i'm screaming out, wide awake; ANY

[Salomea]

“Why not?,” her half-brother asked her, his laughter a demon wheeze that sends shivers down her spine, despite his harmlessness (in regards to her, at least). Grimacing, and knowing better but doing it anyway, she glances in Set’s direction. That boyish grin, the one with a hint of shadows at its edges, greets her gaze and she stifles a sigh. They always took opportunity to tease her; whenever Frostreaver was not among their motley numbers. “It builds character,” Niklas reasoned, already humming that funny little tune that brought his shaggy charges to mortal realms.
 
Her breath quickens in her lungs as she slowly backs away, dark tail wringing in frustration. Wide grey eyes round on Set again but the magician has already lost interest. He had grown increasingly distant the closer they came to Beqanna. He would curb Niklas’ games if they became too rough but that was the only help she could expect from him; he never demanded her demon-brother cease his antics altogether, silencing even Frostreaver when she protested. It is not that the hellborne beast’s bites hurt – not much, at least – but the fear that they expel, pushing before them like a poisonous fog … that is all too real. She had been learning to control the paralyzing frissions of fear that the hounds’ cries naturally elicted, with the guidance of her rough and raucous tribe, but it wasn’t something that came naturally to her.   
 
She is almost to the treeline when they cry the hunt. The snow depth is thinner here, nearly nonexistent, allowing for a length of stride that she has not seen in some time. The trees grow increasingly close but she does not slow, eyes narrowed in concentration. The wintry air is sharp, her nostrils drawn wide and taut against the scent of freedom. It fills her lungs and lifts her soul. She slips on an exposed tree root, skinning the bark off of it and nearly falling to her knees, but she quickly rights herself, grunting with the effort. The branches tear at her mane and scratch at her black hide but she does not slow, not until the far tree line is in sight and the sound of her brother’s minions have faded. He usually does not give up the chase so quickly, not unless they have her cornered, torn and bleeding; but then everyone had been acting strange the closer they’d gotten to Beqanna.
 
Her legs ache and her lungs burn; sweat slicks her dark sides, matting her thick winter hair together, leaving skin exposed to the cold air. Slowing to a halt, she concentrates on controlling her breathing, slate grey eyes skimming her unfamiliar surroundings. They would find her – today, tomorrow, months from now. A sigh shudders in her chest as she eases to a halt. She was free of them for now at least. The sudden sound of voices sends her skittering back into the relative shelter of the forest. Still against the trunk of an old oak, she holds her breath until they’ve passed and then some. Finally, when the forest has long since settled back into cold silence, she emerges, swinging to the north and then to the west, sticking close to the tree line.  
 
She eyes the lake where ice has yet to creep across surface, thirst scratching at her throat. A dark forelimb shifts, then the other, but still she does not leave her hidden spot amongst a small copse of evergreens. She is distrustful of the relative quiet – she’s only seen two others since she arrived and they had quickly concluded their conversation, leaving together. A sound in the distance draws her head about, though she cannot see much past the boughs surrounding her. He darts past her hiding place, all gold and shadows and angry sweat. She snorts, thankful she had not exposed herself yet. Ducking her head, she stares balefully at the beckoning lake. A drink would have to wait. If she tilts her head just so … he’s begun to pace back and forth now, not noticing the dark mare watching him, unabashed … Salomea watches them both – them all –, tucked away in the shadows that cup and caress her inky hide, as more draw toward the agitated stallion; they cannot help themselves.
 
She dozes, having lost interest in all but the white stallion. Something about his countenance had been familiar but she could not place him …
 
The sun has nearly sunk below the horizon when a small sound wakes her. Shifting nervously, she licks her lips, trying to blink the sleep from her eyes.
 

OOC - Please bear with me, I have not written in ages ...

[Gunsynd]

Gunsynd

I wanna chain you up       I wanna tie you down

With winter fast approaching, he takes to the skies, relishing in the sharp chill that sets through his cellophane and leather wings. From the ground he must look like some beast from hell fast approaching, ready to draw you down to the murky depths. He circles the Valley before drifting off in the direction of the field to see what it may have in store. His lover called for more, more blood, more bodies, more strength. He would provide for her, he would be her savior. 

During his flight he quickly transforms his translucent appendages into large black feathered ones. The black merges seamlessly into his dark pelt and long tangled locks. With this done, he pulls himself higher and higher into the sky, savoring the bite of the cold against his skin and deep in his lungs. He feels a thin layer of frost form on his large body and with one final, deep breath (hold it, thrill in the sensation of he frost stinging the organs) he dives down to earth into the field. He lands and takes in his surroundings, surveying his options.

He in vastly unimpressed. The Valley would need more than what the field could offer today. Begrudgingly he heads to the lake, crushing the thin layer of ice (not unlike the thin lacy layer that has formed on his pelt and feathers) with his foreleg and plunging his maw into its icy depths to refresh himself before heading home. (He would thaw himself in his lover’s warm embrace.) When he rises, something catches his eye; a glint, from sleep-filled eyes peering out from a grove of pines. A fugitive? Well, that had his interest.

He tears himself apart, down to his most basic components. Invisible to the naked eye he floats, his atoms and particles mingling with the coniferous trees where he reforms, deep within their bows, just enough of his body to create sound. His voice comes quietly, eerily disembodied from within the trees themselves. “What do we have here?”  And then with a crack he is standing before the mare whose pelt matches his own. His dark eyes do not meet hers, but rather swivel around the field as to not attract much attention to her hiding place. “Who are you hiding from darling?”

I M   J U S T   A   S U C K E R   F O R   P A I N

[Spear + Spark]

They box and spar as only two colts should; one of them is a filly.

Spark is feisty today, fiercely giving no quarter to her brother and his tricks as he taunts her endlessly. She tires of his snarky grins and merciless teasing, even though she knows he is only being a boy but he is bullying too, as he starts to come into his own, gaining brawn and bulk as she remains willowy and spry. Each envies the other: he envies her fleetness of foot on the snow, and she envies the thick roping muscle of him as each of them grows more into what they will be - stallion and mare, children of the Tundra.

Their games draw them away from her icy arms, and they find themselves falling into step abreast of one another. It makes no difference where the trail may take them, as long as they go together (one day, that is like to change as each discovers more individual aspects of their halved personalities) and their noses point towards the Field. Curiosity burns hot and bright in both of them; this is like forbidden territory - they’ve never set hoof here, never had cause to do so, even if they are children of the Tundra and it’s wayward King. Each of them bears his mark in the red of the eye on the colt’s left side of his face, and for her, the right is as red as his.

Eyes meet; exchange a look that is more knowing than anything else --

They should not be here, but why not be of use even at this tender age to the snowy realm and her subjects? Besides, they are two and together, and quite unafraid.

Spear and Spark spot the lake; can feel thirst crawl up their throats and they share another look. He takes off ahead of her, and she gives chase so that in the end, they are laughing and out of breath as they come to the lake’s edge. Spark dips her muzzle in first, and Spear follows, neither of them remarks on how cold the water is. They’ve tasted colder, usually after having to paw at a rind of ice before they can drink from any of the rivers back home. With their thirst quenched, they stand quietly by the lake and share a moment of mutual grooming. Before they know it, the sun is starting to go down and they think about going back to the Tundra before it gets too dark, not that they could never find their way back - all they had to do was point their noses to the North.

They turn to go almost as one, that much in unison, but a small sound stops them in their tracks.

If it had not been for the glint of sleepy eyes from inside the evergreens, the loud sharp crack or the question of why someone might be hiding.. They would have kept on their intended path back. Instead, they are ever curious and poke their own still-small bodies in through the evergreens and find a stallion and a mare, both as black as the night that promises to be there soon. “Oh! Is this a game?” Spear’s excitement can hardly be contained, but Spark hushes him with a touch of her nose to his shoulder. “I don’t think this is a game, brother.”

She can see that it is clearly not, but like the big black stallion and her brother, she is curious as to why the mare is so easily spooked by the typical sounds of day turning to night. Or at least, the mare looks like she could be spooked - she seems over alert, and Spark goes to her, pressing her little muzzle to the black mare’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, none of us will let anything happen to you.” Spark’s pale face beneath her black medicine cap is solemn in her oath that no harm shall befall the mare in their midst, and Spear goes to join his sister, pressing his bay overo body to the mare’s other side - they are children, they have no true sense of boundaries.

Spear & Spark