"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
The sun is invisible to the Budyonny, but he can still feel its rays upon his dark coat....feel them too well in fact. It was summer now, and his black fur is nearly as damp as if he'd taken a dip in the fishing stream located back in Taiga. Siberian is thankful when at last the atmosphere of the too-long trail that leads to the Forest begins to feel much cooler, no doubt due to the enshrouding trees overhead. Shuffle-walking beneath the verdant canopy, he keeps in position by letting the prickly foliage that lined the walkway warn him if he was beginning to lose the curve of the path. There was someone else aside from Azar that he needed to find, now that he had a home to offer; though he does fret over how this meeting might go. It had been a long time since they'd last seen each other, and what if she was happily settled in a home of her own, possibly even with another stallion who had claimed her heart?
What-ifs would drive one crazy if given free rein, and with a snort, Siberian dismisses his before they can take root in his mind. He was going to find her, and discover true answers, not be ruled by the twin demons of anxiety and doubt. He pauses, casting his muzzle one direction and then another. Where might the silvery mare be? He remembers Misra's scent, treasures it more than any other's in his memory, and when a faint tendril teases his nose, the bear-shifter hones in on it as if he had canine tendencies in place of ursine. His ears are hard at work as well, listening for the distinctive way that she breathed, for the faint sound of wing-feathers rustling against soft fur. Coming close, he stumbles despite his best efforts (probably having to do with how his heart has begun to hammer in his chest) and stops to catch himself before he engages in a rather embarrassing and painful tumble. When the blind horse speaks, it is to utter one word, a quivering hope brought to life. "Misra? "
i'd go to hell and back with you; stay lost in what we've found.
Her heart was a wild one – captured quickly with thinly veiled deceit, and crushed easily beneath the weight of discontent. She was foolish, and gullible – her heart ached for what was just out of reach, for what she could never hold onto for more than a few short, breathless minutes. Time had taught her nothing, it seemed, and though she had once found the strength to pull herself out of the clutches of the one who had held so much power over her delicate emotions, she had been drawn back in by his allure, by his bittersweet promises, and once more she found herself thrown away – tossed aside.
She had never meant anything to him, to the lavender painted object of her affection – a truth that was now every bit as part of her as the marrow of her bones or the blood in her veins. She had always known it (he loved no one but himself, and never had), but in the wake of everything she had known being stripped away from her, in the aftermath of the ground being reshaped and changed, she found herself desperately alone – and everything she had ever known was gone.
Her loneliness had driven her to him once more, as his pale amethyst figure loomed in the shadow of night, and she had fallen for his lies yet again – but still, it was not him she longed for in the end.
She is pressed against a brittle, fallen branch, scratching the dry twigs at her feathers where some semblance of an itch remains tucked between the preened feathers. Hidden away within the densest part of the thicket, she has grown used to the quiet, with little else but the soft chirping of other winged creatures, and the babbling brook nearby to keep her company. She is lost in her own thoughts, of memories with words unspoken (she had never had the strength to rebuke Kirin; she had never had the courage to tell Siberian how she felt), when the sharp crackling of dry leaves and twigs startle her from her reverie.
And there, as her deep, brown eyes search his familiar face – the creases beneath his eyes (unfocused, almost cloudy – could he not see her?) deep and dark, and the familiar hollow of his cheek where she had once lain kisses. Misra? he murmurs, his voice shaking and quivering with uncertainty. Disbelief is etched across her feminine features, but it also tremors within her voice, which murmurs his name softly in return.
”Siberian, I .. it’s been so long – is it really you?” she says, finally, stepping forward as her silvery feathers bristle along the hollow bones of her wings. Gently, her whiskered lips touch his cheek, seeking his familiarity, longing for him to be anything but a dream. ”I thought ..”I thought you were dead, she doesn’t say, for her voice is shaking too much as it is.
worlds apart, we were the same until we hit the ground.
It *is* her, all his long-ago daydreams and hesistant hopes brought to life in one single heart, beating away beneath one mare's moonlight-hued fur. Her muzzle touches his cheek, equally unsure in its gentleness, and his sightless eyes close in silent joy. A single tear escapes from beneath each eyelid, staining his ebony fur as they make their way to the ground beneath. All the fancy words, the structured sentences he had planned out in his mind should this moment of reunion ever occur with the intent of dazzling Misra, have now fled his mind now that he actually needs them. The Budyonny huffs out a quiet breath, deciding he's better off without them anyway. There was, after all, a very old and wise proverb that he'd heard before: Keep it simple, stupid.
"Yes, Misra....it's me. I'm so glad to have found you again. " After a moment of gathering up the threads of his courage, he leans in close to her, his ebony muzzle seeking out her delicate ear. The three words he'd tried, and failed before, to utter, now take on a life of their own as they are whispered with a desperate hope into the velvety little triangle. "I love you...." And in the aftermath of his admission, he stands silently, every inch of him hanging over the chasm of feared rejection, listening as intently as only a blind horse could do. Would she speak words that were an echo of his own? Did her feelings mirror his, or did they belong to another? He could not fault her if they did....they had been apart for years, and Misra was free to do as she pleased, of course. His heart is hammering so hard in his chest as he waits that he would not be surprised if the pegasus could hear its two-step tango.
i'd go to hell and back with you; stay lost in what we've found.
Where her dark mouth is pressed to the curve of his cheek, the salty brine of a single tear from his cloudy, sightless eyes traces her lips, and a swell of emotion rises in the hollow of her throat, rendering her breathless. Time (wrecked, relentless time) had etched its way into the sinewy muscle and bone of his once youthful features; the tender edge of youth no longer clutching onto his broad, masculine features.
He has grown older, and she has, too. Long gone was the reckless, needlessly haughty self-preservation that had kept them apart - he, no longer feigning disdain, nor pushing her away, and she, no longer foolish enough to believe the carefully spoken lies that had kept her captive for so long, nor fearful of what her heart had been pining for all along.
His words are a rumbling tremor, and his breath is warm against her cheek, and all she can do is press her forehead against the crease of his jawline, listening to the rhythmic thrumming of his rapidly pounding heart, echoing through his veins. Her own heart is aching; a pang of guilt pooling in the pit of her belly – she should have waited, she should have searched from one roaring ocean to the next, but she hadn’t – she had been consumed by grief; she had stifled her broken heart and grasped onto anything to keep her tethered as she helplessly drifted out to a sea of her own undoing.
The guilt is growing, building, and then, a hushed whisper touches her ear: I love you, and she is unraveling. Her own dark, silvery cheek is soon stained with the saline of fallen tears, as her cheek presses against his own, burying herself into the tangled tresses that lay haphazardly along his neck.
”I wondered if I would ever see you again, Siberian,” she murmurs shakily (unknowingly speaking the very same words she had said to him years ago, upon finding him then), shame interlacing with her every word. ”I should have waited, I should have looked for you –“ Her mumbling weakens, then, to a mere shaky whisper. ”I am such a fool.”
She presses her lips to his jaw again, and then to his cheek as her four, languid legs step back, her doe eyes searching the dark plane of his features. Finally, her lips press against the corner of his mouth, letting him feel the tender words reverberate against his skin. ”And I love you.”
worlds apart, we were the same until we hit the ground.
06-11-2017, 04:29 PM (This post was last modified: 06-12-2017, 03:53 PM by Siberian.)
He sighs against her cheek, his entirety of being no longer poised on a dagger's edge. The stallion wished that he could but see her, his beautiful moonlit pegasus; but that hope would likely also come to pass. Should she come to Taiga, everything in his troubled life would have been worth enduring. She claims herself to be a fool, in tones laced with shame and regret, and he shakes his head firmly, denying that Misra could ever be such. "No you aren't. And none of that matters now, the things that happened in the past. You and I, we matter, and we don't have to ever lose each other again. " Though he knows it must be folly, Siberian wishes that the warmth of her soft breath, her lips, against his mouth would stay there forever, soft heat within his skin like an invisible tattoo.
But at least now the two of them are declared to one another, immortals that need never see the other be ripped away by time. The Budyonny wonders, with a soft chuckle, where he was getting such eloquence. He was a warrior, always had been, a weapon in someone's hand, first with Zayn, and then the Chamber, and now he claimed the role of defender for the Taiga land. Fancy speeches were not his area of expertise. But his mood turns back from amusement to somber, the second most important question burning on his lips as he addresses the mare he had yearned after for so long. "I have a place for us, Misra, a home. Taiga, the pine forest....it's a beautiful place. It reminds me of the Chamber's forest, and it even has a fishing stream custom-made for bear-horses. ", he jests, hoping that she will be amused as well. "And, well, there's a little filly there, an orphan....she had no one and needed someone to look after her. Her name is Azar, and she'd love to meet you. Will you come home with me? " Though he can't see her reaction, he gazes worriedly at Misra all the same after this bit of information. Would she and Azar like one another?
i'd go to hell and back with you; stay lost in what we've found.
Her cheek is pressed against his, the salty brine of his fallen tears blending in with her own, as she nestles closer to him, resting her jaw against the dark, tangled tresses that lay against his neck. There, she can feel his pulse, thumping rhythmically with her own, and a soft, wistful sigh emerges from her tired and weary lungs. She is quiet, clutching tightly onto the fleeting moment in which the tension coiled within her terse muscles and the ache in her broken heart is soothed and quieted by his soft, but steady promise.
Softly, her dark lips touch his skin, pressing soft, but greedy kisses along the length of his neck.
”How long?” She whispers, her mouth pressed against his flesh and her voice reverberating across the surface, emotion stirring within her tightened throat. ”How long have you been unable to see?” She inquires, but her kisses do not cease, do not end – she had been wary before, shy even, uncertain so to where his heart may lie, but now it is her own, with no secrecy or uncertainty left between them.
Too much time had passed, and there is a soothing warmth filling the anxious void of her chest as he presses closer to her, enveloping her in his embrace – she had always loved him, she realized, but she hadn’t realized how much until she had lost him.
Then, he is murmuring to her about a thicket, with a bubbling stream and dense foliage, and there is a tinge of mirth in his voice – he has found where he most belongs, and she longs to belong with him, and so in her mind, there is no question that wherever he might go, she will follow, too. To a place with thick, towering trees and bleak, barely-there sunlight, and a young child, taken beneath his proverbial wing. The thought of him, once gruff and rough around the edges, softened and affectionate towards a son or daughter stirs a surge of emotion to stir within her.
Gently, she presses a kiss to his jaw, nodding her head slightly towards him, tucking her forehead beneath his chin.
She was broken – damaged goods, worth little or nothing, and he deserved so much more.
But she was selfish, she loved him, and she could pretend to be whole and happy.
She could pretend.
For him.
”I would love to meet her,” she murmurs then, softly. ”take me home, Siberian. To wherever home is.”
worlds apart, we were the same until we hit the ground.
