"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
Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry, feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.
A snake slithers through the flat, long grasses of his humid kingdom - perhaps the first that has ever swam the divide and found refuge on the island of fire and flame. The term Longclaw recalls while watching her sounds like Invasive Species but looks more like Apex Predator, and if he were granted the invisibility his ghost-girl possessed with such alarming charm he might use it for less honourable pastimes. Better that his fanged counterpart should have it, then.
“@[Ajatar].” He calls out, easing forward from the point of rest with a brisk trot so that their reunion might not be delayed. The shifter had kept his proverbial loose-cannon always somewhere near the edge of his thoughts, just far enough that she might drift without causing concern, but his curiosity and habit cannot be so easily broken. Fixated as he’s become, Longclaw understands that her continued presence is due to her interest alone. Nothing more.
How badly he wishes it could be different! “How are you taking to the island?” He breathes heavily, each hoof coming to rest with fluid finality alongside her own. Aligned rather picturesquely the two soak up hazy sunlight and for once, he’s glad to not have the irritation of winter to otherwise mar his sleek hide. She won’t be deceived by common pleasantries though, nor does he want her to believe his sole purpose in seeking her out has simply been to chat. There’s an air of excitement that tenses his shoulders, brightens his already entrancing eyes.
09-20-2017, 02:03 PM (This post was last modified: 09-20-2017, 02:04 PM by Ajatar.)
ajatar
devils speak of the ways in which she'll manifest; angels bleed from the tainted touch of my caress.
In her (brief) time on the island she's learned many things - one, that this land is much like Pangea. There is a king, he has subjects, he advises them to do things and go places and accomplish tasks. This is not a bad thing, for she's learned (two) that this land is also not Pangea. Her mother has yet to show up, slitted eyes and magic flowing, and she's yet to run in to horned beasts that may do her harm. No, the land is filled with others who are just going about their business and, often, can't be bothered to ask about yours. She's left blissfully alone to explore but - after some time - she craves the company of others.
So she interacts and makes friends but never sees the icy man with blue fire that invited her here again.
At least, until now.
He finds her enjoying the late afternoon sun, grazing on the salt rich grass that grows along Tephra. The change in diet has done her well (as has her age, she's growing out of that adolescent lankiness and replaced it with a thicker, fuller look) but she is still the same wide eyed, smiling girl he met a few weeks ago. She returns his greeting and falls into step with him, nodding along to his words. "It's exciting, but I've spent most of my time exploring and very little interacting. How have you been?" she asks. She is not so aged that she can interpret his bright eyes correctly - she mistakes it as a genuine happiness that follows him about.
Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry, feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.
Time does a wonderful job of sculpting Ajatar. As foals they grew in leaps and bounds, hardly with enough skin to house the sprouts of bone and he knows this because it was simply the way Nature worked. The shoots of spindly legs and necks would slow around three or four and from there the golden age of their lives would settle as a comfortable fleshing-out, common and expected. Youth and beauty: these are their weapons against death and the inevitable cessation of all life. A shield and sword to firstly thrust their names into the fabric of memory so that, in their own way, their names might become immortal before the raising of the shield against old age.
He’s heard it all before. “I‘m still young,” some have said, “I still have time.”
It always makes him smile, to see it in motion. Time touches them all but her fingers have left behind a masterpiece in the makings of Ajatar. “As busy as a new initiate could hope to be.” He offers in lieu of a deeper explanation. “The west shore is mine alone to patrol now and my first mock went … well.” The shifter muses; a wispy sort of smirk alludes to the more serious-looking burn scars that now pattern his topline and left hind like some sickness. If the term well could be used to describe their puckering, raw appearance then Longclaw has hit the nail on the proverbial head.
“I wasn’t aware that you lacked for company, though.” The blue devil says, concern laced into his otherwise cheerful tone. There was nothing forcing her to stay; she knew the path to-and-from this place, she could leave anytime she saw fit. “That can be remedied easily enough. I came to tell you that I’ll be heading out for a bit - back to Nerine for a brief, personal visit.” He elaborates with the forward turn of his glimmering ears. “Perhaps you’d like to come?”
This, of course, had not been the original intention of finding her but Longclaw likes to think of himself as flexible. Besides, he’d mentioned it to her once before - circumstances have shifted since their initial meeting, there was no reason he shouldn’t return now (now that his father has been unseen for close to a year) and with a lovely companion in tow. Her presence might even serve to soften the awkward, tense moment of border-crossing that decorum now demanded of him. “Would you like that?”
devils speak of the ways in which she'll manifest; angels bleed from the tainted touch of my caress.
They fall into easy step - each leaving a bit of space between the other, but with a familiarity of friends. Friend. She considers the word to herself, nodding at how right it seems. She never considered the horses of her past to be friends so much as those invested in her personally. They wanted something from her, at an early age she knew this - but they did not bother to hide it. It did not occur to her that some would hide their hope to draw out her ... ability ... so as not to scare her away.
Friend, yes - Longclaw was her friend.
"Your mock?" she asks, unaware what that means. War runs in her blood further back than most - her mothers line held Amazonian war generals, starters of war, kings and queens...but she knew nothing of this. Her naive childhood involve no war. Really, Beqanna hadn't seen war in many, many years. Destruction, yes, but mostly at the hands of the fairies.
And then - the offer.
"Yes!" she cries, almost too excited, but she doesn't think to draw back. "Yes, that would be wonderful!"
Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry, feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.
He has a friend now, how touching.
Rapture had been his friend, once. A sister, a twin - the only friend he ever thought he might need. But their separation had been brusque and unexpected, he’d also been too young to understand that only time together could forge a solid bond. It’d been years since he’d seen his family and the idea seems almost foreign to him; only memories of gentle interactions remain where a loving, warm feeling should be. “A mock,” He relays, “just two horses fighting for bragging rights.”
It’s the most accurate explanation he can manage.
“Fantastic!” Longclaw exclaims once she accepts, exhaling a nervous breath he’d been unaware was building up. “Three days give or take, unless you have a quicker method of traveling. The Forest and the River can house us, and -” He pauses, flashing a toothy grin in her direction before his body shudders and snaps. He hunches, draws his head into a heaving blue chest, and collapses inward to shift into wolf. The process is disturbing; the result: astonishing.
The now silver-grey canine turns a jade eyes to Ajatar, saying, “- if you don’t mind, I prefer to travel like this.”
On stalkish legs he turns about, the sweep of his whiplike tail distressing the seashore flora about them. A passing glance is thrown behind; Ajatar filling up his senses before he pads away to the border of their shared home.
Longclaw
@[Kortnee] I should have a thread up in Nerine for them soon
![[Image: sScEgld.png]](http://i.imgur.com/sScEgld.png)
