"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
The only thing Crevan wonders as they walk is how long it’ll take the little imp to try and escape. After such a violent reaction to his attack and with a nearly-as-explosive attitude, he’d been nothing but eyes on the gangly filly since they’d started out from the dry offshoot. “One move, just one.” He keeps repeating internally, trailing possessively from behind.
They avoid the edge of Loess and the safety of her shadowy mountains altogether, instead opting to cut a direct path through the swath of open grassland where all around them, nothing but ground and sky can be seen. The day still beams full and bright, a lonely bird swoops carelessly through the patches of proud, white clouds. Were it not for the tension of the situation, Crevan could be fooled into thinking this another normal, daily stroll.
He feels simultaneously exposed and safe. It would be hard for someone to sneak up on them, Crevan keeps his nose adjusted accordingly to wolf, and follows suit with ears and eyes alike. The only disturbance is the steady rustle of forage they trample underfoot as they ingress inland. But, if they happened across someone else, he can’t fathom how to keep the girl quiet. She would spill; he was almost positive she would.
“If we cross any paths, keep your mouth shut.” He demands in afterthought, the hushed order a first in way of conversation since their initial interaction. “And tell me your name.” He follows quickly, all too eager to play the willing guard. Nervous, elated, he can still hardly believe he’s pulled it off. Absently he wonders if Gryffen will be pleased.
Ahead, the red-gold tinge of a horizon alerts the two that Sylva’s treeline is rising to meet them. It won’t be long now.
And she had. Her bluff had been called and the cream and seafoam filly was left no other option - she had looked down his throat and into hell and she had turned south and walked without another word. She knew her mother couldn't save her, even if she did come looking before nightfall, and something rebellious and dark inside of her hopes they can get away before anyone can 'save' her return her to her mother's haunt.
fire-fang fire-fang fire-fang
The name runs on a continuous loop in her mind as they trudge through the riverland and up to open country she has never seen before. The title makes sense now, and the seer's daughter is even more sure that the premonition she had felt right before he attacked was about him- and that was his name. It sends a thrill along her spine.
But now, they had been walking for hours and her strength had returned but the excitement is waning. The girl is not used to going hungry, her mother had always been available, and her small stomach is turning itself into knots in want. She had only just begun to eat grass, but now, she craves her mother's milk and the rich nutrition her lithe growing body needs.
The wolf devil trails her like a shadow, and she pretends that she is a Queen and him her loyal guard as they march under the open blue sky and into the unknown. She is growing bored with thinking and hungry too, but luckily he breaks the silence before she can find her own way to liven their journey. His question intrigues her - she hadn't thought that he would possibly be afraid of meeting anyone on their unmarked road, she hadn't thought of crying out for help. Maybe the white and black dragon-scaled stallion she had met in Losses had seen them skirting his home and would come to investigate. But she doubts it even before the thought is fully formed.
As he asks for her name she turns to face him, staying light on her toes in case he tries to bodyslam her into movement again. "I'm hungry," she states in childish defiance of his question, but quickly she continues "But my name is Celest, my mother named me after my father." He probably doesn't care, she thinks, but that was how it had been explained to her and so it is how she explains it. Quickly, she tears a clump of grass from the earth and begins to chew, thew her mouthful she speaks with genuine curiosity. "And who would we cross paths with out here, Fire-Fang?" Her small dished face turns to glance to the east and west, "I haven't seen anyone."
She had noticed they were heading for another gloomy forest and she wasn't ready to be hidden away again.
i'm not a girl, i'm a storm with skin
well this HTML looks amazing, sorry my words are not flowing well tonight but i just wanted to post SOMETHING
It never even occurred to him that she might still be on the milk. Celest is young, yes, but she holds herself in a manner that Crevan can only deem appropriate for a horse already fledged into adulthood. This is why his appearance shifts inward with the hint of confusion; eyes pinching together at the center of his face, mouth curling with the awkwardness of this baby he’s brought along and her impotent, angry little demands. “There’s sure to be a broodmare where we’re headed.” He answers gruffly, the only bend he’ll give in way of friendship.
There were broodmares everywhere, after all. Season after season Crevan had avoided the meadow and her sister-lands because the pure stink of it rattled him. He’d been too young, too busy with boyish inclinations to think about making another carbon-copy of himself. “Thana seemed interested enough to show me.” He remembers, stepping nimbly behind the teal girl as she pauses to claim a hefty chunk of grass. His dark eyes dart to where she walks ahead; how old was she really?
“It’s not your place to care.” Crevan thinks. His stride lengthens, soon enough the two are happily keeping tandem pace but Celest opens her mouth once more and something she says strikes him.
So much so that he stops. “What did you call me?” He asks, incredulous that she should know a nickname given to him at birth. “Impossible,” His mind races, “impossible.” There’s the quick turn of Celest’s fine head, but Crevan is motionless. Rooted to the spot by how fluidly she’d said it - Fire-Fang - as if she’d known it all her life.
His gut clenches. The tremor of anger that sparks in his thoughts runs the course of his spine and leaves him vibrating with raw energy. Another telepath? Or perhaps a vision dweller? (He’d heard there was a horse who could see your every move, every step you’ve ever taken.) Crevan snorts, releases his grip on the shape he’s wearing now, and shifts seamlessly into his favorite skin.
Hunched, back arched while the finishing touches turn his tail from navy to ivory, he looks up once more with sharpened senses and snarls quietly at the strange girl before moving to catch up again. “Don’t call me that, ever.” He presses, the sound squeezing between clenched teeth. “My name is Crevan.” He says instead, the subtle crunch of brittle leaves underfoot causing his attention to divert again.
The pale trunks and bloody treetops are soon to envelop them whole. “You’re my captive, Celest. And you’ll be staying here in Sylva for quite a while, so get comfortable.”
Lean, hungry for an actual hunt, Crevan is bristling with anticipation of their arrival. His eyes roam the dark treeline for any sign of life - “They’ll be busy with the party.” No one is about. There’s no hesitation, however, when he slips past the bone-like trees. Only a sense of giddiness. “Come on,” He sighs, happy to be enveloped into the safety of his home, “There’s some shit you have to see.” He laughs pleasantly - the first since meeting her - and then his legs are carrying him ahead of the strange filly, leading her, as if this had been something she’d wanted.
Maybe, without them even knowing, it's something the both of them need.
“I don't need some old broodmare,” the teal girl mumbles under her breath and through the grass in her mouth. He herds her on and she obliges, occasionally tearing a few blades from the earth in passing as the cover the final distance to the forest. The name 'Fire-Fang' slips from her lips unconsciously, and his response makes her reply defensively with pinned ears. "Ok, ok, Crevan it is."
But in the back of her mind, she tucks away the secret he doesn't want her to know.
She had been her mother's captive, nearly spirited away is some great escape she wanted no part of until Fire-Fang Crevan came along. It seemed only natural to her that she was now his captive. She had no way of knowing the awful things which often came along with being a captive, her mother had not told many stories of that sort, her experience had only taught her that she was now loosely beholden to him and he would be a provider of sorts. The fae had changed hands, but it didn’t upset her - so far belonging to someone else was all she had known.
His mood changes drastically as he melts into the treeline, increasing Celest’s already overflowing curiosity. The warg takes the lead and she says close to his flank, deep amethyst gaze casting about for any glimpse of another creature. She likes his laugh, and it makes her smile, despite her less than ideal circumstances.
“Woah, show me,” she says with an equal mix of awe and enthusiasm, and no idea what she is actually asking for. Celest is happy to be shown around by the older cool kid, even if he did insist she was his captive. This new version of the wolf-boy is much better than the grouch she had been putting up with, and even though she doesn't like to be left in the dark, she stifles the other questions which come to mind - she doesn’t want to risk bringing back on his temper.
Celest isn’t near as annoying as he suspected she might be. The filly had kept up her end of the deal - no useless screaming, no attempts at escape, and certainly no more blasting - so Crevan is willing enough to slip comfortably back into his wolf skin as they continue on. In all his life, he’s never wondered if that action disturbed other horses: trading one body for another. Sure, it looks uncanny and appears hardly possible, yet he never cries out in pain or seems the least put off by the exchange. It’s a way of life; one step he’s stretching out with the sight of a dark hoof clearly ahead, the next he’s reaching forward to grip loose earth between pale, clawed toes.
“Okay, so, don’t get weirded out or anything, but,” He starts, once his transition is finished and the two are clipping along pleasantly, “I think it’s a giant free-for-all?”
Odd, that he wouldn’t know what his own kingdom mates were up to under his nose. Odder still that he would be the one to shy away from it in favor of kidnapping a young girl … there are parts of himself that Crevan has chosen to ignore in favor of minute interests. He lives every day without fear of death, but suffocated eternally by the fear of himself, of what he could be, if only he indulged in acts similar to the ones they’re about to view.
“Whatever that means.” He finishes, pointing a stark nose aside with the attempt to locate Sylva’s people. His attention jumps; the sudden jerk of his head brings round, navy eyes back to where Celest stands and a question springs free from the back of his mind. “What were you doing in that offshoot by the River?”
"A... a free-for-all?"
The hesitation in her answers causes the confusion she feels to be far more obvious than she would like it to be, and she frowns slightly while composing herself. Crevan has made her cautious, where no one else ever has before. She wanted to impress him, yet he terrified her. She wanted him to stay close and show her his world because her's was completely lacking, yet the intensity of his gaze made her squirm. Celest gently clears her throat and tries again, this time with a nonchalance she had often worn while talking to her mother.
"Oh, ok. Well yeah, then we have to go." She mumbles as if free-for-alls were something she was acquainted with. But then there is his confession and her frown disappears as she laughs as some of the tension eases away. "I guess we will find out what it is."
A silence grows between them as the cover more ground, until suddenly his head jerks towards her. The shifter's attention - too much of his attention - is focused on her, and she halts, startled. Whatever confidence she felt drains away as the fire in his eyes and belly seem about ready to re-kindle. Her fine curved ears instinctually sink down into the violet of her springy mane, but this time the fear does not remain as long as the last, and she finds her answer is not hard to find after a momentary pause.
"I was trying to see the future." A simple answer, a simple truth.The last time she lied to him it didn't go as planned. But soon, the elaboration follows in a flood of words.
"My mother can do it too, it's only happened to me a few times. I want to be able to make it happen, I don't want to wait for dreams like her... that's what I was trying to do. That's how I knew you were coming." Her words are rushed, as she spits them out - she had never told anyone of her strange talent before and she can feel her energy rising.
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