"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 watched for her and felt her absence like he felt little else.
He had blasted shards of obsidian off the volcano's side with her name branded on his thoughts and poised on the tip of his tongue. He had hurt when he thought of her.
He had dreamed of her; until she became someone else entirely, spending hours with this Rapture of his own invention, in his mind, as he patrolled Tephra's endless shore.
But this False Rapture had never been enough - he had never been able to recapture the alien feelings she has summoned within him.
Suddenly he finds her right where he left her, the same stupid boy under the weight of a few more years, a few new scars. Passing her by, leaving her to bathe in peace is not an option. He almost hopes she never looks his way, that here he can stand forever as an observer of pale, river-washed skin and averted eyes.
"Rapture," he groans against his own wishes as he has so many times into the dark, the name rolling with minor key cadence off his fumbling tongue. Before him was set the creature who had first captivated him, drawn him in, and subdue the fire within his eternally ignited core. Her winter-blue coat is slicked tight to her swells and valleys, and the memories of repressed flinches and gentle bravery which had stamped her onto his young subconscious rock his gut.
He stiffens and is ashamed of it, but he would not leave her on the riverbank again.
The irony of their reversed rolls is lost on him- just as everything else which is not her is lost on him now. He finds her held by the rivers current while he stands, overwhelmed, his mismatched eyes begging her to recognize him - to give him what he unknowingly gave her in their first chance meeting on the riverbank.
He had told Kolera he wasn't a Lost Boy anymore, but that had been a lie.
Levi
so scream you, out from behind the bitter ache.
@[Rapture] well that went downhill quickly, feel free to take it a different direction or use her traits in any way
She is the picture of serenity, the blue and white mare standing against the current, haloed by sunshine. But her mind and heart are far from serene. With her pale blue eyes closed against the sun, she doesn't see his approach. Doesn't see him falter in the river’s bank. The very one who so often has her thoughts in such disarray. It isn't until she hears her name uttered in that rough, familiar cadence that she realizes she is not alone.
For a moment, she can almost believe she is dreaming. That her fevered mind had produced her imaginings, projecting them upon the shore to remind her of her aching heart.
But as her eyes open slowly, focusing upon the figure on the shore, she knows the truth and her heart leaps inside her chest. He is there, gaze fixed upon her as though he is a dying man and she the cure. For a moment, she almost forgets how to breath, longing freezing her lungs and blanking her overwrought mind.
As breath comes back to her in a rush, she finds herself drawn to the shore, unable to resist that magnetic pull that seems to hover between them. Water sluices from her skin, a cascade of glittering droplets in the bright light of the day.
When she has nearly reached the shore, she halts abruptly, pale gaze fixed upon his masculine features. They have both changed since last they'd met. His once dark locks now flicker with flame, a few scars to add to his collection. She had not been altered quite so greatly, but her slim, lanky figure has filled out, becoming distinctly more feminine. The disquiet in his eyes is still the same though, still calling to her as it once had.
For an agonizing moment, she is tempted to press against him, to feel the heat of his skin against the coolness of her own. A shiver runs across her chilled flesh at the thought, but she is not certain if he would actually welcome her touch. She is not certain if she should touch him anyway. She might never find the strength of will to pull away if she did.
She can almost feel his troubled thoughts in the intensity of his stare. And in that moment, the only thing she can think to say, a soft exhalation that trembles past her lips, is “I'm sorry.”
He should have looked harder for her- waited for her by the river for as long as it took. The stallion he should have been would have left Tephra to find her, paced the riverbank the way he paced along the ocean, he would have found her before years had passed.
Years.
She could have children by now (little did he know that two of his own are currently developing, warm and fragile in their mother's wombs), she could have her own kingdom. All that doesn't matter- he tells himself rashly as her eyes meet his. The river has brought them together again, she had no father, lover, or child by her side now.
The lightness he remembers is replaced by something which mimics his own unrest and he doesn't want to see that defeated look anymore - much less be the cause of it.
"You're sorry?" The question comes out with a surprised laugh as he strides forward to meet her in the shallows. "Don't steal my lines," he says, pressing his muzzle into her cheek, inhaling her wild, clean scent. Her hesitation is palpable, but it doesn't discourage him - no stallions musk or kingdom signature clings to her skin, just the soft autumn breeze and sparkling river-water.
The last time felt this light was before Karaugh, before his father took the throne and he had all the expectations of a King placed on his broad shoulders.
He knows he should pull his face away, that he has overstepped the greeting of friends as his pale muzzle drags across her jawline and he dims the flames along his crest so they will not cause her discomfort. He wonders if she understands her power, this gentle woman; her closeness his a warm, honey serum spreading through his bloodstream - he would tell her of her power someday if she would let him.
Regardless of his shaky feelings, if she pulled away from him he would stay where he stood, he would not pressure her - and when he speaks his voice is low and encouraging in a way which surprises him. "I don't want you to be sorry, Rapture. Can you say you've missed me, or have I got it all wrong?"
Because I missed you, and maybe it's a mistake that I'm not saying it now.
In the face of temptation, she has always proven far too weak. But even so, fear cannot seemed to stay her. This entire time she had hidden away here, haunting the darkest depths of the forest and the slick banks of this river, she had known her resistance would falter the moment she laid eyes on him again. Perhaps it is why she had stayed away. Even though she could have found him so easily, she had stayed away. He is so much better off without her. She would be an anchor about his neck, a girl living in a world too harsh for her peace of mind. He could hurt her so easily.
But still she doesn’t pull back from him. Whatever pain it had endured previously, her heart now knows only joy. A pulsing throb of happiness that he remembers her. That he looks at her with longing in his eyes.
For that one brief moment in time, she becomes a selfish creature, wishing to keep him only for herself. It is a foolish thought, but still it sticks within her mind.
When he comes to her, pressing his lips to her cheek, her eyes slide closed as she savors his touch. Regret beats at her, but his gentle admonishment brings a faint smile to her pale lips. His question, however, causes her breath to catch in her throat. Could she say she had missed him?
Eyes opening, she stares at him for a long moment. Had she missed him? Like a dying man misses breath. The ache in her heart has reminded her on a daily basis of what she had given up. Despite the pain it would bring, she hadn’t been able to resist stealing glances. For a while at least. Until what she saw had been far more a punch in the gut than a stinging balm to soothe.
Swallowing, she reaches for him. Slowly, at first, but then she is crushing herself against, muzzle pressing against the heat of his skin as she breathes out a faintly gasping breath. “Yes,” she whispers, almost inaudible with her lips pressed against him, her words more vibration than sound. “I missed you.” So much. But she doesn’t add the last. It is implied in the desperation of her touch.
“Please stay.” Those final words are uttered so softly as to be nearly inaudible, an unwitting echo of what she had said the first time they met those long years ago.
