"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
04-26-2017, 01:56 PM (This post was last modified: 07-18-2017, 01:09 AM by Fox.)
My heart saw the things my eyes couldn't see
He is not a morning horse. Not at all. This is clearly in evidence on this particular morning. The sun already hangs high in the sky, warming the lush foliage of his home and creating a steam that rises above them. With the chill of late autumn meeting the heat of the volcano, it seems it’s always a bit foggy around here this time of year. And, as far as Fox is concerned, perfect for sleeping.
A soft sigh escapes his lips as he stretches out on a thick patch of grass, still bright and green despite the lateness of the season. Blinking amber eyes open, he gazes up at the low fog hanging overhead, warmed to a golden glow by the mid-morning sun. He stares at it for a long moment, debating whether it’s worth rising now, or if he should simply go back to sleep.
Alas, despite his odd sleeping habits, he is not particularly given to laziness.
With one last speculative glance, he lifts himself into a more upright position. With only a thought, he collects the heavy moisture of the cloud above him, turning it into a heavy blanket of snow that allows the sun to shine down brightly upon him. Of course, he is also left with a heavy blanket of snow upon him. Not that he minds overly much.
He loves his home, but he loves winter too. Perhaps it’s why he spends so much time away, especially during the winter months. Still, this works just as well.
With a satisfied groan, the red stallion pushes himself over into a hearty roll. In minutes, he is thoroughly coated in snow and in high spirits. In his opinion, this is perhaps the best way to wake up.
The air is warm - thick with humidity, as the still tendrils of dried vegetation sway to and fro in the wayward breeze - the soil beneath her humming with vibration. The volcano is rumbling, not for the first time, and though it should unnerve her, it does little to disrupt the stoic tension of her features. Her thick, draping tresses fall in the way of her bright emerald eyes, as her gaze searches the heavy, hazy horizon.
The heat from the nearby spring is palpable, and a faint sheen of sweat has begun to bead along her youthful form - still gangly, still spindly - caught within the clutching grasp of her own youth; too young to be taken seriously, but too old to have fickle, fleeting thoughts of a child. Instead, she is tucked within a thicket, its pointed and sharpened thistles pressing into the russet of her skin - the discomfort of a too-warm autumn has already left her feeling somehow numb, and so she remains, quiet and thoughtful as the bristling points poke and prod at her.
Delicately framed in a mask of indigo, her cheek turns towards the east, towards a faint but discernible sound. A low, rumbling groan piques her curiosity and tugs her out of her patch of thistles and thorns. A winding, wiry branch somehow entangles itself with one of her growing, winding horns, and with an irritable tug, she is freed and her long legs are soon carrying her petite frame through the wavering grain. Coated in something bright (it shimmers beneath the sun) - she had never seen it before, this odd blanket of white that lay across his pale red skin.
Quietly, her gaze trails the languid curves of his long legs, of his sloped spine and heavy, muscled neck. Softly, almost cautiously, "What is that? I haven't seen it before - and how are you doing that?"
He is also probably too old for a lot of things. Not that that ever stops him from doing them. With the joy of his heart and good nature of his spirit, it is debatable whether he will ever actually grow up. And, honestly, one only has to look at the young red stallion to know the truth of those words. Laying in his patch of snow, covered in a layer of glimmering white crystals, with a happy grin upon his lips, this is all very much in evidence.
He’s not really paying too much attention to who might be around him, so it should come as no surprise that he is rather startled by the approach of another. With a soft snort, his wide, soft brown gaze turns abruptly to the filly standing near the edge his own little patch of heaven. The surprise does not last long however. It is quickly replaced by a wide, friendly grin, a glint of humor sparking in those amber eyes.
Thrusting his long front limbs out, he heaves himself quickly to his feet. With a shake, he looses the glimmering powder from his coat, revealing the mottled red and white hairs beneath. Turning, he settles the full force of his gaze onto the young mare, one corner of his lip quirking up. ”It’s snow! It’ll be here in full force soon enough. Or, well, not here specifically. But outside of Tephra.” He pauses to draw in a much needed breath, his features turning thoughtful. “I’m not really sure how I do it, it just kinda happens. Dad told me it has something to do with the magic of Christmas.”
With a quick flurry, a swirl of snow and ice settles across his companion’s mane, glimmering in the sunlight like patchwork diamonds. ”There, perfect!” he announces rather proudly. Suddenly, as though realizing just how much he had been chattering, his grin turns a bit sheepish. “I’m Fox, by the way.” He quiets then, gaze surveying the girl before him with more consideration than he had previously, admiring the red of her coat, the blue of her markings, the gentle curving of her horns. “I really like your horns. They’re quite lovely.”
Youth is etched into every fine line of her soft, feminine face – her eyes wide, curious, the corners of her mouth turned up with the slightest smile, her limbs long and slim and not yet filled with the supple muscle and fat that would eventually cause her to sway to and fro with each deliberate step. There is a whisper of age outlining her frame – the delicate slope of her spine, the width and length of her neck, the faint curve of her widening hips – but she is caught betwixt, nary a child nor a woman yet.
Alas, her heart pounds eagerly against the tight confinement of her chest as his voice rises – a rumbling baritone, not too unlike her own father, in fact, but interlaced with an almost contagious glee that causes her faint smile to remain despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. With an almost comical combination of agile movements, he is upright, towering over her – she, a mere fourteen hands at best, with her bright, analytical gaze following every crease and edge of his broad, masculine features.
Breathless, a nervous huff of laughter emerges from her throat, and if it weren’t for the naturally deep russet of her skin, he would certainly see a reddened tint along the hollow of her cheekbones. Her gaze follows the glimmering flakes of ice as they are shaken from their perch, fluttering to the ground below and melting before her own eyes. Snow. With a thoughtful hum, she moves closer to him with an outstretched neck, pressing her lips against the dampened ruddy root of his mane, feeling the bristling ice liquefy beneath her warmth.
Then, a layer of frigid ice crystals suddenly drapes across the length of her neck, interlacing with her long, carefree tresses, stirring a shiver that surges along her vertebrae. ”Snow,” she murmurs softly, teeth bared slightly with a half-hearted smile, watching the unrestrained delight become sheepish chagrin, and she can barely stifle the laughter bubbling beneath her breast. ”you talk, a lot.”
”I’m Prevail,” she utters softly, studying the mottled red and white of his coat and the remnants of ice that lay precariously on the edge of his skin. Eventually, her inquisitive stare boring into his, her attention settles. ”These old things?” she says, feigning indifference to his compliment, giving a faint shake of her head and lightly prodding the side of his neck with them – smiling all the while. ”Thank you, Fox. I like your .. snow magic. I’ve learned something new today.”
It takes him all of about two seconds the decide that he rather likes her. The sweet trill of her voice, the blue mask overlaying the finely wrought bones of her delicate features, the gentle curve of her elegant horns, the slope of her neck meeting her slim back, the glimmering softness of her rouged coat - all shaped just so, all creating a perfect picture of lovely, youthful beauty.
He has always been something of a connoisseur of beauty, whether it be that of his most recent companion or the delicate, soft petals of a rose or the glitter of ice at sunset.
And it absolutely delights him that she has not seen snow before. All the easier for him to introduce her to its unique loveliness. He can just about picture the wonder on her face at her first glimpse of frosted fields and blankets of unbroken white. Her wry comment drags him back from his fractious musings, startling a laugh from deep in his chest.
Oh yes, he does rather like to talk. A lot. And he has never been shy about admitting it. Of course, pretty much anything that goes through his head pops out of his mouth, so it should be no surprise that he would so openly admit to his myriad failings.
His boisterous laugh settling into a grin, he quips good naturedly, “Well, you’ll never have to wonder what I’m thinking,” before offering her a jaunty wink. No one would ever accuse him of being subtle either. Stepping nearer to her, he softly continues, “You’re quite welcome Prevail. I only speak the truth.”
Coming alongside her, he runs a slow, almost tentative caress along the glittering strands of her mane, enjoying the gentle tinkling of ice and the occasional teasing stroke of soft skin beneath the parting of ice-coated locks. “I learn something new every day.” His voice is muffled against her neck, the warmth of his breath heating the delicate, ephemeral crystals he had placed there. “I bet there is all kinds of things I could show you.”
the rest of the world was black and white, but we were in screaming color.
She is captivated by the brilliance of the pale sunlight touching each individual ice crystal, setting it ablaze in an array of vivid color, before melting away, leaving little else but a droplet in its wake. She is enthralled – she had never seen anything like it, and yet he is able to conjure it from the thick, stifling air – despite the heat, despite the humidity. She does not shy away from him as he moves closer to her; rather, she touches her mouth to the crook of his neck, tasting the remnants of ice and salt that lay on the surface of his skin.
Her own heartbeat is thrumming at a frantic pace, stirring adrenaline to course rhythmically through her veins, making her dark russet skin tingle as the warmth of his breath brushes over the root of her own tresses – wavy and tangled, haphazardly laying across her slender neck. A soft laugh bubbles up from the tightness of her throat, though it is caught with a quiet hitch in her breathing. He is murmuring to her softly, and she can feel the intensity of each syllable vibrating through her sinewy muscle and bone.
Far be it for her to understand flirtation – in the end, she is enchanted by his charming wit and contagious laughter, and as her vivid, endless eyes of seafoam search for his own, she can hardly conceal her own mirthful smile. His feather-light caress trails across her tangled mane, tasting the salty brine of the sea and the delicate, crystalline flecks of ice that cling precariously to each individual stand, and for a moment, she is trembling –
With laughter.
”Oh, Fox – you are dangerous, aren’t you?” she muses softly, a glimmer of mischief tucked away within her gaze, boring into his own as her slim neck is turned, looking over her shoulder at him. ”Handsome, charismatic –”
She is turning then, to face him, reaching her dark, indigo-tinted lips to press against the crest of his ear as her warm breath touches his skin, whispering to him not with her vocal cords, but with her mind.
07-07-2017, 04:17 PM (This post was last modified: 07-07-2017, 05:28 PM by Fox.)
My heart saw the things my eyes couldn't see
Pressed so close to her, his lips against her skin, he can just about feel the beat of her heart, the pulse of life in her veins. Erratic with unfamiliar anticipation. It’s there, alongside the salt and the sea, delicate flavors that intermingle with a taste distinctly hers. He has but to lick his lips to know it’s there, intimately intermingled with the heat of her unmistakably feminine form. He smiles then, enjoying the feel of her skin, the trickle of water down his nose as the heat generated between the two of them melts the glittering, ephemeral ice crystals.
There is wicked humor in his voice to match the impish smile that had snuck onto his lips. Lips still hidden amongst the shifting fall of her dark mane. But it’s there too, in his mind. The decidedly naughty mind of a young stallion just reaching his majority.
She trembles, her voice soft, amused, and he withdraws slightly. His amber gaze finds her, lips quirking into a teasing, humored grin. His russet eyes glimmer intriguingly, a bit flirtatiously, before he reaches out to nip playfully at her indigo tresses. “Oh come now, don’t tell me you think so badly of me. You wound me.”
His grin widens as a soft chuckle escapes his lips. He presses closer once again, ducking his head slightly to give her better access to the tender skin along his crest, behind his ear. A shiver races down his spine as he feels her warm breath heating his sensitive, responsive flesh. A shiver that is amplified by the sudden feel of her in his mind, her words caressing gently, intimately, into his consciousness. He stills for a moment, surprised, before a slow, positively wicked grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.
Arching his neck, he presses his velvety muzzle against her chest, finding the warm hollow there to press a gentle, breathy, teasing kiss. Shifting his larger frame, he slowly eases his lips upwards, chest to shoulder to neck, a provocative slide that barely touches her skin. Just enough to tease, to tempt. Finally, he pauses along the sleek, tense muscle of the slim column of her neck before whispering into her skin, into her mind, “It’s no fun if I tell.”
the rest of the world was black and white, but we were in screaming color.
She cannot say when the air shifted, when the atmosphere changed – but it did.
Somewhere between his breath caressing the surface of her skin, and his lips brushing across her cheek, the thickened humidity of the island began to pale in comparison to the heat stirring between she and him. Her breath hitches in her throat when his mouth presses against her, tasting the saltwater and sulfur that lingers in the crook of her neck, along the hollow of her cheek, in the corner of her mouth – lips parted, though her voice is quieted, while her heart thrusts itself raggedly against her ribcage.
He does not withdraw from her upon the realization that she can ease her way into his mind, as she had expected him to. Quietly, intimately, her willful thoughts echo inside of his mind, though there is little else but the dull roar of the churning ocean and the pitter-patter of her thundering heart to be heard. His touch is electrifying, sending a shiver traversing the length of her spine and stirring her slender legs to shift in place, while the long, flowing flair of her dark tail brushes to and fro against her ankles, where rust falls away to a deep, striking indigo.
She is physically wordless, searching the endless abyss of his mind and memory, shivering as each of his sordid, wicked thoughts stir a wildness from within she had not been aware of. She is youthful, but with the restless heart and tempestuous spirit of a woman undone, and as his mouth presses hotly against her neck, she is certain that he can feel her pulse through her sinewy muscle, as his pale mouth brushes across her chest plate, leaving delicate kisses in the hollows of her skin.
He is lustful – his mind rampant with sensuality. He is young, and so is she, and for a moment, she is entirely lost to it, filtering through each thought as the progression presses on – there is more on his mind than the soft but deliberate press of his lips across her breast, and if it were at all possible, the rounded curve of each cheek would be tinted a fair shade of rosy red. Where she once felt some semblance of control, she is, without a doubt, flustered and intrigued.
His lips move away from her pounding heart, caressing her gently until his mouth his pressed again against the column of her neck, mumbling into her throat.
A throaty laugh emerges from its confinement, her mouth dry and parched, as adrenaline courses recklessly through her veins. It was only a rhetorical question, she whispers to him with her mind, her dark and hazy gaze searching for his own, as her own wavy tresses fall in the way of her eyes, imploring. You are an absolute rogue! (oh but she loves it, though she dare not admit it, her breaths coming out in small puffs) tell me, she coos to him, What else could you show me? I can hear your every thought – (she cannot, but he does not need to know that) – is there more?
It is the folly of youth to give in to temptation. And he, in that one respect, is no different from any other young stallion. Temptation had stumbled directly into his path, and he had taken her up on that inadvertent offer.
He does not think that she minds overly much though. Not with the way the breath hitches in her throat, in that lovely, slender column that tempts lips and teeth to nibble and tease. Not with the way her skin quivers beneath his touch, the way her flesh heats and her heart thumps a too rapid rhythm inside her chest. His own does the same, a strong, steady throb that sends heated blood pulsing through his veins, warming his skin and driving the thrill and wicked temptation ever deeper.
The slide of his lips from chest to neck stirs him as much as it does her, sending a flood of warmth and sensation cascading along sensitive skin, sparking already raw nerve endings. In that moment, he feels as though he has never wanted anything more than this, than the bone deep hunger, the callow yearning.
He presses closer, ever closer, as though they might truly become one. His lips draw upwards, pressing hot kisses to the silken skin, the sleek muscles of her shapely neck. He reaches her throat, the tender, secret flesh there beneath her jaw, nibbles lightly, provocatively. The words she whispers next, dark and sensual, directly into his mind, draw another wicked smile from him. He is pressed so close now he is certain she must be able to feel it against her skin. This time though, he doesn’t answer aloud. She has already proven she can hear his thoughts. She would hear him, those terrible, inviting thoughts he cannot seem to shake. Everything, he whispers into her mind. I will show you everything if you let me.
A soft, breathy groan escapes his lips, caressing her rouged skin. He shifts then, heated flesh sliding against heated flesh, as he reaches for more, his mouth seeking every inch of skin it can find. He traces the elegant curve of her cheek, lightly, tauntingly, before slipping back, giving his seeking lips access to the glorious slope of her withers, her slim, graceful back. He would not pursue if she chose that moment to pull away, to release herself from these passionate bonds, but he hopes she will not. He hopes, with all of his heart and mind, that she will choose to stay. Will choose him.
the rest of the world was black and white, but we were in screaming color.
His mouth is ravenous, pressing against the hollow of her throat and pressing soft, but fervent kisses where sinewy muscle and bone meet. She cannot suppress the soft hum that emerges when his teeth graze gently over the column of her neck, nestling beneath her tangled tresses, nipping softly at the flesh that lay untouched beneath. His breath is warm, caressing her skin and stirring another shiver from the very marrow of her bones, and a breath moan bubbles up from deep within – she had meant to swallow it down, to stifle it, but when the heat of his body collides with her own, and as she can feel his lips draw back to reveal a wicked smile pressed against her flesh, she is powerless to keep the contented sigh of delight from emerging.
The adrenaline is surging through her veins, setting her delicate nerve endings ablaze with a sudden, renewed vigor, and a sensation she had never known before is stirring – roiling within the pit of her belly, where a gathering of butterflies flutter. She is all too aware of the ease at which he has drawn her in (a beautiful moth to a tantalizing, flickering flame), and though there is a moment of hesitation, she cannot deny the absolute temptation of his insatiable mouth trailing down the length of her neck, the shiver elicited by the graze of his teeth across her withers, nor the way the rumbling of his deep but hoarse groan reverberates through her entire being, rousing her desire further.
And yet, with each urgent kiss lain across her delicately sloping spine, she can hardly breathe. There is a flickering flame beneath his touch, warm and yearning for the surface of it skin, where it can fester and burn and leave her quivering under the scalding caress of its ember. She can hardly bear it, as each time his mouth is drawn away to move elsewhere, she is arching, pressing closer to him – but a moment of clarity emerges, stirring her from her reverie and quietly, softly, an insistent word presses itself into his mind.
No.
And then she is pulling away from his hungry gaze, her own boring into him with a half-lidded need – but she does not wander far, turning instead to encircle him, pressing her lips against his broad shoulder, tracing the bone that lay beneath a gleaming sheen of sweat – tasting the sulfur and sea upon him, her teeth pressing lightly into the skin beneath. Quietly, she is tracing his own spine – it is a reach for her; he is tall and coiled with sinewy muscle, but she does not stop until she is pressing a soft, but urging kiss into the crook of his hip.
Quietly, thoughtfully, she presses her echoing voice into his mind once more, curving her long and slender neck to look back towards him, as her vivid emerald gaze holds his steady.
Not here. Come with me.
And she does not wait for him to agree – with a coy smile, she is off, bounding through the thick vegetation, leaping over thin tendrils of oozing lava, carving its way through the fertile land and away from the rumbling volcano from whence it came. The sea breeze is heavy on the eastern side of the island, and when the ocean has once again become visible through the hefty haze lingering from a wayward storm, she is quiet and still again. When he is beside her again, the very same shadow of a demure smile tugs at the corner of her indigo lips, which gently brush against his shoulder – urging him on beside her, moving towards the shore and the churning and wild ocean, lapping hungrily at the densely impacted sand along the coastline.
She does not stop until she is settled before the mouth of a cave along the beach, carved from volcanic stone – quiet, secluded. It is then and only then that her gaze imploringly searches her own, and with her heart wildly beating inside of her chest, and a rush of enthrallment flooding through her veins, she presses her mouth to his, with nothing but the surf to see their entanglement.
