"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
She has been waiting for this moment. Since the day Ellyse had first spit the ugly words in her face, she has been waiting. Fortunately, she has great capacity for patience. So with a little bit of planning and a little bit of good timing, she had made this day. This time. This moment.
And now, Ellyse, unsuspecting, almost entirely ignorant, had walked straight into her trap. Perhaps she had begun to suspect, but all the better. Such limited knowledge would only make this moment all the sweeter.
It had been a simple enough matter to keep an eye upon the woman. She is not particularly difficult to track. She might stray, but Tephra is her home. A home to which she would always return. Heartfire would be lying if she had said some of this journey had not been amusing. No, it had been highly entertaining. Perhaps more so than the golden woman might have wished.
As a result, it is not difficult to track the woman’s movements. To follow when she makes her way through the forest yet again.
It had only been a matter of time before she would catch the other woman here after all. She did rather seem to enjoy straying. And the shadowy recesses of the forest, away from prying eye and over-protective kingdom mates, is the perfect sojourn for the coming tête-à-tête.
Slipping through the dappled shadows shifting upon the forest floor, Heartfire approaches the pale winged figure with a confident step and a faint glint to her chilly blue eye. A small, distant smile touches her lips, though there is no true joy or humor in that casual expression. Slipping alongside her no doubt unwilling companion, Heartfire tilts her head slightly as she considers her with an openly frigid gaze.
“How strange that we should run into one another here. Again.”
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
i don't need you to understand that i'm already saved.
Frustration had already begun to fester within the hearth of her chest.
For many days, weeks, months, even, she had not worried - her son had a wild heart, and a wanderlust that could not be sated, and he had gone missing before. She had eventually come to accept it, though she had wondered where it had come from - she, herself, preferred stability and carefully placed roots, as did his father. He was not like either of them, in personality, nor in drive - if it were not for his golden skin, his golden-flecked hazel eyes, the russet of his tangled mane, she might wonder if he were her own at all.
Alas, though he was as wild and steadfast as they came, not a winter had gone by since his departure as a yearling that he had not found his way back to the pale silt and sand of the volcanic island. There had not been a winter that he had not found way back to her, to preen her feathers, to affectionately remind his mother that he was and always would be a piece of her heart, wandering freely outside of her body. She had not worried - she had not thought twice of his absence until the icy remnants of wintry snowfall melted beneath the warm, unyielding sunlight of a beckoning vernal equinox, bringing an end to the season that so often brought him home.
And so, her search began, with an uneasiness stirring in the pit of her roiling belly.
She can feel that she is not alone - she is not foolish enough, nor oblivious enough to ignore the discomfort of a set of eyes settled squarely between the ridged bone of her shoulders. A shiver traverses the length of her spine as she quietly presses forth through the thick foliage, as a dark shadow caresses the gleaming gold of her skin - she is moving deeper into the nearly impenetrable darkness, but she knew it intimately, and she felt no hesitance - no fear. Irritation caresses her sensitive, easily roused nerve endings, coaxing out slim, curved formations of bone between her eyes and down to the tip of her muzzle, where pale, pink lips remain, parted with clenched teeth.
An instinctual lurch causes her to stop, a low growl emerging from the confinement of her throat as the source of her unease is unveiled. She does not look at her - she does not care to give her the satisfaction of her undivided attention, though the ivory feathers neatly preened along the surface of her wing bristle against her side, and thus, against Heartfire, who is far too close for her for her own taste.
"I do not consider it running into one another when you are following me," she snarls, her golden-flecked gaze set ahead steadily. "and you should fuck off before I give you a piece of my mind."
She can almost see the frustration rippling along her unsettled companion’s golden skin, can almost taste her seething upon the air. Satisfaction rolls through her lithe frame, settling deep and bringing a faint grin to her dark lips. Though her revenge is always justified, she has never claimed any lack of pettiness. Oh, she is honest enough, even in herself, to recognize just how shallow her actions had been. But really, how else does one establish that they are not a horse to be trifled with? And certainly this woman, as base and arrogant as she had proven over the course of time, deserved such things.
She really could not be bothered to feel so much as an ounce of guilt over her actions. Indeed, she would even go so far as to say she is rather pleased with herself.
Of course, there are yet a hundred ways this encounter might go. Still, she could not imagine one that would not be entirely satisfactory.
The bristling of neat feathers does little to deter Heartfire, nor does it induce her to create the space the other woman so clearly seeks. Instead she draws nearer, pale eyes glittering in open humor at the other woman’s sharp words. Tilting her head slightly, she allows the faint smile curving her lips to deepen as she boldly considers the golden mare. “Hmmm,” she begins, her voice a soft murmur in the muffled, shadowy recesses of the forest. “I could, but I am certain you would not appreciate the outcome.”
She glances away, blue eyes suddenly finding the interior of the forest far more entrancing than her companion as she draws slightly back, creating the distance Ellyse had initially been searching for. The low timbre of her voice shifts, a note of skepticism entering the confidential tone as she continues. A clear intimation that she might believe otherwise. “Especially if you care for your children as much as you claim to.”
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
i don't need you to understand that i'm already saved.
She has never been able to hide her anger.
It is too evident in the darkness of her heavy gaze – an endless plethora of festering rage, rising to the surface from the thundering of her rapidly beating heart and the stirring frustration roiling beneath. Withholding her resentment, her bitterness, her ire had never come easy to her. It is her own flaw, much as the pettiness is of the other, and in the dense, darkness of a dimly lit woodland, eye to eye, the imperfection of their personalities is raw and present, threatening to boil over with each moment.
The sheer arrogance bubbling up with such self-satisfied mirth is nearly enough to cause her to snap, to lash out with clenched teeth, to tear at the too-perfect, untouched flesh across her tender throat. With each spoken word, she yearns more and more for a set of sharp, salivating teeth, to tear out the grating vocal cords hidden under thick muscle and tissue – she would give anything, in that moment, to see her gasping for air, speechless – sputtering under her.
Instead, a growl she had not thought herself capable of making emerges (a grumble, really, but so taut within the tightness of her throat that it may as well be a snarl), as the warmth of her skin is so near to her she can almost feel her pressed against her – a figment of her imagination, and then she is gone, putting distance between them. Her gaze drifts, tracing the slender line of her spine, the curve of her hip, and still the rage simmers.
She is seemingly distracted, but Ellyse is no fool. She is feigning indifference – a game of cat and mouse, but she is certain that beneath her coy exterior is a frothing, rabid rat, longing to draw out the fierce feline within her for a fight that had been building since the suppleness of their youth.
And then, there is a change – a subtle shift in her tone, and the hefty realization of her purpose in taunting her, in finding her nearly steals away the breath within her lungs, and the rage is red, hot, and blinding. Especially if you care for your children as much as you claim.
The small space left in between them is closed, and she is launching herself toward her, as the once minuscule bone protruding from her skin elongates, curving toward her and pinning her between the hot warmth of her own body and the frigid, brittle bark of an oak that lay behind her. The temptation to pin her to the old and winding trunk, to press a sharp and long spike of bone through her pounding, bleeding heart and end her is overwhelming, and the resistance is almost torture, but she cannot do anything she will regret – not yet (oh, Heartfire knows that she cannot, that she must rein in her anger, for the question of her son and his safety is still a heavier burden on her mind!)
”Where is he?” she growls, the intensity of her hazel gaze settled upon the icy blue of her own, a fire sparked – becoming a blistering inferno. ”Where is my son? What have you done?”
Rage is an emotion with which she has had her share of familiarity. They way it burns hot and painful inside one’s gut, the bubble inside your chest that feels as though it might burst at any moment. Oh, she knows it well. The difference though, is the way in which one not just holds their rage, but utilizes it. Heartfire, ever the patient one, had allowed the fury to crystalize, to harden and cool inside her chest until revenge had been born of ice rather than fire. The satisfaction is far greater when one considers their options, chooses the one that will hurt the most, the one that will put pressure just where it is most painful. And that is the difference between the two women. Where the golden one expends her rage rapidly, a hot and fierce burst of action that could only fizzle quickly, Heartfire had instead allowed hers to grow cold, hard. A fuel that had sustained her through these long months.
A wicked gleam crosses those blue eyes as Ellyse reacts sharply to her baiting words. A reaction that is far from unexpected to the roan mare. She allows her to push her back against the tree, meeting fierce, angry eyes with one’s of chilly steel. As the bark scrapes roughly against her skin, she makes a low sound of disapproval, a tsking noise too clearly disparaging the golden mare’s thoughtless actions.
For a moment, the bone presses uncomfortably against her skin, but a single thought has the sharp spike falling away into dust (does it hurt, to lose that bit of bone, as unnatural as it had been? She almost hopes it does). She is briefly tempted to press closer, to draw whatever discomfort she can from the woman, but she does not trust her to keep her bones to herself despite Heartfire’s offhand display of her own prowess. From this distance at least, she could have the time she needed to react, to break those spikes apart before they could become deadly. Confident she might be, but certainly not stupid, nor suicidal.
“Oh? So you do care after all?” she quips rather glibly, despite her apparent situation. Ellyse might hold her against this tree, but it is only because Heartfire allows it. “I had begun to wonder. Though I daresay he has rather begun to enjoy my company, a year is a long time.”
Though it is left unsaid, the implication is quite clear. A year is a long time to be held captive with none the wiser, especially when it comes to family.
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
i don't need you to understand that i'm already saved.
The rage is burning brighter than the sun – a flickering flame, set alight by the fury bubbling up and stirring the hot blood flowing through her veins as her heart hammers roughly against her chest. She can feel her breath, warm and sweet across her cheek, as her thick, curved spiky protrusions of bone press into her supple flesh.
Heartfire does not resist the pressure of their pointed ends, nor does she attempt to flee – pinned against the hard and unforgiving oak, she is enveloped by her and confronted by the sheer prowess of her own bone-bending, yet she is unflinching. Irritation is roiling within her, festering beneath the surface – she is not at all unnerved by her, even with a spike looming dangerously close to the pulsating, surging heart beneath it, even with death only a heartbeat away.
Alas, the protrusion is not to last – with little effort, it is disintegrated into dust, its ivory remnants falling away and drifting into the wayward breeze whistling through the dark and dense foliage. A low growl rises (such an unusual sound, from a creature of prey – but she had never allowed herself to be a victim; she is predatory in so many ways), reverberating in her throat as what is left of her heart-piercing spike is drawn back into her body, while the rest remain.
It does not hurt physically (and perhaps it is obvious by the way her gaze barely flinches; only narrowing with disdain) but there is a small piece of frustration that has lapsed into uncertainty (and thus, her ego is bruised). She was no match for the ability to destroy on a molecular level – only her agility could ensure that her ability to change and shape her bone structure would bring an end to her unwieldy opponent. She would never confess, not even to herself, that she could not end her, should she desire it – even if it were the truth.
Her teeth, blunt but perfectly aligned, gleam in the pale light of the dimly lit woodland – bared angrily as the temptation to take the delicate flesh beneath her jawline in between (to draw blood) becomes stronger. She does not permit her to pull away, nor to create any distance at all, try as though Heartfire might.
As she recoils, Ellyse presses closer, and with every particle of space that is taken up by the warmth of her gilded body, her bones retract. Still an ever-present barrier between the blue roan and her own skin, but slowly closing the void between them, until the darkness of her searching hazel eyes are boring into hers, her mouth so close to hers that she can nearly taste the sweetness of the fauna still lingering on her tongue.
”I do not coddle my children,” she murmurs, her anger level but still simmering. ”he does not owe me any explanation for any extended absence, thus I did not search for him, but had I known you had taken him for your own for your petty little game –“ she pauses, her breath warm against her cheek, her mouth closest to her ear. ”I would have found you and I would have ripped your throat out myself.”
In so many ways, the two women are uncannily similar. That fact does not escape Heartfire as she meets those fierce hazel eyes with her own icy gaze. Rather than bothering her however, it brings a faint glint of humor with it. Neither were willing to budge an inch in their respective beliefs. The battle lines had been drawn and the gauntlet thrown, and she suspects the only way such a feud might end is upon the death of one or the other. Perhaps she could end it easily enough (it would be so easy to kill, to make her disappear as though she had never been), but what entertainment would there be in that?
No, Ellyse had insulted her, had started this particular spat. Heartfire had simply shown her, in no uncertain terms, just how wrong she was. And if the woman could not handle being wrong, well, that was not Heartfire’s cross to bear. Besides, it would provide endless entertainment. Especially if the other woman could not learn to contain her anger.
And so it is with confidence derived from absolute certainty in her capabilities that she allows the paler woman to entrap her against the tree. To push her back, bristle in obvious outrage as she spits fire over an event she has no true control over.
Oh how that must grate, to know that she has finally found someone who could match her. Someone who could best her. Heartfire is fairly certain the golden woman has never experienced true defeat before.
And that, perhaps, is where they differ. Heartfire has been humbled by fear and pain and defeat. She knows what it is, and she knows how to overcome it. She has known the worst and survived with her will intact. Ellyse has yet to truly know such a thing. So Heartfire allows her to intrude far too closely upon her space, offering only a faintly mocking smile in the face of her righteous fury.
When the woman spits her accusatory words into her face, Heartfire does the only thing that she can in that moment: she laughs. It is a short, lilting sound filled with genuine humor. Shifting, she reaches out, her dark muzzle pressing a short, tauntingly gentle caress along the other woman’s cheek. Her lips trace a faint line before drawing up to her ear, her whisper falling softly into the air beside the curved lobes. “I’d like to see you try.”
Her throat is just there, tempting, taunting. Daring her to do as she suggested.
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
