"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
The island is always on his mind, anyway, try as he might to escape it. It had been their sanctuary. It was the place that emerged from the cloaking mist at his mother’s behest, her leadership tying together the old land to the new. It was the soft landing for feet and faces hardened by Beqanna’s betrayal, family and friend alike. But as much as he has grown to love their dollop of land protected by the ocean (the rollicking, tropical storms and glow of the algae under the midnight moon), it is her people he finds himself unable to fully abandon.
He returns home sometimes, and when he does, it is always under the cover of night. Sabrael never seeks anyone out; he sticks to the shadows of the avocado and frangipani trees, hugging the edges of the land as much as possible. It is slow going this way, but he finds he rather enjoys it all the more for his easy pace. He learns more about Ischia than he ever had before on these nighttime wanderings. He learns, too, that the dragon is stronger when the sun goes down – it rattles his ribs trying to free itself. Sometimes, he lets it.
Tonight is one of these nights.
His vision goes first, switching over to the superior reptilian sensory ability to see in the dark. Sabrael emerges from one of the many caves along the north shore, his claws digging into the thick wet sand before the ocean. It is a cooler night but he is not deterred. The water is still warm as he wades into the shallows, his forked tongue scenting the air for a long time before he dips his head to the task at hand. Hunting takes patience. The once-horse has plenty of time to think while remaining perfectly still. His mind stretches back into the jungle even while his toes sink further into the sand. Back where Kerberos leads and Wallace lives, back where their brood of purple-children play all over their own personal sandbox. Back where his mother and siblings and grandparents wait for him to come back, if they even care about their wayward runaway.
Fire lights in the pit of his stomach. Sabrael sees spots of red across his vision. He blinks and they move, the heat signatures of the small fish passively floating beneath him. He hasn’t moved and they are oblivious to the danger from above. In one quick, practiced motion, the dragon darts his scaled head under the waves. A jaw like a bear trap closes around the biggest of the fish that squirms helplessly in his grip. His copper head lifts above the water, both of the creature’s scales glinting from the white-bright moon. In the next exhale, he sends a jet of belly-deep fire out across the black water. It is enough to char his catch – the dragon much prefers his dinner cooked. He is about to tip his head back and gulp down his meal when he hears a sound on the beach behind him -
html code by Toli, design idea based on "Dovev" by Laura
He tells her "ooh love".
Ever since Kharon had left her too, she had strayed from home. Or, not really, because she had never left the isle that was Ischia, but she had not returned to the part of the island where they spend most of their time. For a moment she wonders how they are doing, and if they even missed her. Probably not. Kali would probably be quite content to snuggle up to Kharon, Mother would like the rest of not having to watch over their youngest sibling and Father thought that she was too close with Kharon anyway.
And Kharon. He had proved himself to be not much different from both their parents. He had, just like them, turned his back on her and left. He had left when she had asked him to join her. And thus Kylin had found herself wandering north, towards the part of the island they didn’t explore so much. It was lonely and cold, even though it was never really cold with Ischia’s jungle. But she missed her twin brother. His presence, the way his wing would drab over her back and pull her against his side, his warmth as they slept side by side. Tonight she would have to sleep alone again.
Kylin had made her nest at the end of the beach. The sand still warm from the day, offering her some kind of comfort, but the vegetation reached far enough to protect her from wandering eyes. It was the most she could do to feel safe. Even though she’s tired, sleep refuses to come. She’s not fully awake, not even close to dreaming either. But even if she had been asleep, the creature that emerges from a cave in front of her would’ve woken her up completely.
All she can do is watch, staring at the huge creature that almost stands frozen in the sea. Never before had she seen such thing. Ischia’s jungle was habited by very little mammals, let alone predators. And she simply couldn’t believe what she was seeing, or understand it for that matter. It intrigues her and the tingling in her stomach is both because of the excitement and the slight awareness of danger. One almost drawing her nearer, the other keeping her frozen.
And then fire. ”Ooh.” It lightens up the water and in that short moment she can see the creature a bit better too. Then she realizes that she had wandered further onto the beach, leaving her safe spot near the forest, exposing her white and lavender frame so easily. But right at that moment, Kylin is too shocked, surprised and secretly amazed to realize the danger she might be in.
rolls over the tops of the gentle waves and catches in his ears. The sound is amplified by both the water and his predator hearing. Both have aided him in his kills before, though the memories are hazy things that slide so easily from his thoughts. What he remembers is the water made red, veins made hot, a belly made full. He never sees the faces (even when he wakes up a horse again, with entrails slipping between his slack lips). He never sees his victims fully (even as he skirts around their felled bodies, what is left of them scattered over the dirt). He won’t look at their faces – none of them are equine, for now, and that is enough.
So when she calls softly into the stark quiet of night, it is the dragon who answers. He sees the patchwork flash of white and lavender wavering on the sands and reacts, advances. Sabrael splashes through the shallows. He does not know himself in that moment, caught off guard in his other skin, and the rational part of him falls below the surface of consciousness. This is where the beast bests him. This is where he loses control. In the breath between instinct and analysis, he will never be quick enough. He rushes the beach and the watching girl, wings flared and ready to lock her in a deadly embrace if she tries to run (they never run far, anyway). She unknowingly draws him in. The pale parts of her coat shimmer in the broad moonlight that seems to stretch for an eternity from east to west. She is alone, so terribly, regretfully alone; there are no others to pull his focus away or confuse him, as herds are supposed to do.
When the dragon analyzes, finally, he concludes that she will be an easy take.
Little to no risk. High reward.
Sabrael explodes out of the sea, mouth already open to expose his eager canines. The yearling is so close, he can feel the heat radiating off her young body. So close, he can see the lines of her face, the color of her eyes. Her face. It is enough to snap him back to himself, the impossible truth he is not meant to see (that sometimes, oftentimes, he is not leading his own life). The dragon barrels past her, possibly scraping her sides with his metallic scales. He closes his eyes and brings himself back slowly, piece by piece. Sabrael sheds the cold reptile and feels warmth flood him again. He waits a long time to turn around, gives the girl an opportunity to run if she is smart or stay if she is a fool.
“I am sorry,” he says, either way. To himself or to a fool.
06-27-2017, 11:51 AM (This post was last modified: 06-27-2017, 11:51 AM by Kylin.)
kylin
html code by Toli, design idea based on "Dovev" by Laura
He tells her "ooh love".
The creature turns to look at her. It's big, very very big. Long neck, powerful legs and she could only imagine how the claws would look like. Wings like Kharon, though very unlike his feathery ones. A tail to finish it all, or perhaps to balance out the neck? Kylin's gaze is stuck upon his face tough. She had seen flames coming out of his mouth – how could that be possible? And then the head, so elegant ant terrifying at once, teeth so sharp they could tear her in half in one go and those vertical pupil eyes were so exotic.
For a moment she's sure Kylin has met a higher being.
She's frozen in place. Unsure if it's because of plain fear that makes it unable to move, or because she's simply still too awestruck. And running away from a higher being would surely be offending, right? Her hazel eyes are locked on his, lips parted in a silent gasp. Except for her nervous fluttering ears she's standing still, completely still.
It advances, comes closer. She can feel the sheer power, with each powerful clawed foot that lands on the ground she can feel the trembling in her legs. Then she's flying. In slow motion it feels like hours, but mere seconds later she slams back into the ground, Ischia's beach all but forgiving. The force of the impact knocks all air out of her body. A moment she feels nothing, just stares at the empty beach in front of her in a haze.
"Aah!" she cries out the moment her side starts to burn. Tears are pouring down her cheeks as a whole new sensation of pain washes over her. This pain is so very different from when Kharon had turned his back and left. It burns, setting her skin on fire, and all Kylin can do is curl up on her side, body shaking and trembling. His apology doesn't reach her ears, the pain simply blocking all other senses.
A few droplets of blood trickle down her skin, painting the lavender and white red. Red, just like the scratches on her shoulder, barrel and hip. Three mostly horizontal stripes. Shallow enough to not draw a lot of blood, but the metal had been sharp enough to bruise and slightly de-skin. Hair torn out, leaving the raw and burning skin exposded to the salty air.
Even if she would come back to her senses. Even if she would be able to will herself to stand up, her legs wouldn't be able to carry her.
