"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 continues searching, but searching for what? He can’t say just yet, maybe searching for the courage to face a woman that he made a promise too. No she was better without him, she would be stronger without him. She didn’t need him, then again had he really broken his promise? He promised to love Josie like she was his own, he had/does that still. He promised to keep Zara safe, he had done that, in the best way he knew how. Putting someone in charge of her care that would be able to stay present in her life, but now…. Now what was happening? Had the stallion survived? Had she been able to find her bearings? Was THEIR child okay? He couldn’t say for certain.
He looks around him, the sun setting, he has yet to fly from the meadow, he has yet to see the extent of the damage. Something tells him he cannot be prepared for it, but then why stall? To find a mare that was angry with him? To see if a daughter that he had barely laid eyes on was okay? What kind of father was he? Promising to be present, promising a none existent forever. Bile rose in his throat, he knew the exact kind of horse he was, a selfish one. Yet could one give him grace? No he did not want that, but what exactly did he want? He couldn’t say for certain, all he did know was that the Dale needed him, or at least what was left of the Dale.
09-05-2016, 11:40 PM (This post was last modified: 09-06-2016, 12:58 AM by victra.)
make my messes matter, make this chaos count,
She is pregnant (obscenely so), she is tired, and she is stubborn like her mother. Whatever darkness had been passed down to the wild indigo mare, whatever poison flowed through her veins, now also found refuge in Victra. Before the world broke, before Raz broke her, she had only known quiet in her heart. There had never been a reason to feel anything other than safe in the illusion her parents had provided for her.
But safe was a lie.
Safe existed only in the sky with the sun against her back and those beautiful wings unfurled at her withers.
But even that had been stolen from her now. To try and lift her body off the ground for any length of time was near agony. Her barrel felt like it had doubled and then doubled again, and when she ignored the warning of discomfort and took to the skies anyway, it felt like the dark wings at her withers were being plucked from their joints. Her dark bay body was simply too swollen for those soft, feathered wings to hold her easily aloft.
So she stays instead in the meadow, refusing to go anywhere near that mountain again, refusing even the forest for its proximately. She resented the fairy who had taken the magic from her wings, resented the lack of magic she felt flexing inside of them. Hers had been shape-shifter wings, they had responded to her mood and whim, and now they felt dead and black where she left them open at her sides. They would still hold her against the sky, someday soon once the triplets have been born, but without the magic they do not feel like part of her.
She trails quietly through the meadow, stuck in motion because today it feels less uncomfortable than holding still. Her wings are still unfurled at her sides, and the tips of the feather trace jagged lines against the frost as they drag just above the ground. It’s her own fault for not noticing, but she nearly collides with a large black stallion standing immediately in her path. Instead of apologizing though, she scowls and pins her ears at him defensively. Nothing about him made her feel as though she were in any danger, but memories of being tortured, of a home now ruined, mix with that instinctive urge to protect the life growing in her belly and make her unpredictable.
let every little fracture in me shatter out loud
D: i promise if he is even just a little kind, she'll be nice. she is just hormonal and grumpy and recently tortured. <33
09-07-2016, 12:39 AM (This post was last modified: 09-07-2016, 12:40 AM by Phaedrus.)
PHAEDRUS
He is standing there blind to the world, and those sauntering around in it. Nothing about today, yesterday, or this last week has made sense to him. The buzzing hum of worry has not let up since the change, he wonders if it ever will. No he knows it will, just in this moment it doesn’t seem possible. It might take years, maybe the new crop of foals will cause memories to shorten, pain to lessen, losses to sooth, wailing to soften. But as the change will be forgotten so will the lesson that Beqanna is trying to teach them. This he worries about; this has his brow puckered. He looks to the skies wondering at the magic he has seen. He has seen a lot of magic in his days, but this magic, this magic is something else entirely. Could it be possible that the god/s, and faeries are real? His doubting mind was beginning to doubt his original doubts.
The sky a mural of their histories, orange fires lick upwards reaching for the heavens, believing there is more to obtain, hungry to be greater than they are. In those fires pinks and purples streak through, piercing the fire making them gush red. The color that connected them all, the magical swirls careen across the sky fighting, battling each other, pushing, pulling, shoving, killing. And the clouds approach them covering some of their gore from sight, protecting the world in a white cloak, shading them from the carnage in the sky. Its beautiful isn’t it? He is muttering just as she alerts him to the world around him. Chocolate eyes blink attempting to recover from the brightness of the sunset. He smiles to her still a little disoriented from his ponderings. I’m Phaedrus, He doesn’t ask about her business, at least not as of yet. He of course manages to assume that she was talking to him, and he once again hadn’t been paying attention. And while that was very much not the case he doesn’t pay any mind to it or anything else.
Of course he isn’t as rude as all that, genuinely sorry for inconveniencing her he nods respectful, attempting to make up for what he can. Can I assist you with something? He hopes she doesn’t take it as a rude thing, hopes that he can be of some service, possibly make up for not noticing her when she first approached. Maybe he could even make a new friend. He doubts it though, by the look on her face she wanted nothing to do with him now. Still he had to try and change her mind about him, after all isn’t that what he promised Beqanna on the mountain?
