"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
Magnus’ life has been an exercise in regret and the many ways one could hate themselves. So many decisions had started with the best of intentions, only to later twist and warp in his grip, turning into a slippery knife. His ideals had become the very source of his grief, had impaled him more times than once, had driven him toward the cliff’s edge. And so, it would seem, they had done again. The meetings at the Gates had imploded, a black hole that had swallowed everything he had cared about. They had become blurs of emotions and pointed words and hateful outcomes. He had watched questions raised, concerns ignored. He had watched the kingdom that he loved turned into something that he did not recognize.
At first, he had resigned himself to it; it was a bitter pill, but one he said he could swallow.
But then—oh, then—everything had gone awry. What had been a contested shift in kingdom politics had turned into something crueler, something that had resulted in banishment and the loss of a mare who had been with his child. Magnus had gone blind with rage, with anguish. Was he to stay there? Endorse those decisions? Silently stand by and let Zeik morph the kingdom into something he could not bear? Or was he to put his foot down and leave? Stand by his ideals, stay true to himself, and let Zeik do as he will?
He had, rashly, chosen the second decision and, in many ways, it was a decision he still agreed with. But that did not make it an easy one—or one that did not come with its own set of regrets Every day since then, he was plagued with memories of Sahm, of Camelia, of Kokachin, of Cerva. Of those he had left behind in the kingdom. He thought of them often; he woke with worry biting at his heart. He hoped they had settled into the new rhythm and found peace. He hoped they would be protected—stay safe.
And then the world had shook and the heavens had fallen and everything that had fractured his heart in those weeks seemed so insignificant. Since coming down from the Mountain, Magnus had turned his mind toward the task at hand: finding allies, helping those he could, creating a home. In many ways, he had been successful. He had forged an alliance with Offspring, with Malis, and even with Eight. They had secured one of the first pieces of land to create their new home—and while it did not have the Jungle’s wild spirit or the Gate’s serenity, it had captured a little piece of his heart, twisted around his soul.
Magnus had even found many of the Gate’s former residents—and many had established themselves at Tephra. But not everyone. There were some he could not find and each day was salt upon the wound. His eyes never stopped washing over the crowds to spot them, his pulse thudding in his throat as he wished for their safety. So when he sees Cerva, he cannot help the relief that washes over him, his expression naked in it as he came up toward her. “Cerva!” he cried, husky voice thick. “I am so glad to see you safe.”
They abandoned her. Their hearts led them astray, guiding them far from Cerva, and they flourished while she wilted. It had been the first time she had nestled into a place so comfortably and where she could rest her head. Within just a few weeks’ time the Gates had captured her heart and had woven binding threads into her soul. That’s why she wouldn’t – couldn’t – follow the others when they retreated to the horizon. They didn’t say goodbye; they simply left.
It has been weeks, maybe months, and in that time Beqanna has shifted and consumed itself. The Gates is no longer here; Cerva remained in its embrace even as the world shook, but when she opened her eyes she was greeted by something new. Fear and heartache gripped her, but she survived. Loneliness clouded her ambitions to understand this revolution, but it has since cleared. Devov lit the fire in her dark world. He opened her heart again after it had wilted and crumbled into pieces. Now, she doesn’t want to be without him. He was there when no one else was.
Their bodies are pressed closely to one another fighting off the wintery gusts when Magnus’ voice bellows over the crowds. Cerva recognizes it immediately and flinches when she hears her name. Slowly, her eyes fall to Devov and a frown creases her pretty face. When everything initially happened, when everything crashed down, she only wanted to be reassured by those she knew, but the solitude has fermented bitterness. It has burrowed deep inside her and is surfacing now as she looks up to see Magnus closing the distance between them. He is relieved to see her; the breathlessness in his voice admits that he has been traveling, but even then Cerva hardly softens. ”Hello, Magnus,” she replies tersely as she straightens herself and searches his eyes. ”Yes, I’m safe,” she lies because in reality she doesn’t feel safe. She’s an outcast, forsaken to live in this new meadow with a constant worry for predators and for everything that bumps in the night. Cerva needs a home, but she doesn’t say this. She hasn’t slept well as she has been vigilant day and night.
The tension in the air is almost choking and so she glances down fleetingly. ”This is Devov,” she didn’t realize that she had been holding her breath, ”my son.” She expects the searching stares across her slender torso. Was she ever pregnant, they wonder, but Cerva is stronger than those temptations. ”He found me.” Her stony face falters as she grins and leans closer to the boy.
09-12-2016, 03:50 PM (This post was last modified: 09-12-2016, 03:52 PM by Dovev.)
He was born on the mountain, of the mountain, and built as solidly as She. A healthy roundness to his sides promised a well of strength in his future, one he almost seemed he could tap into already being a bit thicker than the other foals he'd seen. Minimal pale splashes curved boldly with his figure, cutting through his dominant black, and his dark eyes, so intelligent, observed all in great detail; much as they did now, staring up adoringly at the beautiful bay that accompanied him.
Her lashes were long and thick, like a china doll, face perfectly sculpted by a grand artist, and deep, caring eyes that pulled him in. Her beauty and grace were unmatched, her heart so pure, and he was proud to call her his. He was young, and knew with certainty that he'd never been happier until he found her. His rich darkness melted into her colorful side like it belonged there. Because it did.
Her perfect name from a stranger's mouth assaulted him. Something within him seemed to chase his warmth away, and her reaction to this voice tugged his brows together. She flinched as if stung, and showed him a pretty frown. One she should not be wearing. Then she taught him of her strength, and straightened boldly, a proud little hitch to her chin and her stunning gaze glittering with warning. Had the moment not felt so serious, he would have been smiling at her. See? She really was perfect.
He turned a blank face to the one who had upset her so, bottomless black eyes revealing nothing. She clipped his name in bitterness, and he memorized it. Magnus. Who would dare harm his Cerva and cause her to act in pain?
"Yes, I'm safe," she says, and the little colt stands taller at her side. Of course she was safe, she had him now. He would find them a home and keep her safe. A good little stallion. Just temporarily shorter than the others, for now, 'til he grew a bit more. She didn't seem to mind, though.
A warmth spread through him as she introduced him. "He found me," she declares, and his little heart flipped in happiness. He met her gaze with his own as she turned a smile to him, the truth in her words causing him to beam proudly at her, and he met her nose with his in a sweet caress when she leaned in. He brought that smile to her face, and he couldn't help but feel a little smug about it.
Dovev turned to the older male with a coy little smile, a natural sort of charm lit his face. The colt was the stallion of this family of two, and he took a step forward at his fullest height to introduce himself as one would. I am Dovev, born of the great mountain, he says evenly. With a loving glance back to Cerva, he adds, I have named her Mother.
His passive gaze returned to the gold stallion, What are your intentions here?Let's not beat around the bush, we are both men here.
Were Magnus to know the depths of her bitterness—the depths of the blame she placed on his shoulders—he may not understand. They had, after all, only met once, her arrival overlapping ever so briefly with the whirlwind of politics and banishment that had led to his departure. At the time, he had considered himself responsible for the safety of the Gates, but he was not, at least not formally. He had held no titles, save the former responsibility lingering from his past positions. He was not King, nor General. He was just a private citizen of the kingdom with an overwhelming desire to keep her, and those within her, safe.
He had not even left her in grave danger. He had disagreed vehemently and been fiercely opposed to the direction of the new rule...but there had not been imminent danger. Magnus may have viewed the new King as arrogant and unfit to rule, but he had not appeared cruel. If he had worried that the King would have caused direct harm to those living within the kingdom, the story may have played out differently.
So, no, Magnus may not have understood, but he would have certainly shouldered the blame.
(He was no stranger to regret; he was no stranger to self-loathing.)
Still, he has no reason to think that Cerva would be angry with him, and he finds the terseness of her response startling in comparison to the warmth she had shown when they had first crossed paths in the Gates. For a second, confusion flickers across his handsome face, one corner of his scarred mouth pulling into a frown. “Ah,” he cleared his throat, whiskey voice husky. “I see.” It did not stop him from studying her, looking for scars such as those Camelia now carried or for tears such as those on Longear’s cheeks.
It wasn’t until his attention was pulled toward the young colt that he looked away, ears perking beneath the tangles mass of his forelock. There was an intimacy to their relationship that caused something to pull at his belly with concern, but he pushed it to the wayside for now. When the colt stepped forward, Magnus at first felt amusement tugging at the back of his mind, but he pushed that away, too. Instead, he dipped his head in a formal greeting, years of kingdom training apparent in his militant stance.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Dovev of the Mountain.” His gold-flecked eyes warmed as he looked toward the icy mare by his side, mind whirling with questions as to why she was so cold. “You are lucky to have such a mother as Cerva.” At his next question, Magnus’ lips pressed together, his expression growing stern in thought as he considered the question. “My intentions?” He lifted his heavy-jawed face just slightly, looking between them both. “I simply wanted to check on Cerva,” he paused, correcting himself, “on you both.” He felt the tension in the air and once again wondered at the source of it, but for not chose to not pry. She would tell him what was wrong if she so desired. He would not push beyond that.
“I have petitioned the faeries alongside Offspring, and we have been granted a land where many former members of the Gates are now calling home. I am doing my best to find more to offer it to them should they want it.” He could not help but feel the stone settling in his belly, the certainty that they had no desire to live there—no desire to even see it—and that he was the reason. "I could show you the way, if you would like."
09-13-2016, 04:25 PM (This post was last modified: 09-13-2016, 04:57 PM by Cerva.)
Cerva could be wrong in the way she is seeing everything. Magnus isn’t a lover; he’s more of an acquaintance than anything, but he had been the first face she saw upon entering the Gates. It had been him that helped to plant a seed in her heart for the kingdom because of his passion for it. There was an unwavering love in his voice and so Cerva thought she may have found her first staple in life. No one has ever stayed with her.
Mother left.
Father had other women, other children.
Her brothers disappeared.
She has no one, nothing, and so the fabricated relationship she was building with Magnus was leading into an immediate comfort. They met. They laughed. They talked. It was all she needed to settle her uncertainties and create a sense of security. The others – Longear and Camelia – she had only met on the border and exchanged hellos before the world ripped itself apart. Zeik she hasn’t seen. Cerva fell asleep and awoke to her worst fears. She didn’t want to be alone again, but she was.
Perhaps it’s the residual fear thrumming inside her that is icing over her voice and coating her steely gaze. I’m not alone anymore, she tells herself, but even then, the memory of everyone leaving and Beqanna devouring itself stabs into her and she flinches again. She has scrapes from debris, but it isn’t drastic; they have all clotted and are all healing well without hardly any notice. Cerva, in all her worry for others, never took it to mind about her own well-being. Even now she doesn’t as her eyes flash between the two males while deciding where and what she should be doing. Her heart trains her eyes too look in the direction of where the Gates had been, but her conscious reminds her that it isn’t there, nor will it ever be again. This meadow is her – their – home and she casts her gaze back down on Devov as she tries to contemplate his future. He can’t stay here.
Magnus is speaking to Devov now and Cerva intently listens even if her eyes elude the confusion of Magnus’ stare. The remaining softness of his voice falters the rigidity she has adopted. In truth, she doesn’t have the strength to uphold such a cold façade to anyone, but she tries in spite of her nature. ”You moved on quickly,” she meekly whispers, ignoring his compliment of her as a mother (she heard it and she felt it rattle her heart). It’s all he could do, she tries to convince herself, because they all must survive. Each and every one of them had to restart their lives and try their best to flourish and to protect their families. Magnus isn’t in the wrong at all, but Cerva can’t let go of how alone – how abandoned – she had felt until Devov found her. She regards the boy fondly before finally allowing her nutmeg eyes to search Magnus’ curious stare. ”You smell like my father,” it hits her like a wall, slamming into her consciousness. And suddenly she’s torn again.
The boy's sharp perceptions noted everything silently, including the confusion the male painted so delicately on to his cold face.
Where there should have been a sincere look of apology for the hurt she so openly demonstrated, or better yet words of such, instead lay justification and self-pity, and then further still into judgement. The golden stallion's eyes scrutinized her figure, top to bottom to top, looking for wounds, scars, defects. Comparing her. As if her pain was a selfish act when there were others in far more physical trauma. Who was he to dare judge her heart's wounds?
Her injuries glared so brightly in her eyes, her voice. Spiritual scars marring her gentle soul. Would he dare write that off as if it did not matter, as if it was somehow less than another's pain? There she stood in all her truth of hurt, and he was twisting himself into the victim, his sad little eyes screaming why do you stab me with this harsh tone. Dovev scoffed, but held back any comment.
He claims he has come to seek her out, check on her health, yet his actions cry lie. Were he so interested in her well-being, he'd have sought her out when he noticed her missing, far beyond now. With a glance to Mother, he sees the subtle softening in her strength, and the colt's eyes harden. She was too pure to protect herself from such manipulations, slowly falling for that act of false genuineness, and Dovev would not allow it in his presence. He returns his steely gaze to the elder stallion's mask, his gold-of-Midas face and melting voice sighing like the innocent victim he portrayed.
And then his words also admit his lie. His intentions were to see her, he had said. But no. As if a speech had been prepared, already repeated to so many others, he explains he has petitioned with some sort of alliance and claimed a land. His conquest of greed had come before he even thought of Cerva, and possibly others still. With his own words, he paints his priorities so clearly. Oh, he would surely believe he thought of others, even dare to claim their well-being was his sole purpose in this quest of his, but actions speak far louder than honeyed words.
And then, as if the bold little colt's straightforward manner had goaded him into submission, the elder stallion, too, gets straight to the matter of his heart, inviting them to join him and see this place that was more important than Cerva's state of health. This was what he was truly interested in. Just another body to add to his tally.
"You smell like my father" she says in her sweet voice, again tinged and strained with misery. And now he called upon more agony, not just with his apparent abandonment of her, but this memory of her father who also likely left her behind. Well she'd never be left alone again, not while breath still pulled oxygen to Dovev's lungs and blood still pumped strongly to his heart.
The colt had had enough of this.
"I could show you the way," he'd said so sweetly. That will not be necessary, Dovev injected calmly, shifting casually in place before Cerva like a shield, protecting her from the pain that washed off this old acquaintance of hers in waves. He would guard her heart when she could not, so stealthily manipulated into questioning her own aching emotions.
Whether the stallion was at fault for her wounds or not was of no import. Her emotions were the truth in this, and when he should have nurtured them, he instead turned to his own gains, his own desires. She didn't need anyone like that in her life, and Dovev would make it so.
Come, Mother, he said passively, his eyes glittering like sharpened obsidian never leaving the stallion. We have no need of his assistance.Nor a want of it. His hip brushed her chest gently but firmly, reassuring her with his hardened resolve. They were not so desperate for a home that they would follow this pretty face and ignore the reality of his true intentions.
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