"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
12-06-2016, 09:32 PM (This post was last modified: 12-23-2016, 10:33 PM by Teal.)
Teal
Nose lowered halfway to the ground, she kept a brisk pace, letting various scents be her guide. Her tail whipped her flank every so often in growing irritation and anxiety. Her heartbeat was racing, and blind eyes stared wide and fearful. Everything was different. It was all so wrong now. It had been so right, but now was all so very wrong.
Where have you gone?
It wasn't so long ago when she had a warm body pressed against her, keeping her warm through the time of the Cold. Safe, for once. The Cold had always been so lonely before, but this time she had someone. He'd actually managed to gain her trust, her Caveman, which had always been a great challenge for any. She was foolish. In a time of doubt, fearing he'd leave, she'd chosen to be the one to walk away first. It hurt less that way. It's what she kept telling herself.
She jerked back violently as the soft velvet of her muzzle was pricked for the second time. Tentative huffs in that direction told her it was the same breed of flower as the last time. And to her dismay, more investigation determined it to be the very same bush with a drop of her blood still lingering about its leaves. She growled in frustration. She was going in circles again!
With an angry spin, she set off in the opposite direction. Damn her if she ran into that vicious shrub again!
Warm fluid seeped from her pathetic injuries; a slow and gradual trickle. It was only the most recent pair of abrasions to join the myriad of old nicks and cuts marking her pretty face. Milky white hair curtained a great number of them, shielded the world from her opaque eyes. And beneath the colorless forelock, a rich, soft gold. Things she would never see, never understand, as she struggled to find her way by smell alone.
Oomph! -
She rebounded from yet another obstacle. This one was hard but thankfully not rough enough to autograph its passing with another scar. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. She'd never find him. She'd never even get out of this.. wherever she was. He was lost for good and so was she.
It had begun to wear on him, remaining in one place all the time. He loves Nerine, and is happy to set down his roots there as he'd never done before. But Simeon is ever the wanderer. It was in his blood, stemming from deep within his soul, urging him to move and explore. To go and follow the wind to sights he hasn't seen. He'd been there for months now, on the coast. It was a wonderful place, and he truly can't imagine living anywhere else. But the aches in his muscles cried for release, a growing and building desire. He'd been able to stave it off by patrolling the land, making a routine of running the borders, exploring the forest, climbing the cliffs, even racing the shoreline. A few times, he'd caught the attention of a couple local dolphins, and they'd joined him in his beach runs. It was hard to tell who won those races, but he bet their sleek agile bodies had the upper hand on him. Or fin.
Still, he thought it would be good for him to take a trip out beyond the borders, take a brief break from his routine of patrolling. And so he'd traveled to the Meadow, one of the last remaining places familiar to anyone from before the Reckoning. And one of his favorites. He had spent many days here, releasing energy in the mornings before it got busy, finding a nice shade tree to think beside, meeting new faces. The latter of those is what he hopes for on this warm sunny day. A gentle breeze sweeps the area, keeping the heat of the sun from settling in to uncomfortable levels, and toys with his frosted black mane as he walks.
It doesn't take the bay roan stallion long to notice her, the lovely golden mare with platinum tresses, as she wanders somewhat aimlessly with her head low. Tilting his broad head slightly, he draws to a halt as mismatched eyes follow her movements as she runs her face right into a pricklebush. Ouch! Of course she recoils and his heart goes right out to her. His immediate thought is that she had gotten into some bad weeds, the ones that make your tummy churn, but as he watches her head toward him with eyes staring blankly (though not without expression, as he notes her worried brows and lines of strain in her muzzle) he puts the pieces together. She can't see anything.
Sim has already decided to approach her, except for the fact that she indirectly is closing the gap between them on her own. He does take a few steps forward to meet her, extending his muzzle with a soft whicker so as not to startle her. "Scusami, signora? Are you alright? Can I help you?" She seems as though she's looking for something, though whom or what he doesn't know. But she doesn't answer him, her ears flopping atop her head and as she nears closer he can hear these adorable strange little grunting sounds coming from the back of her throat now and again. Her wide, cloudy eyes seek unseeing and he realizes she follows only her nose and by touch. The sunshine girl can't see or hear. Man, he'd met horses with one or the other, but never one with both.
He is watching her, noting the many nicks and cuts and scrapes on her otherwise pretty face. Her forelock covers her forehead and right eye, and his eyes follow the stripe of white down her nose to the oozing scrape fresh on her muzzle from that evil bush. In his study of her, she must have picked up her pace and sort of beelined toward him. He tries to move, but it is too late and they softly collide, that sweet face meeting the fleshy muscular part of his neck. She sort of wuffled and he catches the sigh of defeat dragging her shoulders down when she rebounds off him. Simeon's heart swells for her, and he thinks quickly of a way to catch her attention without frightening her off.
He wonders, remembering an encounter with a deaf boy he'd met long ago, who'd been able to feel the vibrations of his voice if he spoke in a certain frequency, having a baritone and masculine voice. It had worked well for him, maybe it would for her too. He nickered, deep and louder this time, much the same way he had with the boy. Extending his muzzle to her again, he blows a soft warm breath on her side (near the shoulder). "Hey there, miele. I'm right here. Can you feel me?" He draws back in case she frights, but keeps his head out and lowered so she could reach out and touch him if she chose to. He continued to make the deep whickering sounds, uncaring how silly he might look to anyone passing by. If she couldn't pick up on the vibrations of that sound, at least she should be able to feel his short bursts of breaths with every one he makes. Feel me, sweet one, I'm right here. Hm, he'd have to figure out what to call her.
as the grasses grow, so will I go…
as far as the skies will take me nothing can break me…
as the winds blow
And then she could smell him! Just barely. Only the tiniest bit.
She waited, nostrils flared and holding her breath. Something plucked at the insides of her ear, like a buzzing wasp. It was almost like the rumble in someones chest, but disembodied. It was scary, uncomfortable, and she tried shaking it out with quick twists of her head and an anxious groan.
Oh! Then there was a waft of breath on her. She lost her other thoughts, focusing on it so intently. Her muzzle whipped around just as her hips did, trying to face it. Trying to face him. It wasn't Caveman. No, not him. But he almost smelled like him. Like he might have passed him recently. The rest of him smelled warm and spicy, and she edged closer. Her head swayed hesitantly, pinpointing his location and distance from her. She was getting better at this, she thought.
She stepped in and brazenly buried her nose to his throat, hungrily sucking in the smells wrapped so comfortably around him. Mmm, yes very warm. She kept constant contact with him as she swept around his neck to his jaw, up into his hair with more breaths, slid down his muscle to his shoulder. Normally she might be more frightened of strangers, but this one smelled like Caveman. And so he must be safe, right? Plus he had not attacked her. Always a good sign.
She shifted herself parallel to him, facing the same direction, and pressed her body against him so he could feel her talk. Short, throaty grunts. No longer so anxious. Now determined. Take me. Where ever you've been, I want to go. Lead me.
Her golden neck curled and she shoved her weight against his shoulder, trying to make him move. She followed in sync with any step he took, always keeping her skin touching his. Keeping sight of him. A last groan at him, growing frustrated with his immovable strength.
Goooo. Take me!
This one would need a good name. He wasn't a Caveman, for sure. No, a big hulk of a thing. So warm. Nice, though? Not sure. Maybe.
