"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 had left the Coast shortly after he had lost Nocturnal. There was no sign of the little lightning boy either and despite how annoying the little “milkies” had been, at least seeing him meant she would be nearby. Now they had both vanished into thin air and there was a deep twisting in his ribcage. An invisible thread linked them together thanks to the tumultuous escape from the Afterlife (a memory that had faded so much that it was only recalled as a recurring dream). Despite this link, he feels the loss of her presence keenly. Much more than he would ever admit.
If only he had lingered a little longer… To see the jaguar dappled mare that had soon entered Nerine. One that would have looked at him with true recognition. Instead Fate continued to twist it’s knife cruelly into his back. Oblivious, his mind still a fresh slate, he heads off into the unknown. Days pass, there is no exact destination he is seeking. The seasons change, fading from light to dark. Time passes (wasted days, weeks, months) before he finally appears in the grassy plains of the field.
He’s unsure of what exactly he’s seeking at this point. Enough news travels through Beqanna that he knows of the different kingdoms now. They all seem rather… Lacking. They don’t seem to match up to the kingdoms he can recall (blurry visions taken from stories he assumes were told to him, not delving deeper to try and find a face that could have possibly shared such tales). The Kings and Queens are names unfamiliar although the new ruler of the woods irritates his brain for awhile, like an itch he cannot scratch. He had pondered it for awhile before letting it drift into the wind, lost again.
Long inky locks layer against his thick neck as red eyes take a quick once over at where he’s ended up. A soft sigh escaping dark lips, the familiar flicker of missing her washing over him once more. Nocturnal… They had never been apart it seems. She should be here…. Perhaps that was why he had really ended up in the open grasslands with his tail snapping against severely scarred haunches with agitation. Perhaps this was where he could begin his search and find her once more.
Long now has the hope left her to find traces of familiarity. The spotted mare moves through the grasses, the mountains (never the deserts). It is always the same story, same voices. Neva knows that perhaps now..perhaps after the past year of searching, it is best to let it all go. Let the sand slip through her fingers and close her eyes and allow the acceptance to wash over her.
The frosted woman stands still as stone, only the cold, cold air of her lungs give away her existence. Winter, with icy fingers and sadistic humor, embraces Beqanna. The ice woman returns the affection with a smile. She had sought to move to the field to reach out for a home, to seek companionship of sorts. But there he stands, dark and broody against the grey palettes of a sleepy winter scene. Neva cannot help but laugh gentle as long limbs are moving her near him with the slow and methodical -thud-thud- of her weight on frozen ground. 'Hello there." The mare offers with a smirk, her pale mane lifting and lapping against her speckled him as her dark head tilts slightly. He seems frozen, stiff and wary but Neva does not attempt to force entry behind the wall of defense he seems to build with the way he stands. Instead the woman turns to look over the grounds, her shoulders shrugging slightly. 'I'm hoping to find a home too." She looks over her shoulder at the mahogany stallion, assuming why he was there.
'I'm Neva."
NEVA
intrigued by first impressions swayed by cold rejections
Snow begins to lightly fall, it’s strange silence muffling the sounds of the others that mill about. Waiting. It feels like he’s been standing there, brooding in a rather familiar way, forever. Glittering red eyes searching through the flakes, looking for her face. The disappointment grows, clutching at his breast with discomfort as he shifts slightly, exhales frosty breath with a sigh. She’s nowhere to be found. Instead he sees a stallion courting a mare a few feet away from him. See’s a silhouette of a horse in the distance, noting the way it’s breath fogs in the air.
The silhouette begins to become clearer as it heads in his direction. Curved ears prick forward, his glowing gaze steady as she comes into view. She is beautiful, her spotted coat making a stark contrast against the winter landscape. Her soft laughter tinkling through the falling snow, breaking that muffled silence. The young stallion attempts to smile at her despite his hope falling once more that it’s not her. The crimson depths of red flashing, years older than what his youthful body portrays. Matching the years of scars splattered across his dark hide.
”Hello.” It’s not her fault that she is not who he seeks. Besides having a pretty face to keep him company was far from unwanted. ”I’m not quite sure why I’m here…” Was he really open to finding a home? Could he even consider anywhere a home without Nocturnal? Ebony tassels snap against his scarred haunches as he turns his broad head towards her. ”I’m No Crosses Count.” Extending his muzzle slightly to catch her scent, memorizing it. ”Why are you looking for a home?”
they say only the good die young that just ain't right
I want you to know that I'm all yours; you and me, we're the same force.
When she had laid her eyes on his daughter, and had heard tell the tale of the Wraith with the “Red Eyes,” she should have known exactly that he was back. And now that she knew, it was all she could do to leave her daughter in the safety of the Volcano, and make her way to the most obvious place a man with a new lease on life—real new, if she could bet on it considering that she had placed a wreath upon his grave—would head.
A man with no memory of himself, or of those he once knew.
The scent of him wafted off in waves to her, and now that she could taste it on her tongue, she wondered how she could not have noticed his scent on the breeze before now.
When she finally does lay eyes on him, it is with a generous sigh of relief. He is not alone. Less awkward to approach him and be like Hey, we fucked once upon a time ago… Was it good for you? Because honestly, when it came to it, they had been so much more. Brief, whirlwind, and intoxicating. Seeing him with someone else… it made it less awkward. More Formal.
And opportunity to recruit.
“I see that you are both new here,” she says, trying to keep her tone even. “I come on behalf of Tephra. I’m relatively new there myself, but I was passing through and…” She darts her emerald gaze to Cross’ ruby one… A torrid of memories come flooding back. Those scars. She knew almost every one of them intimately. Had kissed them, healed them.
09-14-2017, 12:50 PM (This post was last modified: 09-17-2017, 08:07 PM by No Crosses Count.)
They are approached by another. For some reason his crimson gaze lingers on her as she approaches. He’s not sure why. She was pretty yes with sparkling emerald iris’s that seem to become deeper and darker the more one looked into them. She had a well rounded form, a soft curve of her hindquarters, stocky but feminine. Her coat reminded him of a newborn gosling, soft and gray like rainclouds. For a moment as he reaches out his muzzle in greeting, he catches her scent. His confusion is evident as he frowns slightly, for some reason thinking about potatoes. She doesn’t smell like an earth vegetable, her scent is a mix of ash and rain, but it’s a familiarness that puzzles him. He’s certain though that he’s never seen her before in his life.
Little does he know that once he had known her body like the back of his hand. That the brief affair had resulted in a son. Long dead, like he should be.
Instead he stands before her, youthful but scarred. An image of what he had once been to her when they had known each other centuries ago. ”Ah.. Yes. I was just introducing myself to this lady here. I’m No Crosses Count and it seems we may both be looking for a home.” He pauses, a smile on his lips as the glowing red eyes sparkle mischievously at her. He was unsure of the unknown mare’s age but she looked a treat. They both did. ”What is this Tephra? I’ve never heard of it.”
they say only the good die young that just ain't right
