"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
11-19-2017, 01:11 AM (This post was last modified: 11-20-2017, 02:07 PM by a demon.)
It has been days since you last saw your friend.
Exhaustion sets in, hope is dying fast.
Your group starts to bicker, they fight—it gets even worse when, on the fourth day, you wake to find your number mysteriously reduced to eight. The others disappeared without a trace during the night while the rest of you slept. It isn’t long before terrible accusations begin to fly; some of them accuse you, some of them accuse the others. You even begin to have your own suspicions about someone in the group.
On the fifth night, you find a missing member of the group without a head—their body burned; several yards off, you and the others find their decapitated (unburnt) head sitting atop a large stone as if on display. It is missing its eyes. While this is unsettling enough on its own, it looks as if someone has forced a smile on their lips post-mortem.
It isn’t your best friend (the body was unrecognizable—the head had been easily, eerily, identifiable), but still a friend nonetheless and the gruesome loss hits home for everyone.
On the sixth day, you wake to find the rest of them staring hard at you—looking grim, looking stern, looking scared. They want to know how you knew where to find the body, where you came from before you ended up on the island; they grow more accusing, more frenzied, more crazed. They say hateful, hurtful things, spittle flying from their mouths and their eyes rolling around in the sockets.
Something is horribly, horribly wrong with them—they are not acting like themselves, they seem... rabid, almost. Ugly, somehow. Actually the longer you look at them the uglier they seem to get until they're monstrous versions of their former selves and it takes you a moment to realize you are not imagining it.
One of them attacks you while the others look on.
No one rushes to your aid, they aim to let you die.
Your only chance at survival is to flee.
You have three options now: Run back towards The Beach, head to the Citrus Grove, or flee down into The Cave hidden at the base of a waterfall.
Describe the three days you spent searching for your friend; describe the search, how your character is feeling/reacting to it all, how the others are handling it, make a point to point out the growing frustration that is blossoming within the group.
Regardless of how many members of the group you created, reduce that number to eight on the fourth day (morning time); describe your character and the others waking up to notice the rest of their friends missing. By now, the others are nearing their boiling point and your character must suspect at least one member of the remaining group.
Kill off one of the missing members (not your best friend) on the fifth night; your character is the first to find the body, describe that. Describe what happens leading up to the group finding the decapitated head. Describe their subsequent mourning.
They seem like they’ve gone mad on the sixth day; describe your character waking up to the others accusing him/her of being a murderer, use the mental break the rest of the group seem to be suffering from and their lynch mob mentality as muse fodder, take liberty with just how ugly they get (keep in mind they aren't actual monsters, just really hideous horses) and choose a member to attack your character.
Describe your character’s escape to the location of choice.
There is a minimum word limit of 500.
You have a choice between The Beach, The Grove, and The Cave. Choose wisely.
You have 24 hours from the time this hits the board.
11-19-2017, 02:41 AM (This post was last modified: 11-19-2017, 11:19 PM by Nikoline.)
Amidst the mists and coldest frosts
he thrusts his fists against the posts
and still insists he sees the ghosts
She has been frantic in her efforts to find Jack. He is very best friend and her first to ever make on the island. The others are her friends well but not like Jack. Not the way he looked at her, brought her fruits, or how they lay at night laughing and looking at the stars on a clear night's sky. Nikoline can feel a tension in the air but she tries to shove it all away and keep her mind clear of the dark thoughts that threaten to cloud her focus and creep along the edges of her slow realization that this was not a game.
Three days pass with no sign of Jack as they push deeper into the jungle. Nikoline leads from the front as she tries to remain positive and cheerful despite the slow rumbles of doubt and side comments. Conversations are springing up quietly amongst select horses that seem to hush when the painted mare walks by. her sea glass eyes notice the way their backs are turning and the looks given over shoulders in her direction. There is undoubtedly an unease about the group but she tries to rally them nonetheless.
The first day, they are relatively okay. They talk, chat, speculate where Jack could be Was it all a silly game? A test of their friendship? They cannot say and but Niko and the rest search for clues to where he could be before nightfall is upon them and they huddle together for warmth and security. On the second day, they are tired, hungry and worn but they continue on. The jungle opens up in various pockets to expose vegetation to eat and a few markings here and there. Niko can almost feel Jack's eyes watching her and she too, wonders if it is all a trick. Day three, they are hungry, desperate and hope is beginning to slip. Should some have stayed behind in case Jack came back? Why was he doing this?! Niko begins to feel the slow rise of panic clawing at her edges and beginning to disturb the little sleep she got...
The others are becoming restless.
----------
Day 4
But on the fourth day there is a collapse amongst them. Niko wakes from a feverish sleep to the voice of Lola calling out loudly for Esme and Abigail. "Esme?! Abigail?! Where are you? WHERE ARE YOU?!" She is loud and wild as her eyes roll. Niko finds her feet, "Lola, what's going on?" The pale pearl colored mare ignores Niko as she continues to call for the mares, stumbling almost blindly over the forest floor, bumping against the jungle vines and tangling easily. Niko witnesses the pale mare thrash and bite like a caged animal at the thick vines before shrieking in rage. Niko freezes and watches as she is not sure if she should go help but, she was her friend right? Not hurtful or harmful. She is sweet Lola and she is just upset, right? Niko hurries to free her friend from the ropey mess.
The others are looking as well. They search, call, dig. Anything to alleviate the fear. Niko notices that Peter seems to be in a daze. His actions do not speak of a desperate animal looking for something valuable. instead, the onyx stallion calls meekly while peering behind a few bushes here and there. He seems occupied by gathering a snack or taking a drink of water. He does not seem as frantic as the others and Niko knows this is strange...she figures she should talk to him privately later so she does not rile the other horses up.
She can feel the hours ticking away.
They look for Esme and Abigail but now they are missing without any trace or direction. The group are weary and they are hungry and they are becoming unhinged. Everyone has startled to huddle away to make their own place. Only a few of them remain together but the others all chose separate areas against rocks and trees so they may watch towards their fronts for any suspicious activities. Nikoline is among the distant as the jewel colored horses have begun to shift their voices and bodies away from her. She no longer feels welcomed but she cannot leave Jack. Darkness falls on them without any sound. They times before they had stayed close, talked loud to keep themselves motivated, reassured one another but now night blankets them in silence.
----------
DAY 5 It is all wrong. Everything is wrong. The others...tjhey are angry. Their eyes are empty. Their heads rolls and their tongues wag. I can hear my name in their whispers but they are hardly speaking to me anymore as I try to help find Jack. Jack? Why? Why did you leave? Why did are they turning on me? Why Jack?
There is no relief. Abigail and Esme are gone. Peter. Lana. Leo. Lola. George. Penny. Veruca. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7, and Niko makes 8.
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8
She count and counts and counts
She counts over and over to herself quietly as her eyes shift from one face to another. Even Peter is beginning to look bothers but not nearly like the others. Damn, Niko should have talked to him but then-
As she walks, the smell of burnt hair stinks up her nose. Niko shakes her head in disbelief as she nearly stumbles upon the carcass. It takes nearly all her strength to keep from screaming when her feels her hoof sink into the melted flesh. The painted woman stumbles, trips, gasps as she inhales the stench of the body.
Niko wants to scream but her throat traps it.
The evening is settling in and she tries to call for help. She is frozen by the sight of the burned body and she cannot look away. The seared flesh poisons her skin and her hair. Why why why...Oh my FUCKING GOD WHY?!
The scream is blood curdling. Niko is ripped from her counting, her stepping, her monotony as she attempts to keep control. The screams continue and the group suddenly comes together to find Penny frozen in an ugly scream. Her eyes seem to have glazed over and George and Veruca have rushed to her side to try and calm her down but her face is frozen to the sky, her hair thrown back and her eyes wide, wide, wide.
Niko wants to close the space between them and to ask what is wrong but then she see it...she sees her. Esme, the sweet little blue mare, is watching her with a dead grin. Actual it is only her head that tilts up with a dead smile as if mocking them all, her face sports a rotted grin forced by small twigs and rocks to keep the sagging skin at unnatural edges. Niko will never forget that dead mare's face. Blood has made the edges of her skin purple and the rock stained where it sits pointing towards them. Her head is gnarled at the edges (it was a slow death) and ragged. All of them begin to scream in fear almost in unison.
Niko manages to help George and Veruca drag Penny away. She never clear snaps out of her daze but becomes deathly silent once thy have managed to get away from the corpse. It does not take long before they have forcibly segregated Niko and she must sleep alone and cold. She is scared, dirty, and hungry. Niko wonders how much longer they all can go on.
----------
DAY 6
She sleeps without dreams for the first time since she can remember. She is void of the hope she had once had and just as sunlight is rousing her something hard hits her head. "What-" Niko opens her eyes to see them all around, watching, angry, eyes wide and accusing. "Get up Nikoline, get the fuck up right now!" It's Penny (looking very much undazed) shrieking at her. The others have rocks and judging by the one near her it is what woke her. "How did you know, Niko?? You lead us all to her! To Esme! Peter saw you with her body, you fucking bitch! WHY?!" Penny is screaming at her. Niko can only flinch away and look to their faces in the desperate attempt to find a friendly, sympathetic look but there are none. "Penny, I-" The amber mare hits her -hard- in the face. "Penny!" Niko stumbles to her feet but falls to a tree before the amber mare is charging. The sounds of the others cheering and their delight is unmistakable. "Where did you come from, Nikoline? WHY DID YOU DO THIS, LITTLE BITCH?!" Her words seem so familiar that it makes her skin break out in goosebumps. Penny gears up and swings the thickness of her skull against Niko's in a direct head butt that sends her reeling and dizzy. "Penny...everyone...' her voice is weak as she struggles and strains to get away, to explain herself but there is bloodlust in their eyes as Penny rears and smashes her body into Niko's to pin her against a tree. The air is stolen from her lings as Niko gasps and wheezes, working to herself free from the hold. An opportunity only comes when Penny backs to rear once more with the intention of crushing her skull.
Niko is frenzied in her savage flight. She manages to steady her legs as she narrowly escapes the orange mare's hooves, gasping for air. Niko only knows parts of the island but she can hear the way Penny screams for her blood, the other chanting. Niko is quicker despite the way she sucks air into her bruised ribcage. The jungle is a mess of turns and there are no paths. She would have a chance to survive is she could only get to the cave. The beach would be too easy for that was their home. Niko knows they would go there first to search. The grove would be easy to hide in but her painted coat would make it far too easy for her to stand out. She was the only one on the island after all so the cave was most logical.
Niko scrambles through the jungle, making sure to weave her trail. She can ehar the rush of the waterfall and see the mist of it's steady fall. The painted form must surpress the squal of excitment that threatens to give away her location as she carefully begins to pick her way down the loose rocks to the base of the waterfall.
Once.
Twice.
She slips and stumbles, cutting her knees and bruising her bones but she must hurry! They would not be far behind! The cave was not far now and she could easily hide in it's depths and away from the mob. The mouth stands hidden by the veil of water, hungry and gaping but she has no choice. Hopefully the rocks, with a lack of impression, will hide her hoof falls and the mist will coat her scent to confuse them but she must hurry!
Her skin is torn and bleeding and her breathing is ragged when she finally makes it to the cave. It is damp and cool inside and smells of nothing more. Niko can be at least happy that there was nothing dwelling in the throat of the darkness. The painted woman allows herself to be swallowed up by the earth to hide, the smell of moisture and the feel of smooth stone against her skin almost reassured her of her choice as it brought a bit of comfort. Niko prays quietly to all the gods (or any who are listening) to keep her safe and hidden from the ravenous group.
For some of the others, however, they were beginning to weaken, to tire.
The evening of the third day brings hushed whispers and sideways glances. How is it they have not found Aravis yet? Balto has some suspicions, but this group is fragile - he keeps his thoughts to himself, but the feeling of dread pits in his stomach, sour on his tongue.
He doesn’t see or hear them as they whisper and look at him beneath furrowed brows (or did he?), and he continues to push through the broad, fat leaves of the jungle, making a way for the group that trails behind him. Balto had been leading them and now he pushes them, encouraging the close-knit group to keep going, to push onward - for Aravis. She had taken care of each and every one of them at some point, they must not give up now. They must not be weak.
The twins, the youngest of the group, beg him for rest.
“It has been three days, Balto...” Eridi tells him carefully, in a whisper. The blue roan grinds his teeth, blue eyes flashing between the pairs of eyes that stare back at him expectantly, frustratingly. With a huff of exasperation, ears flicking into the burrows of his thick and tangled mane, he snarls: “5 minutes.”
This is why he had been content with searching for Aravis on his own. Each minute they are not moving forward is a minute wasted.
The yearlings depart from the group with a satisfied sigh, while the others look on at Balto for a moment with glassy stares. But soon they take their leave, to settle down in the jungly forest floor or to seek water, or to eat. Balto did the same, and found that when he closed his eyes to rest for just a moment, it was hours before he would open them again.
Day 4
He is awakened by Shasta frantically shouting, and his eyes snap open. Immediately he is on alert, angry that he had let himself fall asleep.
“Bree? Where is your sister?!” she pleads, racing through nearby brush and tree in search for the adventurous filly, her eyes wild with fear. Ambrose and Rilian help her search, using calm and steady voices in attempts to settle her (she is here, Bree is here, Hwin is merely venturing, it’s fine).
Balto’s stomach drops. It is not fine.
His blue eyes scan the rest of the group, and he quietly states over the frantic mother’s voice: “Corin went looking for her too?” Ambrose and Rilian stop, and Shasta freezes. Bree’s young face screws up as she attempts to hold back tears, her lip trembling. Balto’s icy and flat voice leaves them silent, all of them realizing that Corin too is gone. “We should not have stopped.” It’s all he says before he turns, their purpose now changing from finding Aravis to finding Corin and Hwin as well.
“We must keep moving.” Balto says flatly.
He hears Shasta wail behind him, frightened and devastated to move onward without her daughter, and he does not know if the others will be willing to follow him. He didn’t care - his suspicions are coming to fruition, (they are being hunted) and he cannot help but think Corin has something to do with their newly missing member. Their group is slowly dwindling and Balto would not sit idly by and wait for another to be cut from their ranks.
A few moments pass, and he glances behind him to see everyone still following him, now more desperate in their search - renewed strength running through each of them, adrenaline pumping. Good. Eridi is no longer walking close to him anymore and when he glances at her she looks frightened and her gaze will not meet his. Ambrose has remained silent, but Balto can sense the tenseness in his muscles, while Rilian makes it no secret that his patience is at it’s end, scowling directly at Balto.
Darkness falls and now it is their fifth night away from the safety of the beach, and whatever calm that had been left that morning has now gone out. Shasta is sobbing and screaming, accusing Balto of carelessness for bringing such young children on this venture, blaming Ambrose for not helping her watch them, even going so far as to blame Bree for losing her sister. Balto watches on in silence, brooding as he looks on at the madness that is unfurling before him.
It does not take long for darkness to fester and permeate through them.
He cannot take the talking any longer. He stalks away, wishing for nothing more to be in his cave with Aravis, with a gentle fire warming them and listening to her ancient stories.
The darkness greets him like an old friend as he moves away from the group, familiar against his body.
Then, there is something that is familiar, a stench that is overwhelming his senses, and his brows furrow thoughtfully. His breath catches in his throat as empty eyes stare back at him, a grim smile on the face of none other than Hwin.
It is sickening. He tastes bile in his throat as it threatens to spill, and he turns away from the filly’s face, attempting to rid himself of the sight, but only is greeted with the charred and burnt body on the ground. He feels weak and dizzy; he barely hears the shouts as the group comes to find him.
“Balto, how dare you walk away from me, when my darling daughter is -” Shasta’s vile voice cuts short, stopping in her throat for only a second before a shriek leaves her, obviously realizing the demise of one of her daughters. The others are frozen into silence, the forest echoing with the desperate screams of a mourning mother. He does nothing - for what can he do? Rilian steps into action, prying Shasta away from the burnt corpse and the laughing, morbid face. Ambrose steers the others from the sickening sight, and not even Eridi tries to convince Balto to come with them.
He lingers for a moment longer before following them, wondering who else would be missing in the morning - so sleep does not find him.
Day 6
He must have closed his eyes for just a moment, because when he opens them he surprised by the amount of eyes staring back at him. He snorts sharply, glad to see at least their faces are not just empty sockets, but something unsettles him. He takes a step backwards, staring at the familiar faces around him. Their eyes…
Bottomless and empty, completely black and never ending, his friends look at him with silent scowls. Eridi, Jadis, Shasta, Bree, Rilian, Ambrose, Caspian. They are all there, their accusing stares making him feel small. He says nothing.
“You found her first,” spits Shasta, her voice garbled and rough - it was not her voice. “How did you know where to find her?” As she speaks her face twists and bloats, the madness flaring beneath the blackness of her eyes.
“Shasta,” he says steadily, but he feels his heartrate pulsing wildly, fear running through him. They are becoming unearthly, their mouths stretching abnormally as the accusations begin, the circle around him growing smaller and smaller as their voices grow, shrieking like demons.
“You brought us to our deaths,” Eridi moans hauntingly, her face no longer sweet and lovely, but stretched beyond recognition, her mouth twisted and elongated. They were terrifying, and behind him, darkness calls to him - familiar and loving, nothing like those that stand before him. He scrambles backwards, hesitating for a moment - perhaps he can save them, perhaps there is something he can do - but his fear drives him as they close in on him, bloated and ugly faces continually shouting his faults and mistakes, making him wish he had never stepped out of the cave that one night in Beqanna so long ago.
Ambrose leaps forward, his teeth and hooves searching to pull skin from his flesh. He manages to tear into him with gaping and unforgiving jaws, but his adrenaline does not allow him to feel the pain. He does not fight back - his shock keeps him frozen. “Kill him!” Corin says first, and then they groan and garble, chanting in unison as Ambrose lashes out at him, solidly thudding into his ribs and breaking skin with his open jaws.
Balto turns and flees, galloping without direction, eyes wild as he moves deeper into the jungle and into the darkness that used to be his home. He hears thudding hooves behind him.
He runs and runs, past Hwin’s decapitated corpse and smiling face, and does not stop until his hooves hit water.
Balto splashes into water that is illuminated by the moonlight, the sound of the waterfall filling his ears along with the sound of his racing heart. He breathes (or tries to) and glances around frantically - had they followed? Is Corin here? What kind of sickness did the others have? Did he have it too?
His heart slows just enough for him to notice that the sound of the water seems to be echoing and his ears prick curiously. Squinting, he peers through the rushing water, the blackness opening up behind it. A cave.
He glances around, the jungle eerily silent and still. He leaps forward and pushes himself through the water, pulling himself up onto the smooth and damp stone behind the waterfall, the fresh water running off of his body in rivulets. The cold water refreshes his sweat-stained skin and stings as it touches the wounds on his neck and side from flashing teeth and blunt hooves. He enters the cave without a thought, the darkness wrapping around him familiarly. He breathes now, inhaling the damp and dank air, his muscles relaxing. He goes in deeper, so far that none of the moonlight reaches the inside.
The blue roan stallion will not find sleep - he positions himself facing the mouth of the water-guarded cave, ready for anyone (or anything) that may enter.
-- once the king of beasts but now they feast on thoughts beneath his vacant crown.
They did not find Briar that first day. Searching high and low, through jungle, cliffs and beaches, they found not hide nor hair of the missing man. Noa and Barb did what they could to keep the group upbeat, but a coldness had seeped into Bragi’s heart. A certainty of something deeply wrong. To his growing consternation, though, Juniper seemed to be the only one who shared his concerns. And even she seemed to be only humoring him at times. Why weren’t they taking this seriously?! By the third day, they had covered the island several times over. Bragi noticed Leif, Zaq and Elena talking among themselves that morning, growing quiet as he approached. All three of them stared as he neared the little group, Leif with an accusing look painting his features. The tall dun Warlander houghed in a disgusted way, shoving against Bragi’s shoulder as he left the clearing they had settled into last night. Perplexed, he turned to the other two. He and Leif had not been as close as he and Briar were, but they had never been enemies either. He raised an eyebrow at Zaq and Elena. “What’s his problem?” He asked them, bemused. Elena and Zaq glanced at each other uncertainly before the blonde mare turned to respond. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you Bragi.” She said flatly, then walked off to follow Leif. Zaq just shook his head sadly, and followed his comrades, leaving Bragi to stew in confusion.
After the third day of fruitless searching, there was a definite division in the herd when they came to rest that night. Juniper and their colt, Gull, were the only ones to stand near Bragi. The others clustered at the other side of the clearing, with Noa and Barb resting between them in an attempt at bridging the herd. Subdued and disgruntled, there was very little said in the group that evening. Even the foals were unusually quiet, sticking close to their dam’s sides at darkness began to fall on that moonless night. Cold-lighted stars appeared one by one, and the lost souls of the island fell into fitful sleep. Bragi sighed against Juniper’s shoulder as he fell into a nightmare-studded unconsciousness.
The morning of the fourth day came quietly. The first thing Bragi noticed as he woke from his restless night was the quiet. No birds called into the pale light, no insects clouded the humid air. There was the sound of his lungs pulling air, and his heart in his chest, that was all. He opened his eyes unwillingly, knowing he was about to face another painful day. Just how painful, he was about to find out. He twisted his head around, panic gripping is mind as he noticed the lack of warmth at his side. Juniper and Gull were missing. He surged to his feet, a scream threatening to pull away from his throat. The others were rousing at the other end of the clearing, and cries of dismay began to rise from the herd. “The babies, where did the babies go?!” He heard Ayla call out frantically. Looking around, he saw what they did. All three foals were nowhere to be found, and Juniper along with them. Barb immediately went to the remaining mothers, whispering words of reassurance to Ayla and Elena. The last few days had taken their toll on the entire herd, but most noticeable on the elders. The vitality that had been given to them had leached away, leaving them looking thinner and more care-worn than they had at the beginning. Bitter anger had etched itself into the lines of the herd, and biting accusations began to fly through the air. Bragi watched the horses he had come to know and love turn upon each other, friends suspecting friends, walls of distrust building between lovers. And he was not immune. His best friend, his lover and his son had all vanished over a matter of days. No one had lost as much as he had. He looked at the faces of his family, one by one, looking for some kind of clue. He landed on Leif. Yes, it must be him. Leif had always been jealous of him, hadn’t he? He and his family, he has Briar and Juniper and little Gull. Had. Dear gods, he held fear in his heart that he would never see them again. Leif had taken them from him, somehow. A seed of suspicion and hatred had been planted in his mind.
The rest of the day passed in terse suspense, punctuated alternately with Ayla and Elena’s weeping, and barked answers to brief questions. Spirits lower than ever, the search continued, albeit with a new sense of futility. That night there was silence. They gathered in the same clearing they always had, but it no longer held the sense of security it used to. Staggered about in ones and twos, the eight remaining herd members lay beneath the uncaring sky, and Bragi dozed uneasily to the sound of quiet weeping.
The fifth day dawned as they usually did, with the sun clearing the verdant palms as if nothing had changed. Tempers flared as the bereaved herd drew closer to discuss the day’s plan. Sweet young Maggi was in favor of continuing to search. What else could they even consider doing? She asked persistently. Leif and Zaq promoted that they should look instead to defending themselves. Something, or someone, was doing this. They were certain that whatever it was, it could be fought. Noa and Barb looked to each other, pain for their family deep in their sunken eyes. “We shall divide, then. But only in two. Those who wish to continue searching will do so with Noa.” Barb stated. “Those who wish to fortify this place shall stay with me.” She continued, and so the group split down the middle. Bragi and Maggi joined Elena and Barb, and prepared for another day of searching for their loved ones. “If I need to fight for my daughter, I think I should know how.” Ayla said quietly in explanation to Elena’s plaintive look. The two had become like sisters in their time on the island, and shared each other’s pain. Nodding in understanding, they parted ways, each believing they were doing what was best for their children, as mothers will.
The search party had not been gone more than an hour when Maggi turned to Noa with an anxious look. “I need to go back. I need to tell Zaq… something.” The young mare said, her voiced laced with stress. Noa looked about, noting the daylight and their proximity to home. “Very well, my dear. Say what you must. We will continue searching. It is not a bad day to be with one you love.” He answered knowingly, compassion for her fearful young heart in mind. She nodded, grateful for her surrogate grandfather’s blessing. She turned, and set off trotting to tell Zaq she loved him. Bragi knew the two had been feeling more strongly about each other lately. He hoped they’d get the chance to be happy once this ordeal ended. If it ever ended. He shook himself, feeling the grip of depression claw at his mind. That wouldn’t do. He had people to find, and he could only hope it wouldn’t be too late.
He, Elena and Noa began heading back as dusk began to fall, not wanting to be gone past dark. Darkness seemed to be their harbinger of doom, and not one of them felt comfortable being out in the open at night anymore. How things had changed in just a few days… Elena had asked Noa for counselling, hoping for some kind of reassurance about their situation, and so Bragi had gone a bit ahead. Still in view, mind, but out of earshot of their private conversation. It was because of this that he first smelled it. The acrid scent of singed fur and roasted flesh assailed his nostrils. A dark mass was piled against a large tree several yards ahead. His mind knew what it was before his mind was willing to accept it. Stepping forward almost compulsively, he came to a stop before the charred corpse that had been posed restfully beneath the tree. There was no fur left, only black and scarlet flesh, still smoking in the late afternoon light. The head was missing, leaving only a mangled, bloody stump of neck. The scent was much stronger here. He felt bile rise up his throat, and it took every ounce of control he had to not vomit. The poor soul had been burned beyond recognition, but he felt a guilty twinge of relief that it was at least too small to belong to Briar. A retching, gagging noise came from behind him, making Bragi jump. Elena and Noa had caught up.
“Dear gods…!” He heard Noa murmur. He looked to where the old stallion’s eyes were locked. A moan of horror escaped his lips as he took in the fresh evil that was above them. It was a wonder he had not seen it earlier, as whatever sadistic soul had committed this evil had clearly placed it with strategy, at eye level. A pile of rocks behind the tree was splashed with dark blood, which had drained from Maggi’s grinning head. The little brown and white mare, barely two years old, had been viciously decapitated, sinew and thick arteries trailing from the jagged line of her neck. The skin of her lips had been pressed up into a macabre grin, revealing blood-stained teeth. And her soft brown eyes, once gentle and kind, had been gouged out. Bloody black sockets were all that remained in the once-lively girl’s face. “Noooooooo! NOOOOOO!!!” Elena began to keen, and Bragi knew that she was seeing her daughter where Maggi was. They were close to camp, and Elena’s anguished howls soon drew the remaining members of the one-time happy herd. Noa stared at Bragi as Zaq rushed forward, only to collapse at Maggi’s abused side. The youth began to sob, joining Elena in agonized mourning for the lost lass. She had never made it back, they knew that now. With bleak severity, they moved the dead girl to their clearing, Zaq carrying the violated head of his sweetheart. The heartbroken boy placed the severed head reverently beneath a tree, and kissed her cold cheek softly. Disturbed, Bragi did not think that he could sleep, but he was wrong. The last week had exhausted him beyond belief, and so he drifted off, lulled by the distant sound of waves on the beach, and the hushed whispering of promises Zaq spoke to a murdered head.
There was no warning the next day. Bragi awoke, like any other day. Today, though, he was cold. He had not felt cold since coming to the island. He had not lied down to sleep last night, preferring the ability to take off in case some monster came to savage him in the night. The reality was much worse. Zaq looked awful. As though he had not slept in weeks, there was a glint in his eye that was not there before. The roan lad also had streaks of blood painted along his face, as though he had spent the night nuzzling the Maggi’s stinking corpse. Bragi looked around. It seemed that he was the last to wake. Six sets of flat eyes bore into him, as emotionless as if they had not spent the last six days in terror. “Why’d ya do it, Bragi? Why’d ya kill them” Queried Zaq, suddenly breaking the eerie silence. His voice was unnaturally high pitched, grating against Bragi’s ears. “Maggi says you led her away. Says you killed the others too. Maggi thinks that’s why you’re here. It’s all your fault. You’re not our friend. You’re our doom.” A mirthless laugh broke out from Ayla, joined in by Leif and old Barb. Soon the whole herd was cackling, shrilly and mirthless. Bragi pinned his ears. This was bad, oh this was so bad… He took a slow step backwards, suddenly wanting to be as far away from them as possible. The motion did not go unnoticed. As suddenly as it began, the laughter stopped. “Where ya going Brag? Where do you think you can possibly go? Don’t run, you bastard, you’ll only die tired.” As he spoke, Zaq’s voice dropped in pitch from grating falsetto, to a deep rumbling growl. As his voice change, so did he. Where his face had originally been only sneering, now it stretched and until his jaws had stretched to an exaggerated length, teeth sharpening in his snapping maw. A heartbeat behind him, the others began to change as well. Soon Bragi was surrounded by nightmare parodies of his family, slavering jaws giggling maliciously, flesh wasting from bones as he watched until their skins hung, papery and loose from skeletal frames. Eyes wild with maddening violence, they rushed him all at once. Once-beautiful Ayla got to him first, her huge frame now gaunt but still powerful barreled into him. Gnarled teeth ripped into his shoulder, a strike of agony making him dizzy. A rush of adrenaline surged through his veins. This was officially life or death, and he had no more time to pretend otherwise. He wrenched away from Ayla’s grip, leaving a strip of his own skin hanging from her bloody lips. No time to pause, he took off running. He could hear the screams following him, branches crashing behind him. Where to go, where to go… Blood was oozing from his shoulder, pushed by his throbbing heart. What the hell was going on! He wasn’t thinking straight, so he just ran. It was a small island, they would find him eventually, no matter where he went. May as well leave where he came. His feet took him instinctively to the place he had first come here. The beach. Stoney cliffs overhung it, and the tide was low. Sand muffled his hooves, and the rushing of his heart was drowned out by the boom of water on the shore. He came to a stop. If this was his last stand, so be it. If he was to be murdered by people he loved, then fine. He only wished he had not lost Briar, and Juniper and Gull in the process. And he damned the day the ocean called him and dragged him here on cursed tides in the first place. He took a steadying breath, noticing how his muscles shook where he stood. Unrequested tears pooled in his eyes, not falling yet. Bragi stood with his head to the wind, waiting for fate to meet him.
It’s not a nice journey. Even if they weren’t anxiously searching for her missing friend, for Thomas-called-Indigo, they did better spread out across The Shore. Green is even more uptight out here in the open, insisting they all travel as a single close group. Black is even more creepy, staring at them constantly, his pupil-less eyes like the feeling of ants crawling on her skin. Scarlet and Orange are the most normal, at least at first, treating it like a grand adventure. Everyone else is some mixture of worried and anxious.
And as time goes on, exhausted. One day turns to two and two turns to three, and they turn up nothing. And though they stay relatively active on the beach, that is nothing compared to trekking across different terrain from sunup to sundown for several days. Sloene wants to memorize these sights for Thomas, who has always wanted to see them, but she can’t focus on anything but looking. And looking.
The Missing (Part Two)
She is the last to wake on the fourth morning, and something is wrong. She can feel it immediately in the air and she stiffens, even as she struggles to her feet. She looks wildly around, trying to make sense of them shouting and milling around and it’s wrong and she doesn’t know until...she counts black bodies and comes up short.
Sloene counts them again, but it doesn’t change. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. There are only seven other people in the clearing with her. Green, Pink, White...Black, Yellow, Orange...Red. No Scarlet, no Purple and...her heart clenches, and then sinks. No Blue. She’s lost her other closest friend. They’re shouting, the others, constant motion making her nearly sick to her stomach. Accusations are thrown - some of them her way, by Black, and Sloene defends herself the best she can. Of course she didn’t do anything to Indigo/Thomas. She loved him. Of course she didn’t do anything to Blue, or Purple, or Scarlet - her friends, her family.
Black is the one standing perfectly still, staring at her. Sloene starts to suspect he knows something, with the fervor he tries to blame her. Why cast the blame on her, except to get it off himself? She keeps him in her peripheral vision, all trust of him that used to be slight gone now entirely. Eventually, White gets them going again, but now they finally persuade Green it will be more efficient if they split into groups.
The Finding
They spend most of the fourth day regrouping, and the fifth day they spread out, within hearing distance of each other but covering more ground. Pink travels with White in the middle, guiding the blind mare. To their left Green travels with Yellow, because she is simply too young to be alone. Red walks silent with Orange, who is nearly inconsolable at the loss of her heart-twin, to their right. Sloene refuses to walk alone with Black and so he goes to the far left, and she to the far right.
So she is alone when she nearly stumbles on the body. It is unrecognizable except as an equine, burnt and battered and broken. Lifeless.
Sloene turns to call for the others and that’s when she sees the head, unmarried scarlet head perched on a stone cairn a few yards away. It has no eyes, but it’s smiling.
Sloene screams.
When the others arrive, there is no sense. Mourning and grief and anger, and Sloene doesn’t know what to do. Scarlet was family, but she feels a guilty relief that it wasn’t Blue. Or Thomas. They might still be alive. But Orange is totally crazy with grief, wailing and weeping, and it takes all of them most of the night to settle her (except Black; Sloene’s suspicions rise when even this is not enough to get him to engage with them, on any significant level).
The grief of losing - really losing - a familiar member carries them deep into the night. Eventually, they all sleep.
The Running
When she wakes, it is alone. She has not been alone since she arrived in this place - always with either Thomas or Blue at her side, and since they began looking for Thomas, in a big group snuggle pile every night. She gets to her feet and blinks sleep from her eyes, and then freezes.
They’re all looking at her. Spread in a semi-circle around her sleeping position. Green and Pink once more united in the middle, Yellow tucked against White on one side. Orange standing, still broken on the other side. Red, mute and off a little ways by herself. Black is missing.
They begin to accuse her, voices hard - even shy little Yellow, and previously supportive White and always her friend Orange. Only Red is silent, because she is always silent. Sloene defends herself, asks where Black is, but they get meaner and more insistent. Witch! Killer! Liar! Evil! Tears are in her eyes, and she doesn’t recognize these people who had become her family - they are strangers, monsters, and she is forced back by the weight of their anger and the lash of their betrayal.
Still, she is shocked when Black comes barreling out of nowhere, knocking her to the ground. ‘We’ll kill her then,’ he snarls it at the others, ‘and she’ll never hurt one of us again,’ He turns and he kicks at her as she is struggling to her feet. Sloene cries out, looks to the others for help, but they are silent. They are going to let him kill her, she realizes as he body-slams her again, teeth tearing into her hide.
She can’t fight him - her only chance is to run. She knows nowhere except to run, to hide. Sloene just wants, desperately, to go home, but she had tried to find a way home from the Shore and had not found one. So she ducks away from him, and she runs. She is smaller than Black, able to fit through small spaces and under low branches; she is lighter, and more nimble - she knows that’s her only hope to lose him, and then she will have to find a place to hide. She dives into the familiar scent of the Citrus Grove, and searches for a place to disappear.
Maybe Blue and Thomas will find her, if she survives this.
The cries of Kangaroo’s child will forever haunt her.
She does her best to tend to Koala in those first few days without his dam, but she is no mother herself. All she can do is curl herself around him at night, tuck the stray blonde hairs off of his brow, and tell him it will be all right. She doesn’t know that. None of them do. None of them can find the sweet chestnut mare (who smells, inexplicably, like lavender) or even what has taken her. But they all walk together to find her, anyway. Despite the fact that there are no clues, no hints, no warnings. They all move as one, first searching the shorelines and beginnings of the forest. These are all places empty of the red woman, all places quiet of her chime-like laughter. They will have to move on and reach further.
The brindle stallion Tiger agrees with her assessment. He’s hulking and strong, a herd stallion in his previous existence; his muscles ripple under his exotic coat in a way that says he’s used them plenty. Many of the mares look to him as their leader (and potentially more), and perhaps Zosma would as well if she had thought men were the smarter and more capable sex. As it is, Tiger is as determined as she is to find Kangaroo, so she is quick to join in her support of him. They rally the group and plead their case. At first, it doesn’t work. Then Koala comes with his tears and sad, sad face and the islanders acquiesce.
That night, decision made, there are the first stirrings of malcontent. The two blood-bay brothers Sloth and Baboon stand with Kiwi, the pretty young sabino. It is clear that both of the stallions are interested in the mare, they laugh and nudge each other playfully. It would be a nice, real sight for the older woman normally (a sign that everything is okay, that everything is as it should be). But tonight, after every hushed exchange comes a pointed stare and chuckle in her and Tiger’s direction. Emu, the little filly with wild hairs behind her ears starts to cry, exhausted but unable to fall asleep. One emaciated woman, Python, circles the edge of the forest in a serpentine path around them. Zosma can’t tell if she is helping to protect them, or if her frantic eyes are counting them off, looking for weaknesses. She doesn’t like it, and squeezes around Koala even tighter that night. She doesn’t sleep herself.
On the third day, with the colt trailing her heels, Zosma follows the others into the jungle to expand the search.
“Do you have to walk right damned behind me?!?” Sloth’s voice cuts through the humid air. The group turns as one from their upward climb to see what is happening. The young stallion has spun around with his teeth bared in Tapir’s face. She flinches but recovers quickly. “It’s not my fault you come by your name honestly. Get to stepping, let’s go!” The black and white tobiano stares defiantly back at Sloth but he doesn’t let it go. Not until Tiger growls, “move it, everyone. We have a lot of ground to cover. I need my family all together again.” And they do have a lot of time to make up. So much that it makes Zosma’s heart constricts to think of it, to think of all the places her dear friend could be (to think of what they could have been – more than friends – if she hadn’t been taken).
As they settle in for the night, she tries not to think of anything but Kangaroo. She sets her suspicions aside (ignores the too-bright shine of Tiger’s nightly motivational speech and the weaving, senseless motions of Python) and breathes. Caiman comes up behind her and Koala’s prone forms without speaking at first and stares. Just when Zosma is about to jump to her feet and defend them, the black lady with brilliant blue eyes spits on the ground, flicks her tail, and walks away. She never settles after that. The cremello counts her pulse with her ear pressed to the ground. She imagines it is the heartbeat of Mother Earth at first, giving her its blessing. Then she hears it as Kangaroo’s own pulse. She’s pressed beside her again, ribs jutting against her chest. Zosma’s head drapes the chestnut flank and the sound of Roo’s laughter wakes her up.
------------------------------------------
On the morning of the search’s fourth day, she is still smiling when her eyes flutter open. The smile fades like a sunset on her lips as the shouts of the others fill her ears.
“WHERE ARE THEY? OH MY GOD, I DON’T SEE THEM ANYWHERE. KIWI?!! BABOON??!”
She is awake instantly and her blood turns to ice because there is another one missing. Her panic rises with the frantic movement and yelling around her. She circles the ground she’d just been lying on, desperate, mad. “KOALAAA?!?” Her voice tatters and tears at the end, enough to draw the attention of the rest of the group. They surround her like that first time on the beach, but today, there is nothing warm in their gaze. Nothing that says they will save her if this is her fault. “You couldn’t even watch one kid, could you? Probably killed him yourself so Tiger would put another one in you, right?” Caiman smirks, egging the others on. Zosma is shocked but about to respond when the palomino colt walks up behind the group. They all turn and stare. Wriggling under the weight of their gazes, Koala says softly, “I was thirsty. Stupid to go by myself, though. Sorry.”
But Baboon and Kiwi never come back.
They wait for a while (too long) and their faces never appear in the sunlight-mottled forest. Eventually, they continue the search. Big trees fat with old life tower over their heads, mocking them with their vibrancy and age. They are beautiful, though, and home to all the animals their group has borrowed the names of. Now, the group stays tightly packed together as they move. There are no complaints of stepped-on-feet or passed-gas. There are other complaints, though. Caiman wants to go back to the beach where it is safer. Tapir tires of the walking, her feet are sore. Tiger even says he is hungry, so they all stop. Emu tries to share a shoot of verdant grass and he snaps at the filly’s face with barely-contained rage. These are normal reactions, Zosma tries to tell herself, frustrations boiling to life over a difficult situation. What isn’t normal is how Python behaves. The gaunt mare trails the group from a distance. Even far away, the cremello mare can see the glisten of saliva on her lips, the otherness in her eyes. She seems to not care that she is not within reach of the islanders.
The fourth night passes, blessedly uneventful.
-----------------------------------------
The fifth day does for the most part, too. They are in the deep jungle now, and it is sometimes hard to see past the choking vines and shifting mists. It forces them even closer together as they step over rotting logs and litter. Zosma can hear each and every complaint and insult muttered under hushed breath nearby. Koala presses against her flank. Every time she looks at him, he is silent, numb. Since his transgression with the water, the others won’t talk to him or acknowledge him. As if he’s the one who took Baboon and Kiwi. As if he’s the one who murdered his own mother. “It’s going to be all right,” Z tells him still, even if she has trouble believing it herself. But then she thinks of Kangaroo’s trusting, honey eyes meeting the cornflower blue of her own when they are reunited. She thinks of taking her back to the ocean and resting, nibbling the salt out of her hair as the seagulls wheel above. Thoughts and plans to see her soul sister again keep her moving. Hope stays alive in her heart.
That evening, they can’t see the stars.
It is everdark in the clearing they bed down in. She is loath to curl around Koala tonight, if only because it leaves her vulnerable to the others. They stand in a circle with their faces peering into the darkness. Some sleep, she imagines. “Oh, fuck off,” Tapir says all of a sudden, startling all of them. Zosma hears Tiger angrily grunt and shift. She doesn’t need to hear or see more of that. But something else pulls her legs out from under the sleeping golden boy. A feeling tugs at her stomach, seems to pull open the valves and sphincters until she thinks she will be sick.
The pale woman drifts away from the quiet group. She only has to go a few yards to find what she had sensed would be here. But she couldn’t have known it would be this… The burnt body of an equine, left so close to the islanders that it can’t be a coincidence. Zosma is no stranger to death (and has dealt its blow before out of necessity). But these charred remains make her head spin and heart sore. Is it Kangaroo?! “No,” she breathes, willing it to be someone else, as awful as that made her. Praying, because she can hear the footsteps just behind her, and Koala will be among them.
“What in the hell are you doing out - ?” Tiger’s smooth voice rises and stops abruptly when he sees the body. The rest fill in behind him. They stare at the corpse at first, but one-by-one, their eyes all trail up to her. Suspicious. Seething. But there is something just ahead. A face that seems to loom out of the shadows. It’s too high to be real though, she can see it now. Some of the others are too hopeful, too desperate, to think logically. “Baboooooon?” Sloth moans. “Kiwi? Is that you?” One of the women says, the first inkling of hope sparking her voice. All of the islanders rush forward and see the gruesome head. Yes, it is one of them.
Tragically.
Baboon’s sightless gaze greets them from atop a moss-covered rock. His grinning lips are a reminder of the sick game of hide-and-go-seek he’s just lost. Zosma thinks they’ve all lost, now. Because whoever is doing this isn’t just taking the horses but killing them – or is at least capable of it. This has gone from a search and rescue to a recovery party. Tiger tuts under his breath and turns away. I’ve seen worse in the real world, he might have said, full of bravado any other time. But tonight is not time for glory. Little Emu wails openly until she is pulled away by Tapir and Caiman. Zosma is relieved to see unshed tears glistening in both of their eyes. They nudge Koala, too, as they pass by. He follows them soundlessly. He spares her only a glum look back. Sloth throws himself at the base of the stone and weeps. “Brother,” he says. “Brother, brother, brother, brother.”
It is a horrific mantra that somehow brings her to some semblance of sleep.
A large hoof pounds the dark dirt inches from her face, scaring her awake. But it is Caiman’s husky voice that hits her. “Wakey wakey stranger lady. Beauty sleep isn’t really working for you anyway, darling.” Zosma scrambles to her feet to find the rest of them staring at her. Even Koala peeks out from behind the tailless haunches of the monochrome Tapir. The mare grins at her devilishly when she sees the look on Zosma’s face. Tapir bites the air in aggression. He’s MINE. Z notices then that they all look different. They all accuse her with their unnatural expressions. “Be a good little bitch and tell me what you’ve done,” Tiger says, his pink tongue sliding over his lips hungrily. “Tell us how you killed Baboon, how you killed Kiwi. And Kangaroo. Tell me and I won’t make it hurt. Too much.” The group chortles as one behind him, their eyes glassy and faces haughty.
Zosma’s eyes are wide in shock, both at their transformations and what they believe. She tries to take a step back, but is stopped by an old tree reaching up to find light. How she wishes she could find the light herself, find the truth and restore their family - save the sickness of their misbelief from becoming fatal. Her attention is caught by Python in the back, pacing nervously. She looks like she’s lost more weight if that is even possible. She is a walking skeleton, but her eyes seem clearer than ever. Python stops and locks eyes with Zosma. “Run!” She doesn’t know if it is a threat or help, but she turns to heed it regardless.
And is knocked down by Caiman.
The black woman pummels her with her hooves, striking her hindquarters, her ribs. She can already feel the deep bruises forming under her pale hide. Z has only a second to roll into the attack while Caiman regroups. She knocks into the twin pillars beside her, unbalancing her attacker enough to momentarily halt the assault. As she’s rising, the blue-eyed mare latches onto her neck with her teeth and rips some skin and mane out. The others leave her to her fate, she sees, her heart breaking for Koala’s joyful grin at her pain. Once freed, Zosma spares no time in running away.
She wants to go back to the beach (where she’d lain with Roo in the sand and smelled the lavender and watched the surf break), but is totally disoriented. Instead, she runs towards a different smell but one no less powerful. Fortunately, the Citrus Grove is close to their edge of the jungle. Zosma flees into the fragrant sanctuary of it, her sides heaving and legs shaking. At least here she will be in the open and able to see any incoming approaches. Her own smell will perhaps be masked by the tropical fruits, too, should they follow her. Until then, the pale woman surrounds herself with the natural opulence and splendor of the Grove. It is beautiful. Kangaroo would love it. She hopes it won’t be the last beautiful thing she sees.
11-20-2017, 12:16 AM (This post was last modified: 05-10-2018, 02:20 PM by takei.)
Takei
They spend the entirety of the night searching for their ink and paper leader. With each unanswered call, a tight string of panic ties itself tighter around Takei’s heart. Morning blossoms on the ocean’s horizon to find the band of twelve searching diligently across the rocky expanse of the alpine terrain.The volcano seems more ominous, Takei regards, as though it is brewing with potential to cause havoc on the remaining souls below its stern face. Although none of them had seen it bubble with spite or puff smoke from its chimney, the loss of one of their own causes the thoughts to arrive.
By the evening of the second day, they are slowly unraveling. Takei burns with a deeper sort of worry, his red and white coat matted with cold sweat. Cancer and Phoenix bundle Lyra away whenever he tries to get close, he notices. Their brows wrinkle with concern, though they make no moves to rescue Takei from the feverish panic that curls through his bloodstream.
Despite his fatigue, the blood and ivory pushes on with a reckless fervor.
The others begin to complain. Lyra’s swollen womb slows her steps. At first, they all linger close to another, calling Orion’s name like the rhythm to a song of persistence. With each passing day, Lyra’s steps grow slower and Takei’s agitation grows larger. They all grow frustrated with one another yet their fear of being picked off one by one (perhaps by whatever might have taken Orion or perhaps by some other force of nature or perhaps simply by being left behind?) keeps them within eyesight of one another.
The snarky quips come in the heat of the third day. They are searching the corners of the desert-like portion of the island. The sand burns at the bottom of Takei’s feet, but there is no cool ocean in sight to take a break. The sun prods at his skin and he can only imagine what it might feel like for Draco and Cancer and Corvus and Hydra, the darker of their group.
The remarks between the twelve of them are hotter still than the day. By the time night falls, Takei’s muscles are spasming from exhaustion and his heart feels as though it has gone through a war zone. The constant worry and panic and terror link arms with the sadness and frustration and self-doubt from the day’s personal attacks. Takei sleeps painfully, caught between a world of sleepless fatigue and misty images of Orion kissing his tender muscles to soothe him.
He wakes to hear more crackling voices of panic. Phoenix is churning among the drowsy members of the band, his deep voice calling for them to wake. “Ara, Hydra, Cassiopeia, and Corvus! They’re all gone.” Takei counts rapidly, all the haze of sleep snapping away from his mind like ice shattering.
Scorpius, Draco, Andromeda, Cancer, Columbus, Lyra, and Phoenix.
One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven.
Eight out of thirteen.
Andromeda is swirling, tossing, dancing, careening. The emotions from the days past have boiled into a turning point for the daydreamy mare and Takei knows she is coping the only way her butterfly mind knows how. Her feet kick the sand in a pale arc against the dawning sky. Her body twists, petite curves winding like the top layer of sand on the dunes on a windy day.
Takei, in his delirium, finds the sight to be one of the most beautiful things he has seen.
Red, yellow, blue, purple, and orange.
One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven.
He shudders and suddenly the sand is reaching toward him with comforting arms and it is so cool against his sweaty skin.
One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven.
When Takei’s eyes open, it is darkness. His body aches all over (as though he had been dragged, or perhaps had walked with assistance but fallen many times) and he can feel the bruises evolving beneath his red and white coat. The quiet sound of water lapping against a shore draws his attention. He’s nestled alongside an oasis in the midst of the desert. Figures are sporadically spread in a semi-circle around the water.
One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven.
No one else had been taken over the course of his unconsciousness. Takei finds his feet, wincing as his muscles groan in protest. The ache he feels does not come from merely the bruises, but it is also found deep in his insides - more of a mental and emotional ache than a physical one. The dull pain nestled against his heart hurt perhaps more than the twinges against his skin.
Takei took a few steps forward to drink from the oasis. The coolness of the water brought him closer to his senses, but there was an unnatural savor to it. He drank it still, finding that with each gulp he felt more and more akin to his familiar self. Takei then circled around to each member of the remaining band, looking them over with hopeless eyes.
A shape in the near distance caught his gaze. It looked similar to a rock, but Takei noted that the figure seemed to closer resemble a horse on its side. Ears pricked forward, the stallion headed away from the oasis and into the open, sandy terrain. A bitter smell met Takei’s senses as he moved closer. Although the night was dark, the stars and moon illuminated the shape enough for the blood and ivory to pick out the curves and lines of a horse’s body.
It was burnt to a crisp.
One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven.
Despair lept from Takei’s throat in the form of a cry. Feet startled behind him, followed by sharp words of anger and confusion. Draco was the first to arrive (and for some reason Takei shifted away from the dark stallion with a critical expression) with a rough glance in Takei’s direction. “What are you screaming about, sick-boy?” The rest followed suit, gathering around the burnt body.
The crowding and the shouting and the deep, deep anguish sent Takei twisting back toward the oasis. The sand went churning from under his hooves as he careened into the still waters, yet it did not offer the comforts of the give-and-take the ocean granted him. As he wades deeper, Takei meets a different sort of density of liquid.
The moonlight again illuminated faint coloring to the water. Red. Deep, dark red. And something sitting atop a rock near the shoreline. Ears and a nose and lips curling mischievously. Immediately the blood and ivory is leaping from the oasis, legs splashing at the (red; deep, dark red) water. His nostrils quiver at the acrid smell reaching his senses now.
He recognizes her face. It had once been freckled with pretty gray spots, her mouth a gentle ivory to contrast her coffee eyes. Those delicate eyes are gone now, replaced with dark holes that are somehow still able to look at Takei. An icy tendril of terror drips through his whole body, spreading and spreading and spreading until it escapes past his lips in a screech that echos into the night.
Cassiopeia.
One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven.
They come careening, but each of them stop short at the sight of her head (unburnt, raggedly sawed off, uncomfortably malformed) perching atop the rock like a bloodied throne. Cancer is screaming to the stars. Columba is kicking at the water as though it were a rabid snake. Draco is deathly quiet (this Takei notes with another critical stare).
But it is Cassiopeia. It is not Orion.
He feels guilty for that small bit of relief that warms his tired bones.
Although they might have shot accusations at one another the past days, they curl against each other’s flanks like newborn kittens through the rest of the night. Takei barely sleeps, counting each of them over and over and remaining tense for possible danger.
“One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven. One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven. One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven.”
He must have fallen asleep at some point because, when he wakes, they are all there. Before he opens his eyes, he feels his skin itch. There is a drag of a breath across his face. Takei’s belly drops with an uncomfortable feeling before he opens his eyes to see Scorpius standing nose to nose with him. Blood and ivory meets copper.
“Scorpius? Wha-” He is cut off from his sentence as he realizes all of them are standing practically nose to skin with some portion of his body. Takei tries to make eye contact, but that only increases his fear. Their eyes are glowing (he can’t tell what color - if any color) and he can feel the heat of their hatred. Even maternal little Lyra, with the gentle warmth of her pregnancy. Takei tries to take a step back, but he is met by the wide chest of Phoenix.
“What the fuck is happening?” Confusion mingles with terror as he watches all their mouths open as one. They seem to stretch further than normal, jaws unhinging to unleash a string of words all from one voice.
“Whydidyoukillher?” A chilly, quick pause. “Wheredoyoucomefrom?” Their glowing eyes roll into the backs of their sockets before returning to stare at him. “Kill him. Killhim. Killhimkillhim. KILLHIM.”
One.
Scorpius leaps first, blunt teeth aiming directly for Takei’s eyes. He dodges, but the copper stallion’s teeth land against his left eyebrow nonetheless. Blood oozes from the cut and it isn’t long before it drips into his eye.
Two.
Draco’s mouth stretches into a sadistic grin as he rises to rip his hooves into Takei’s right side. He uses the time Scorpius takes to recoil from his blow to race to the left. The dark stallion’s hooves slide down his once-companion’s right thigh. The skin shreds deep enough to expose connective tissue and bits of tendon. Blood instantly gushes and Takei’s mouth opens to scream his agony.
Three.
Takei stumbles as he jerks to the left. Adrenaline keeps the majority of the pain at bay, but he can’t help but moan at the white-hot anguish. He can hear their steps whirling behind him, but he is more gifted at racing across sands (thanks to all those years spent chasing the seagulls) than their clumsy legs.
Four. “Killhim. Killhim. Killhim. Killhim.” It’s a different sort of rhythmic drum to a different sort of song. Where before they had been calling for their lost leader (“Orion. Orion. Orion. Orion.”), now they call for blood and destruction. The emotions swirling in Takei’s mind are fathomless. The most prominent is terror.
Five.
He barrels toward the tropics. Takei knows he will be able to slow them down among the fronds and trunks. Despite the constant movement of his right leg, the pain is kept at bay by the deep instinct to run instilled by those ancestors from so long ago.
Six.
The thunder of their steps behind him grow quieter once his bloodied frame kisses the treeline. He dodges and weaves through the underbrush and around the tangled vines. His ultimate goal is toward the ocean (always the ocean - where he first awoke, where he first loved the ink and paper man, where the waves would lull him to sleep with their siren song) but he must lose them first.
Seven.
Once their steps and shouting fades to only his own heartbeat and heavy breathing, he splashes into the ocean. The salty water stings his right thigh unlike any pain he had felt before and he bites his tongue to resist from screaming aloud. Blood pools in his mouth and he swallows it forcing himself to wade further until the waves dash against his back. He doesn’t know if they will brave the tide as he has done many times before but he is scared and he is tired and he is in pain.
