"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
Sabra stood in the stoney glade which she called home, drinking from the little creek of melt water which flowed brightly through the trees. It was cold and clear and felt wonderful in contrast to the ever warmer days. Spring was metamorphosisizing quickly into the heat of summer, and she was ready for it. The last of her woolen winter coat was long gone, replaced with sleek opalesence. It was a relief that the itch of shedding was finished with at last.
Dipping an ivory hoof into the crystal water, she hummed lightly to herself. Oddly, she missed the days not so long ago when Kwartz never left her side. He was growing, though, and wandered further every day. It was his right, and she wasn't about to stop him. Still. She was alone more frequently than she would have liked. This was a kingdom, surely there must be someone to converse with here.
Kicking the water one last time, she hopped over the creek. Marching smartly through the woods, the queen set out to greet whomever she came across.
As bright and bold as the redwoods around her, the fox flits beneath the pine-needle encrusted floor, her paws silent as they lead her through the tall and silent trees that tower above her. They stretch to the sky - endless and ever reaching - allowing barely any sun to trickle down from their brilliant fire-colored canopy. The fox begins to weave throughout the dense trees, accustomed to the closeness of the trunks and the thickness of their golden amber canopies. She is agile, leaping gracefully over fingers of trunks that have spliced the ground wide open, or using the various boulders or rocks to perch herself higher up, nosing in between the crevices to search for grubs and insects hiding there.
Her slender brown-black paws claw up the damp earth and her slender snout pricks them from the very earth, her jaws swallowing them eagerly. Sometimes she is lucky enough to find a rabbit or a mole, but most-often times her small stature leaves her from shredding into raw, red meat. The wind shifts - the air is warm, ruffling the tufts of red hair on her back with its breeze. Her white tail flickers against her haunches, lifting her head from the dirt (her snout covered in it). Her broad ears tip forward and back, rimmed with black, just as her eyes - though they are fiery red and glow just as intensely as the forest does around her. She is frozen in time and then, suddenly, she is off with a flash of white from her tail and belly.
She comes across the winged Queen quickly - Sabra had not made it difficult to find her. The splashing of water cued Merida to her location, as well as the smell of her scent on the shifting wind.
The fox leaps into view with a flash of red and white. She quickly sits onto her haunches before the opalescent woman, her tail wrapping around her paws as she lifts her snout into the air, inhaling the scents that surround them. She is blatant about her presence but yet at the same time extremely casual - she lifts a forepaw and uses it to scratch quickly behind her ear, before settling it into the softness of the forest floor. She tosses her head, fluffing the white of her chest as she did so, and lets her bright red gaze fall onto the Queen. “Sabra,” she drawls, a tiny dip of her snout towards the winged-woman.
The black-lined lips of the fox is curled into a grin, and her tail taps quietly on her slender paws. She wonders if Sabra has made the connection - that the black and ember-flecked mare she has met before is the same cunning fox that sits before her.
04-07-2018, 06:33 PM (This post was last modified: 04-07-2018, 06:34 PM by Sabra.)
When she set out to find a soul among the vast trees, she did not anticipate that soul being of the vulpine variety. Foxes ran the woods, but they typically preferred nighttime roaming. And staying to the shadows. Her steps halted as the creature settled before her. The faint glow of her eyes was easily missed in the heat of the day, but it was a betrayal nonetheless. The satin length of her tail rippled as the little fox addressed her.
A memory itched at the back of her mind, demanding attention as much as the sleek animal staring her down did. Her brows rose in surprise as things started to fall together. "Oh dear. And here I was thinking you'd decided to shun the world of equids all together. You'll have to forgive me, but I don't quite remember your name. It's been a little while." Her elegant neck dipped a little bit to look the vixen-mare in the eyes.
She meant no offence, but frankly she had only seen the woman's face once, and that almost a year ago. Quite a lot had occurred in that time. She realized she'd still only seen her face once, if one was splitting hairs. What had suddenly brought the fox out today?
There is a flicker of recognition in the Queen’s eyes, causing the fox’s black-lined lips to curl curiously. The little vulpine lifts her back haunches as she stretches out on the forest floor, her forelegs reaching forward as she lengthens her spine. Her tiny mouth opens in a yawn, revealing sharp teeth like pinpricks surrounding a pale pink tongue that curls before closing her jaws. Sabra’s words make her laugh - one that rumbles in her chest instead of floating out of her mouth and into the air, before it fades as her lips par to speak: “I am not one to take the company of anyone, regardless of species.” It is not an apology - there is no regret in the voice of the fox as her fire-lit eyes dance with mirth. She does not take any offense to the Queen’s words, flicking her tail casually behind her.
She straightens, standing on all fours with a lightness that is anything but equine. Her fox-spirit is small in stature, leaving her to trapeze through the forest without interruptions or pleasantries of other equines. In her horse-form, she is easily found, and Merida is not one for formalities or creating friendships. There had been one, perhaps, but it had been long ago and left her feeling vulnerable and silly, which kept her hidden beneath the forest’s shadow, a cunning and quick flash of red in otherwise pitch blackness.
The fire-eyed woman would only be seen if she wishes to be.
In the blink of an eye, brilliant red fur is replaced with the sleekness of black, and the fox is replaced with a horse. The eyes remain the same - stark and burning - while her transformation takes place. Red flecks adorn her haunches and withers, like embers burning on black ash. Her mane and tail are as brilliant as her eyes, falling around her dark and amused face.
“Merida,” she offers when the transformation is done, tossing her head lightly with a gentle snort.
