"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
He remembered those few days in the forest, when he'd been wild. Feral. No, not feral. He'd been in control, so much power and control. So cold. So heartless. But so powerful. He could hurt, he could destroy. And he wouldn't care.
And no pain.
Not even a little.
He was so tempted to slip into that state of mind. So tempted to not feel, not when it was this bad. Not when he could hardly breathe under the blades inside him, suffocating with so many extreme emotions, painful emotions. Drowning under the anguish, the rage, the fury. It was so much, too much, he couldn't even try to bring up a happy memory, couldn't grasp any sense of good. It burned away the good, burned away the happy, the peace.
But he couldn't become that again. He was afraid he wouldn't find his way back out of it. Afraid he would be lost to it forever, and wary of what havoc it would bring to the world. Terrified at the monster he could become if he just let go.
But he wouldn't have to feel.
So he ran like hell. Ran until the exhaustion claimed him, until he collapsed at the base of a tree with a number of scrapes and bruises, his lip split open and a cut over his eye. He breathed deeply, unconscious and unaware of the sweat that soaked and chilled him under the cool night air. Unaware of the physical pains he'd feel when he woke. Only blissfully lost to the world, emotions thankfully dulled and smothered in the black.
But he was him, and he was safe.
They were all safe.
clarity, paint me bright like stars in the dark of night
The older that she got, the wilder Hawke got.
She was no longer a girl, but now a young woman, her body having lengthened and then filled out. But still, even with the curves that now made up her body, there was still a wildness to her—a ranginess in her coltish legs and bright eyes. She still called Tephra home, but she rarely rested there, rarely found herself closing her eyes on its shores. Instead, she roamed the entirety of Beqanna, skirting around the edges of the different lands and finding beauty in the middle, the places where no one lived, no one stayed.
It brought a spark to her eye, the look of adventure that she had never been able to shake, not from her first breath. As she moved through the forest, mountain air clung to her, fresh and icy, despite the coming warmth of spring. Her hazel eyes swept across the horses who gathered, her gaze kind as she studied them each in turn. She couldn’t help the warmth that exploded in her chest, that affection that crawled toward them—it was part of her DNA, as much as the sun and the sea and the wind. Love was who she was.
These thoughts though were interrupted when she caught his scent, mixed with a metallic bite. Her eyes instantly narrowed as she swung her head toward the source of it, worry instantly creasing her features. She ran—rushing past the souls she just been so intent on studying—until she found him, bowed at the base of a large tree. “Ruan!” she cried, racing up him until she was near enough to lean down, her nose brushing against his jaw. “Ruan, are you okay?” She lipped at his cheek. “Ruan, please wake up.”
Distant, so muffled and far away when it tickled at his mind, the sound of his name. He wasn't ready to release this blackness yet, wasn't ready to face the emotions that would assault him upon waking. Wasn't ready to fight to keep them, hold them as they bled him. Because the alternative was worse. The alternative was so much better, so less painful. But monstrous. Dangerous. It was worse, worse, don't forget that it was worse.
His name again, a little more clear, a little louder, and a light pressure on his cheek. He tried to frown, weakly, but it was a pathetic downward tilt to his brows and not much more. ..wake up, and her voice sounded like a whisper, even when he told himself it wasn't, that it should be louder to him. Reagan. It must be. Nobody else touches him, not without rebuff. Not even his daughters. Jinju had come to learn that so recently.
His heart sighed, reluctant, trying to form the walls and foundations to hold up the weight of his emotions. The figurative movements were slow, sleepy, so tired of this fight within himself. So tired of feeling, of doing whats right by bearing so much pain. He could almost see it, that place of glowing power and the dark promise of Unfeeling, could almost reach for it if he wanted to. And he did want to. He wasn't perfect, he could be selfish too.
But he does what is right.
He winced, groaned against the physical pain of his haphazard wounds as he allowed her to lift the fog of unconsciousness with her voice, her touch. The tsunami of emotions hadn't come yet, not yet, still held at bay somehow as he rolled stiffly to sit up more. He blinked, sighing. It would come soon. But when he turned a blank face to her, it was not who he expected at all.
Hawke, he dropped blandly, as though trying to convince himself of the truth of it. Hawke. It was Hawke. He knew Hawke, he remembered her. She was full grown now, filled out and graceful in that wildly beautiful way that belongs to someone of the wilderness, so free spirited. He didn't think he had anything like that, though. Just wild in the bad ways, in the confusing ways that made him too strange, too different. But he brushed it aside in heavy acceptance.
She was too close though, just a little, and he pushed her nose a gently away with his, a half-hearted nudge. It was an improvement though, considering he'd bitten her the last time she got too close. She didn't mean it in any inappropriate way, he knew, and really he just needed his space. It didn't make him like or dislike her any differently. In truth, he was pleased to see her again, and had often wondered when or if he ever would.
Still so loved, he commented with a weak smile and an emptiness in his eyes. She was radiant and lively. It was a shame she couldn't bleed a little of it into him and strengthen him, but he would withstand. He always did.
I don't want to wait anymore, I'm tired of looking for answers take me some place where there's music and there's laughter
He pushed her away, but she didn’t mind. She rolled her eyes a little and sighed, but it was good natured. She knew him well enough from their brief encounter to know that he meant no harm in the way that he nudged her to the side and so she just laughed, taking a dramatic step back to open up the space between them. She glanced down purposefully and then back at his impossibly blue eyes, humor clear on her face.
“Is that enough space, Princess?”
Her lips split into a wide grin though, despite the concern that curdled in her belly, that wicked worry that told her something was wrong, that something was broken. At his comment, she shook her head, sending the tangled, matted pieces of her mane flying, slapping against her delicate neck. “Always.” It was difficult, impossible, to imagine a time when she would not be loved; she had been born into a family, even if it was an odd one, that loved one another fiercely. She knew she could count on them forever. “Do you blame them though?” She tilted her pretty head to the side. “I am a rather marvelous thing.”
She still studied him carefully, but she played along with his line of questions initially. “I have been well,” she glanced upward. “Going here and there—wherever the wing takes me.” Sometimes literally, when it was Canaan’s manipulations pushing her along, his gift teasing even more speed out of her.
“And you, Ruan?”
Here, her eyes sharpened just a little, lips pursing in thought. “You look like you have seen better days, to be completely honest.” She didn’t see the purpose in beating around the bush any longer. “Much better.” He was still handsome, still stern, but beneath the ice was an anger, a hurt she hadn’t seen on him the last time that they had met one another. “And it’s not like you to take naps when vulnerable in the forest.”
( I don't know if I'm scared of dying, but I'm scared of living too fast, too slow )
She opened a wide space between them with a big step back, eyeing the new distance skeptically before asking, is that enough space, Princess?
He tried to give her a wry smile for her snark, but only managed a feeble sort of grimace. The humor was welcome though, a careful balm over everything else that lay hidden and buried within. A temporary relief. But the flicker of concern was still in her eyes, and he felt the urge to avoid it, turn away from that penetrating gaze and that genuine care. He didn't though. He only watched silently as she answered him, wild hair tapping against the soft brown of her as she shook her head.
"Always. Do you blame them though? I am a rather marvelous thing."
His chest pulsed once with a quiet laugh. He agreed, of course. She was marvelous, something entirely unique and untamed. But he didn't say so. He only studied her as she looked up, then back down to him. "And you, Ruan?" Those hawk-eyes sharpened on him and he could feel her take note of the clumsy scrapes and cuts marking his blind run through the forest. Blinded by so much emotion.
He sobered at the question, turned a bitterly cold stare ahead of him as he stiffly rose to his feet. She continued. "You look like you have seen better days, to be completely honest. Much better." He grunted in noncommital agreement, getting his feet steadily beneath him once again. The scars at his sides warped and pinched as he stretched the muscles beneath, rolling a tightness from his shoulders and neck from laying as he had.
"And it's not like you to take naps when vulnerable in the forest."
She was his focus again as his gaze snapped back to her. Vulnerable? He wasn't vulnerable. Or... Maybe he had been. For a few moments. But it'd been necessary. He'd needed it. Blue eyes dulled a little as he responded with a casual shrug, trying to pull a smile to his face to ease the naked truth of it. Yes, I suppose I have seen much better days. His voice was heavy and hard though, and he glanced away. It wasn't every day you try to make up and work through difficult issues only to be immediately accused of the one thing you could never do.
But he threw those thoughts away before they could build him up into another fury. And he didn't expand on his statement. He wasn't really one to open up to anyone; always so private, so distant. If he had a friend, maybe. But apparently he wasn't allowed those, even shallow friendships. Not if they were female. His brows pinched and he shook his head, shaking free the terrible line of thinking. He sighed and looked to her again. She probably could've made a good friend too, so compassionate and kind. He oddly wished she'd go back to the Taiga with him, but he would never ask. Not her. She was happy here, an infectious sort of joy that wafted from her like a perfume. She belonged free.
He did try to smile then, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. I'm glad you're well. It's good to see you again. Have you any new stories to tell me? And then maybe it did reach his eyes just a little, remembering the day they'd met and that storyteller voice of hers as she told him about how she conquered her quest. Maybe she would have more to tell him. Something to take his mind off of everything else for a short while. Or maybe he should ask her.. if it was wrong to wish not to feel anymore. It could be so freeing.
