anew.
And that is… alarming. The white splashed mare is not, by nature, easy to startle. Or to fool. And this, this is something so entirely new and different that she is not quite sure how to react.
Anger, of course. So many are angry. But there is more. Resignation. Determination. Pain. The world is not the same as the one she had known so very recently. And it does not help that her sight has been taken from her. That she has been left blinded in all ways except for one, the one that is least important.
But she perseveres. She will not just endure, she will thrive, because that is her nature. That is who she is. And she will not do it alone. If she has learned anything in all her prying, it is this.
That does not mean life will not be difficult however. She cannot continue in quite the way she had been. She does not have the resources. So it is by pure happenstance, some ironic twist of fate, that she chances upon Wyrm in the meadow. Of course, there are not a lot of other places for one to be anymore, so perhaps it is not so surprising.
A small smile quirks her lips as eyes of crystalline blue light on him. She does not hesitate in her approach. They know each other well enough that she finds it completely unnecessary. ”Wyrm,” she says softly, stepping up beside him as her gaze brushes swiftly over his seemingly healthy green form. ”Fancy meeting you here.”
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
Seeing her again unlocks something inside of him that Wyrm cannot even begin to understand. He’s really not had a say on the idea of ‘friendship’ or ‘camaraderie’, nor had he expected to see her (of all creatures) in the remnants of this world. That’s not to say he’s not excited by the sight of her now - in fact, to his surprise, something of a smile plays around the edges of his lips. She was matched in her thoughts about their familiarity with one another. Besides, they alone had understood what it meant to be different. His eyes narrow at her comment, head tilting as he ignores (for now) her dramatically patterned body. “What’s so fancy about it?” He jokes, but there’s no hint of laughter in his voice.
“I’m a pile of irritable, immortal flesh.” He growls, if only for a moment. Anger pent up for so long inside of a creature who was accustomed to releasing it methodically sometimes shows in the cracks. He inhales, blinking slowly before shifting mental gears. “And you? Where have you been hiding?” He questions, only now allowing his eyes to wander freely. She looks … well. In some sense, thinking too deeply about Heartfire -especially when she was so near- was the closest Wyrm’s ever come to feeling uncomfortable.
When he thinks of her, he can only think of how Lupei had described meeting Zojja, his dam, for the first time. The old shifter had muttered something about how his mother had been “of a higher mindset.” Wyrm thinks that what he feels is borderline respect, but he’d rather not think about it at all so his eyes wander back to where her shockingly blue ones rest. There’s even a part of him that thinks he might have missed her.
On the surface, they look very much the same as they once had. A few minor changes here and there. They are both older, perhaps a bit wiser. Heartfire has gained a scar, two rows pale tooth marks upon her chest, barely noticeable amongst the white already flecking her body. But still the same, still wholly recognizable. No, the changes cannot necessarily be seen, but they can certainly be felt.
She has lost, but she gained too. Immortality. An invisible brow raised, the faintest of smirks. ”Immortal? My, aren't you full of surprises.” Apparently they are more similar than they ever realized. Of course, she had long since recognized their similarities. Despite their vastly different upbringings, they had somehow developed personalities that complemented one another quite well. And perhaps that is why she has been drawn to him from such a young age. Why they have been drawn to each other.
She does not develop friendships. Not easily, at least. She is too abrasive, too honest in her discourse, in her action. He is the closest she has ever come, aside from her brother, of course (but he is different, her twin. They share a bond, an understanding of one another that is nearly impossible to match).
”Oh, here and there. Mostly there.” A faint glint of brief amusement glitters within her gaze before she turns, shifting so that she stands beside him. Blue eyes move to the surrounding meadow, offhandedly observing the snow coated expanse as she continues. ”It's a strange new world, this place.” Pausing, she flicks a brief, speculative glance in his direction. ”Care to share your plans?”
Knowing him, he has a plan. A grand one, no doubt. And she's curious.
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
Even immortality cannot prevent change, only slow it for a time. If he had noted the strange scars on her breast he might have said something, but he never lingers where he’s not wanted so her past escapes him. Heartfire doesn’t do much in the way of explaining either and in the discourse of a few, paltry phrases she’s smoothed over lost time. Wyrm pictures a stiff hand brushing away the crumbs from some leftover meal. It’s only when she parallels herself to him that he follows suit with her gaze and turns his own eyes to the blanket of snow. Winter at her worst, yet nearing the end. Her off-hand comment about the seemingly ‘new’ Beqanna rouses a brief snicker, “Oh, without a doubt.” He concedes. “But strange is what we do best. Besides, who knows what could be lurking underneath it all …”
The sentence tapers out as his thoughts branch into limitless possibilities. So much to see of this new place, so much to understand. Heartfire could hardly forget the curious nature that dwelled within him anyways, it was the very thing that had led him to her in the beginning. Funny that she should ask what he planned to do with his time now. At once, his thoughts condense and channel into a single purpose, and the once brooding hen of a stallion snaps into his old repertoire. Gently, he tilts his head until she can see the wicked blur of a grin flash over his lips. “I’m tickled that you’re interested, because they involve you.” He divulges.
One ear solemnly rests on her while the other dances sideways, aching to change in some way that he’s incapable of. “From my knowledge there’s a creature inhabiting Beqanna who’s due some payback from yours truly. I plan to make this generational dream a reality.” He tells her, not yet ready to overwhelm her with the minor details. Heartfire was very much a woman of her own mind, in more ways than one. She could just as easily laugh in his face as she could agree to help, so Wyrm plans to deal his cards accordingly. “However, rumor has it that this ‘someone’ possesses a gift eerily similar to yours, though I doubt anywhere near as powerful.” He begins, hoping this will give her reason enough to pause. “I suppose I’d be asking for your help again.”
Everything comes with a price. Wyrm had paid his when he’d visited the Deserts and in exchange he’d been given the ability to take on extinguished lifeforms. Revenge though … this was a whole new realm to the once-shape-changer. “Think of it as an opportunity to finally exercise your gift without restraint - and I mean that in the broadest of terms.” He entices, knowing that Heartfire will more than likely shake her head at the private antics of a green madman. He knew that his vendetta had nothing truly to do with her - only that he needed her (in a sense) to subdue the perpetrator until he could once again sink claws into unworthy flesh. It’s a risky roll of the dice, but for once Wyrm is also willing to bet she’s as bored as he is and that above all, she too misses what she once had.
Like she said, it was a new world - anything was possible.
In truth, she feels little need to explain, to dwell, to linger on the past. What had been no longer is. Everything before has become largely irrelevant. And she has little time for the irrelevant.
Change has come to their land, their homes, and she does not resist. It would be futile, and certainly she has never been one to beat a dead horse. Besides, if she had any hope of regaining what she had lost, she must continue on, must embrace this new world and make it her own.
And in that, the green stallion at her side could no doubt help. Their relationship has never been one of sentiment, but rather one of mutual benefit. She does not see that changing, even now.
”Indeed,” she murmurs as she studies the landscape. The meadow, the forest, the field, these are familiar, but everything else is new. Changed. So very full of eager potential. She can see it, even without her sight, simmering beneath the surface. Beqanna cannot hide her true face forever.
His next words however bring her abruptly back to the present. Blue eyes shifting to Wyrm, she casually raises a brow, interest piqued. ”Is that so?”
Her gaze remains fixed on him as he continues, carefully, silently, considering what he has to say. The offer he makes. The opportunity to use her powers to their fullest extent intrigues her greatly. Indeed, there are few arguments that could sway her more than the one he had just made. But there remains one glitch in his plan, one small hiccup.
She, as yet, remains powerless.
She would gain it back, of this she has little doubt. The largest question then becomes that of time. ”As intriguing as that prospect sounds, there remains one small problem.” Pause. ”Beqanna has proven a fickle mistress.”
She smiles then, a tight, thin-lipped smile that covers her intrigue with the cool facade of a queen. Her perceptive blue eyes turn back to the snow laden meadow as she continues. ”Do you have a timeline?”
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
Had she always been a mare of so little words? Wyrm’s never reflected on it before. Perhaps it’s the tension he feels from coming to her like a wayward dog, whining at her feet for scraps of a power she no longer possesses. Of course it was adequate that she would regard him with so little indifference. Or, maybe he was mistaking her silence. Heartfire was calculating to a fault, something he himself was no less guilty of. But then again she seemed ... different. There’s a nagging sort of anger that picks at his skull when she looks at him, a restless emotion that he’s never even come close to feeling all these years. It bothers him even more to put a name on it (because in naming something, then it becomes real) but he can’t stop the whisper that his consciousness offers up.
Shame, it tells him. He’s feeling shame. A bitter, vile thing that coils inside of him and enrages him all at the same time. A hot, dry emotion that cannot be acted upon but only felt. It springs to life again when she turns her eyes away and leaves a question hanging between them. He knows it’s because she’s here, because it’s Heartfire and no one else. What other living being would awaken such emotions inside of him? He feels it so acutely under that cold, blue stare. Shame that he’s reduced to this, shame that he’s lost the animal he was before … shame that comes to him when her eyes glance over his body and She sees nothing but a green stallion, where once a threat was thinly veiled.
And yet, he’s still Wyrm. Nothing of what he feels even remotely passes over his eyes because if Heartfire were to sense it, then truly everything would be lost. No - better to channel it, breed it with anger, and let it grow until he can harness it again. “I have nothing but time.” He tells her, reflecting on the many ways she would’ve made an excellent counterpart on the throne. Pity it had never come to fruition. “And hopefully, I have you also.” He comments, watching as her mouth twists into a smile. “Although, you haven’t told me what your plans are … if you have any.” He finishes, ever the picture of tranquility. If it was one thing he’d learned from his stint with immortality, it was that wearing a mask could be viable in more ways than one.
Once, she had been young and foolish. A girl with a sharp tongue she could not hold. But she had grown, and she had changed in some very important ways. She had learned the value of using her words sparingly. Oh, she had not lost her edge, she had merely honed it. She is young, but her soul is old. Her memories stretch beyond the false containment of her years. And she had learned from them.
She had been a queen once. She had loved and she had bled and she had lost. It is something impossible to forget, a thing that had helped to shape the woman she is today.
But Wyrm knows none of that, nor does she feel the need to inform him. The tension he feels radiating from her skin is the weight of memories that fall so heavily upon her shoulders. The dearth of words a result of years tempered by the weight of a crown upon her head.
It is a crown few would recognize, but it had been hers all the same.
The heaviness of the silence makes her curious, makes her shift her gaze from the empty, snow-laden meadow to the green stallion at her side. There is something there, something about him that she cannot quite name, but there nonetheless. It does not show on his features, nor in the shifting of his limbs, but she can taste it on the air like an acrid smoke.
His words betray little of his feelings. For a moment, she is tempted to ask, but she resists. Ultimately, the truth of his emotions have little bearing on any potential deal they might make. ”Hmm,” she finally replies non-committally. ”I would be lying if I said I wasn’t interested. Tell me though, what is in it for me? Besides the glory, of course.”
She had given up on glory long ago. Oh, she definitely has plans, but they are neither glorious nor even terribly interesting. In this new world, there are few courses of action one might take when one desires power. Or at least, the return of it. So she would play the game, for the time being. One does not become queen without learning how to make concessions. ”They are… uninteresting, to say the least. I'm certain that you find the details quite boring.”
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
09-24-2016, 12:20 AM (This post was last modified: 09-24-2016, 12:29 AM by Wyrm.)
:WYRM:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?
Even after all this time, Wyrm’s never thought about Heartfire’s past. To him, she simply existed. For her, no doubt it went about in the same manner: Wyrm inhaled, therefore he had life, therefore he was not entirely useless as of yet. But what about his past? Was there even something worth talking about if she had chosen to open up her mouth and ask him? Like so many branches in a tree every outcome of every situation stretches out before him, all converging in his past to form the trunk that is him. The leaves that blossom - these are events that have come to fruition. Her silence on his irregularity? Just another branch culled short of a bloom. The tree continues to grow and Heartfire hums while another worthless second comes and goes.
“I guess that all depends on what you want.” Wyrm replies, the words practically vibrating in the back of his throat. He chuckles, keeping his mouth firmly closed as she flippantly re-directs his question. She wears the mask better than he ever could. “Boring?” He questions, easing away from her to stretch loose the muscles that have stiffened from inactivity. “Quite the opposite. I tend to find that the devil is always lurking somewhere in the details.” He murmurs, a single ear dipping in her direction.
Thoughtfully, his tail sweeps in a lazy arc from side-to-side; a green pendulum to count the moments that pass in silence before he raises his head to glance fully back at her. She could be stone, for how motionless she’d become. “So if you won’t tell me that, then tell me this -” He offers, one corner of his cheek twitching from the effort of withholding a sneer, “-What is it you desire, Heartfire?”
It is true she has never truly considered much of what lay in her emerald companion's past. It holds so little bearing on this present moment that it is hardly worth consideration. Perhaps in idleness she had wondered once, but not enough to put the thought to question. He has never asked of her history either, of what has brought her where she is today (of course, had he, he might have discovered that she has grown ever more powerful, has inherited new strengths that allow her a great deal. Or at least they had, until the world had turned upside down), but as far as she is concerned, that is neither here nor there. There are some things she keeps close to her chest anyway. Not secrets per se, more things she simply chooses not to discuss in everyday conversation.
Her plans are one of those not quite secrets. In truth, they are yet a far distant thing. There are too many variables for her to ensure success as yet. And quite frankly, were she to fail, the fewer who know of it, the better.
So instead of answering him, she smiles. A wry, half smile that tells him exactly nothing. Yes, the devil certainly is in the details.
His next question catches her a bit off guard. In truth, she had not thought he might offer her carte blanche. And really, what is it she does desire?
Oh, many things, but in this case, she does not believe he is asking about the plethora of mundane desires that immediately spring to mind. But she knows herself well enough that it does not take her terribly long to find to the crux of the matter. Shifting her weight, she relaxes one hind leg, white and black speckled limb crooking into an easy stance. Blue eyes drifting along the meadow, she allows her expression to soften into a thoughtful one.
”What does anyone desire?” Crystalline eyes flicking back to her companion, she considers him briefly. ”Power, of course.” Lips quirking, she pauses a moment before continuing. ”But not, perhaps, in the traditional sense.”
Some power comes easily. This, unfortunately, is not one of them. Raising one brow, she fixes a piercing gaze upon him. ”Still interested?”
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
