"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
04-03-2017, 10:35 PM (This post was last modified: 04-04-2017, 01:16 PM by Iset.)
iset
theres an old man sitting on a throne thats saying...
Wasn’t it funny how differently people reacted to death? Some welcomed it, some feared it. Some caused it, and some fought tooth and nail to keep it away from themselves and those they love. Iset always thought she would be the type to stare death in the face and never blink; after all, she had believed herself to be close to death many times, and even then she had refused to back down.
But here, in this strange land and without her twin, Iset didn’t know what to do with herself. The dangers here were less present, and unknown to her; that was what frightened her most of all. At least in the dunes with Him, she knew what was coming. Here, she was ignorant to the salt that could be masquerading as sugar, and she didn't like that feeling one bit. She once again drug her dirty, tired frame through the long Meadow grasses, refusing the let the claws of fear settle on her throat.
She stopped for a moment to get her bearings, letting the hot summer sun warm her coat. Whiskey colored eyes drifted shut Iset found herself back in the Dunes once again. Like a mirage, she saw her and Sakir chasing each other through the sandy hills, their thin legs sinking into the soft earth as sand sprayed all around them. A smile touched her thin lips, but fell quickly when she saw Him. Dainty hooves stamped restlessly as she watched her and her twin freeze in her mind's eye. He bellowed at them about something, making a mess of the sands or something ridiculous like that. He turned, and Iset thought maybe, just maybe, he would take pity on them this one time. Just as that thought finished processing, a powerful leg lashed out, catching her in the shoulder. Her mind went black with forgotten pain, and her eyes snapped open.
Just like that the illusion faded, and both her twin and her home were lost to her memory. She shook her head and whinnied softly, chasing the images further into the recesses of her mind, so that maybe they wouldn’t hurt so badly. She realized then that it wasn’t death that everyone feared, it was being alone.
Wasn’t that what they said? Wasn’t that what was supposed to give him hope? Time has passed (oh, so very slowly), yet Warrick still felt the sting. It was still there - raw, gaping and pulsing with fear, festering with unceasing pain. The wound was large and deep, a cavernous hole they had once filled. Wasn’t it supposed to start healing by now? Wasn’t it at least going to start feeling numb?
He feels no relief, no reprieve. He no longer knew peace.
Every time he closes his eyes they’re in his mind, washed in the silver of bright starlight and staring at him with eyes of brilliant light, gazing upon him knowingly but not attempting to be near him. Without them, who was he? It was worse than death, his mother and sister’s disappearance. Leaving willingly into the stars without him was the ultimate betrayal, yet he still loved and yearned for them. He could not bear it, so he did not sleep.
Warrick is weary, but pretends he is not. He feels tired and stretched thin, but he would never tell that to anyone he came across. The mahogany and indigo stallion stands in the familiar meadow, wishing that the heat of the sun were as intense as the heat of his volcanic home. He had been in Tephra for a while now, and though his heart and loyalties lie with the residents and his leader, the humid air sometimes felt too thick on his throat. Even in a kingdom full of equines, Warrick still felt like he was utterly alone.
He would then find himself elsewhere, wandering with what he pretended would be with purpose, but really it was because he constantly needed to be preoccupied. That way, visions of his family would remain elsewhere instead of the forefront of his mind. But now, in the meadow that was strangely empty, Warrick’s mind wanders. He can feel himself going there, his heart desperately wanting to remember their faces while his mind attempts to scuff out the thought. He snorts sharply, throwing his head wildly in a struggle to cast them out of his thoughts. They are not here, he thinks to himself and immediately felt despair, knowing that his sister and mother did not want him to forget them.
But wouldn’t forgetting be easier?
He could not finish the thought as his cobalt-tipped ears flick casually towards the sound of a gentle whinny, his navy eyes glancing towards the source. He sees a young yearling, shining like copper in the brilliant sunlight of summer. He welcomes the distraction curiously starting a walk towards her.
She was young, but Warrick knew many fillies that were more than capable of being on their own. His thoughts pass to Beyah. As he approaches the girl with the metallic sheen, he tosses his head once again to rid his mind of her memory (was it really a memory if she was still alive?).
“Hello, my name is Warrick,” he says kindly, halting a few strides away from where she stood. He was only slightly concerned with the young filly being by herself - he remembers always being with his sister and the panic of being separated from her and hopes that she was not feeling the same way. To this day, he does not like being alone.
So he quietly offers to the shining filly: “Would you like some company?”
theres an old man sitting on a throne thats saying...
Although she would never admit it to anyone but herself, Iset had feared the King. It was a different sort of fear, however. It wasn't the fear that gave her nightmares or caused her to whimper and shrink away when He approached. It was the sort of fear gave her a sixth sense; a kind of hyperawareness that alerted her to His presence and kicked her mind into overdrive.
It was this same fear that held her now; the fear that had grabbed her as soon as the scent of the newcomer had grazed her soft muzzle. It danced on the breeze like a ballerina, assailing her nostrils until there was no doubt in the filly’s mind that the thick, masculine smell belonged to a stallion. Every instinct in her body screamed for her to run, to the point where the voices inside her head were begging her to get the hell out of Dodge. Like it had in the past, her pride speaks louder than her panic, and she pins her ears and squares narrow shoulders and prepares for a fight.
In the entirety of her short life, Iset had only gotten one piece of advice from her mother. ‘The eyes are the window to the soul,’ she would say. Because of this, Iset had become very good at identifying the emotions she saw within the eyes of those she encountered. In His eyes she saw hatred and cruelty, in her mothers, indifference. In her twin’s eyes she saw faith, love, and blind fear whenever He came around. When Amet would look at her, she saw disappointment mixed with a hint of respect whenever she stood up to Him.
However, when she searched the eyes of the stallion before her, she saw something very similar to what she imagined was shining in her own eyes; longing. Longing for what, she didn’t know. Even though she saw no malevolence in the eyes that watched her, she didn’t allow herself to relax much. His voice was gentle, and he stood a few paces away from her as to not crowd her; something she greatly appreciated.
Company. Did she want company? She wanted her twin. She wanted her home to be safe place like she knew it had once been. But company? “Company wouldn't be the first thing I would ask for.” The filly squeezed bright eyes shut and steeled herself for the blow that was sure to follow her snarky comment.
After a second, she squinted one eye half open and rested them once more on his focused on the rich color of his face. For once, Iset made an attempt to shake off her temper. After all, she saw a shadow of herself inside the horse standing in front of her. “I suppose,” she said on a sigh, “Company wouldn’t be the absolute worst thing. I’m Iset.".
He watches her with an expression that was slightly solemn yet inviting, as was Warrick’s demeanor. Though if the girl took the time to look at him carefully and inspect the auburn and indigo features of his tired face, she would find it etched with fragments of despair (which she might recognize), like a sharp needle upon glass.
Warrick’s gaze softens empathetically as she become fearful and wary of him, brows rising with concern and mouth opening slightly to speak as muscles tighten to begin to bring him a few steps closer… but he resists the urge. He closes his mouth thoughtfully, blue lips pressing together in a thin line. He is not surprised that she is cautious; it would be more surprising if she weren’t. Time spent alone was a challenging task in itself – and that task brings enormous amount of emotions with it. Survival is the main focus and nothing else.
That is, of course, if you are not searching for someone.
A soft sigh leaves his cobalt lips, restraining himself from glancing up at the sky (even though there were no stars to be seen) in curiosity as he always does – he almost tricks himself into believing that a simple gaze cast upwards to the galaxies will bring them back, but he always reminds himself that they are worlds away and that he is forgotten by them… only a distant memory.
To them, maybe he was just a memory of a memory.
Her voice brims with her youth, bringing the stallion back to focus on the shining, metallic girl before him. She spits her words at him at first, but the bay stallion only smiles easily in response. He agrees with her wholeheartedly. “It does not solve all problems,” he murmurs in answer, his voice gentle and understanding, “but it does make problems at least a little less overwhelming.”
A pause, and then: “For a time.”
Warrick does now decide to take a single step forward when she agrees to let him stay in her vicinity, his brilliant navy blue eyes watching her. He casually begins to graze, remaining a comfortable distance away from the filly but close enough that they could converse. He chews for a moment; head still lowered in the long meadow grasses. Between mouthfuls he quietly and offhandedly asks, “You’re searching for someone too, Iset?”
theres an old man sitting on a throne thats saying...
Warrick, more than anyone she had ever met, reminded her of Sakir. He didn’t argue with her like Amet would, and he didn’t beat her like the King would.
Iset is impressed.
He acts almost as though he wishes to comfort her in her fear, but once again respects the distance between them and does not close it. The metallic filly narrows her eyes and studies the older horse shamelessly, finding exhaustion and sadness rather than malevolence present in their navy depths.
His gentle gaze holds a faraway look, and Iset can’t help but wonder where his mind wandered. Iset’s own amber eyes dive into his, curious if she could see the reflection of his desires .
She couldn’t, and it seemed that even Warrick himself couldn't pinpoint exactly what he was searching for.
He combats her biting words with an unconcerned smile. He surprises her once again by agreeing with her; his words simple but the meaning behind them felt deeper than the streams that streaked across the meadow. She cocks her thin head and scrutinizes the stallion as she processes the wise words that leave his cobalt mouth.
She nods cautiously at the truth in his words and sucks in a deep breath as he takes a step towards her. She watches him warily as he ducks his head to graze, not moving or breathing until he speaks again.
“No,” she responds curtly. “Anyone I would want to see…” she trailed off. They were ghosts. Lost to the past and living on only in her memory. “It wouldn’t be an option,” she finished shortly. “What about you?” she questioned, deciding to put the weight of the conversation back on his shoulders, “Who have you lost, Warrick?” Her question was blunt and rude, but she didn’t like feeling this vulnerable with someone she had only just met.
She is still wary of him and he is glad – she should be. Too much trust can be your undoing. Inwardly, his stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought.
The copper girl is curious, though. He can feel her warm eyes on him, surveying him carefully and watching every step that he took. She was calculating, almost trying to dissect him with her gaze. He wonders why, though it could be any possible number of reasons that she watches him with her steely gaze. He hopes it is not a bad reason, her cautiousness, but he cannot help but figure that a young filly on her own would not exactly have a beautiful story to tell – at least, not yet.
Warrick stops grazing as she speaks, lifting his head thoughtfully as he listens. He can feel his own heart aching for her, sharing in a pain that they both have experienced. He raises his head, the weariness and pain on his face a bit more noticeable now. It’s not an option for him either, little one.
She is strong-willed and poignant, which is surprising for one at her age. He tilts his head, weighing the question with a sad look on his face, brow furrowing in thought; such a loaded question for such a small child. His eyes reflexively glance upwards (at this point she may even try to follow his gaze, but will be unable to understand the relevance), his voice barely a whisper, grave and somber. “Everything.” His voice is barely a breath on his lips, a simple exhale. Perhaps Iset didn’t even hear his response.
“Maybe I’m the one who is lost, Iset?” His eyes are on her now, a sudden change in emotion filtering across his face (that of unawareness and surprise), blue-tipped ears pricking towards her. It’s a question that he does not know the answer to and knows that she doesn’t hold the answer either.
He wonders if he’s spoken too much, too cerebrally, to just a mere filly. He tosses his head and clears his throat, though his thoughts remain will continue to remain with his original question.
