"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
i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
The trees overhead cast deep shadows, keeping the woods dark even as the sun rises. Ivar’s penchant for wandering in the dawn has not faded as he’s grown; he doubts it ever will. Fall has sapped the summer warmth from the air, and Ivar’s damp coat is scant protection from the chill. There is no wind, thankfully, but he glances back for a moment at the river thatd he’d emerged from.
He is never uncomfortable beneath the water.
Staying there forever is not an option though; he’s as much horse as he is water dragon, and horses belong on dry land.
Below his hooves, the soft forest floor gives easily, muffling the sound of his movement. The splashy coloring of his coat makes it difficult to remain hidden despite his quiet steps, but Ivar is not really trying to hide. If anything, he is hoping to find someone. Anyone will do; this is his first trip out of Sylva for a record-breaking three days. The wily catfish had kept him occupied, but the young man is ready for more interesting conversation.
Shaking his corded mane, Ivar looks into the shadows as he walks, his soft brown eyes curious. He has grown from a rather homely child to a handsome adolescent. Someday he will be more – too much more – but the lankiness of his figure and openness in his young eyes still hint at his youth. There is a sound to the left. Ivar turns, tilting his freckled head.
build me up from bones, wrap me up in skin hold me close enough to breathe me in
There are certain things she does not understand.
She doesn’t understand why her parents have left her without notice. She misses her mother’s gentle touch, her father’s gentle wisdom. She remembers the easy days of her young life, the waking to a bright sun making a silhouette of the volcano, the way Eira would tuck her wayward red hair behind her ear. She remembers how they would laugh – the lot of them, her multitude of happy siblings (besides the one, of course) – when they would gather together as a family. Weir’s rambling, busy, scholar voice is like a phantom calling out to her still, a ghost stuck repeating all the lessons he’s already eagerly taught.
She doesn’t understand why they have left or why she doesn’t try to fill the gaping hole their absence causes. Radiant lives alone, her own anchor and compass, and it is enough for a spell. Tephra is bustling and keeps her from absolute solitude, anyway. And while she lives amongst them, she doesn’t work with them. The roan girl is young. Even if she knew exactly what she wanted to pour her efforts into, she is far too much in love with learning to tie herself down yet.
There is so much out there she hasn’t seen, so much left to explore. This she understands fully – the need to expand both her mind and the places her feet have carried her. She needs to feast her eyes on the world and fill her brain with all she can; she knows she will never be full.
Radiant slips into the meadow as quietly as a breath mists on a cold day. Her amber eyes rove over the gathering of horses, seeing the dizzying array of colors and accouterments that make them all so unique. She looks back at her own fire-red coat then, imagining herself lilac purple or periwinkle blue instead and laughing softly. Her gift is as unobtrusive as the coat she wears, and she thinks she much prefers it that way. It makes it her’s this way, inside of her, only offered at her behest (the part of both her parents that will never leave her).
Without realization, she makes icicles of her mane and tail (perhaps remembering the way her mother would push her hair back). They fall down her neck and hit her hocks, freezing in the chilly autumn air. She doesn’t feel it, though. She doesn’t see the boy who comes in front of her suddenly, either, looking back at herself as she had been. “Oh,” Radiant says, her once wide smile pressing into a rounded ‘O.’ He is a handsome thing, is her first thought, while her heart still pulses with adrenaline. I’ve seen him before, somewhere, is her second thought, when her smile reforms easily on her face. “Butterfly boy!” It connects, and she rather shouts it into the bleak fall air in triumph. She remembers her first trek outside of Tephra, the playdate of a great number of children well over a year ago now. What she doesn’t remember is his name. “What ever happened to that poor creature the others were so keen on catching?”
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
The sound he’d heard hadn’t quiet been footfalls, but it had definitely been something. It is difficult to see through the pre-dawn shadows of the land, but his brown eyes focus quickly as soon as there is further movement.
It’s a young horse, about his age. He’d not recognized the shape because of the way she was turned, but now that she is facing forward she is easy enough to spot. A bright spot in the dark forest, her rosy hide is eye-catching now that he’s finally seen it. She’s not bad herself, he thinks with the predictable mind of a teenage boy, his brown eyes roving her smooth figure with unconcealed interest.
There’s something like recognition on her face, but her shout of ‘Butterfly boy’ does nothing to clarify it. Ivar frowns, doing his best to place her, but it’s not until she elaborates further that he finally realizes that he has seen her before. His first trip to the playground, when the other boy had wanted to chase down the butterfly that they’d all been watching. Ivar had been so opposed to the hunting; he smiles a little at the thought now.
There had been so many names that day; Ivar can’t quite recall hers. Was it Rapture, maybe? He’s not sure. “It’s Ivar, actually” he tells her, lest she call him Butterfly Boy in perpetuity. “But I’m not sure. I do hope it got away.”
build me up from bones, wrap me up in skin hold me close enough to breathe me in
She had worried about that damn butterfly far longer than she probably should have. She’s odd like that, soft like that. Danaus gilippus, she has long since decided on its species – how could she have missed the spots? And while she knows it is improper of her to judge the other foals based on one encounter, she had. Those that had wanted to harm the butterfly (to catch it for whatever nefarious purpose they hadn’t divulged), she had dismissed as potential friends in the future. Gloom and doom does not run in her veins, does not make her heart beat faster. She would much prefer to see live, gossamer wings gilded against the sunlight as the butterfly floated on to its next adventure. Ivar had, too. The colt had spoken out against its would-be executioners; Radiant hadn’t forgotten.
He frowns though, at first, and it sinks her heart to see it. Not wanting to be the cause of anyone’s pain or displeasure, she tries to make up whatever ground she’s already lost in such a short amount of time. “Gracious, but that was rather rude of me, wasn’t it?” She ducks her head, shakes it. “It’s just an association. Remarkable how the brain works; it sees boy and thinks butterfly, the singular juncture of our separate lives defined by a symbol. I mean, I see butterflies all the time, but odd what will pop into your head and pass through your lips unregulate – “ she takes a quick breath and finishes, “ted.” Oh, but her rosy cheeks would be even more so if not for the eerie dawn darkness. When she can muster up some semblance of courage, she peers up at his face through her unruly forelock. She smiles, though much more sheepishly now. “Um, Radiant. And yes, I hope so too.”
Odd, she repeats in her head, yeah, you’ve got those bases covered – there’s no doubt in his mind. But if she is nervously long-winded and strange, she is also blessedly resilient. As the slow-pull of the sun from the horizon continues, she will find her legs, so to speak. There is so much more to talk about in the telling light of day versus the spook of the night (monsters are as afraid of the day as she is of the monsters). All of a sudden, she wonders why she’s come here alone at all while the shadows are still so dense. Everyone is a stranger here, even the boy who saved the butterfly. “Do you come here often, Ivar?” She asks, glancing around his monochrome frame to the woods on either side of him. “I don’t leave Tephra as much as I’d like to – as much as I should.”
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
The cascade of words pouring from her mouth seem to have no end in sight. Ivar takes them in the same way he does the water, sifting through the cacophony of currents to find those that are most important – most interesting. He doesn’t find it unpleasant – if anything her loquaciousness is a refreshing novelty to a young stallion raised by parents who seem to hoard every syllable.
“Yes, Radiant,” he repeats with a sense of familiarity when the roan shares her name. “Of course.”
There is enough of a spark in his dark eyes for his response to be taken as flirtatiousness, but he takes no action more forward than the words themselves. He’s an astute creature, and the flutter of a nervous heartbeat is as easy for him to identify as the dawn call of a loon. He is missing that now, he remembers suddenly. The soft pink dawn is creeping over the meadow much the same way it would have risen over his foggy little pond, but the birdcalls here are a little foreign. Some he recognizes, but there is a noticeable absence of the muttering of waking waterfowl and the sounds of early morning water creatures.
She seems to catch his mind wandering, and Ivar returns his gold-flecked gaze to her with a smile. He’s an answer ready when she provides her own response to the question she’s just asked him. Yes, that’s what he had thought. Tephra’s volcano leaves a distinctive tang in one’s nose; it has not been so long since he had witnessed the smoking mountain himself.
“I don’t.” The pied stallion says, tilting his head to look at the thin branches of the trees overhead. “Though I don’t blame you for not leaving Tephra. It seemed to be a nice place, if you’re a fan of magma.” There’s just enough of a laugh in his tenor voice to suggest that he might not be one of those fans. He prefers his water cold and deep; burning rock has a way of ruining that.
build me up from bones, wrap me up in skin hold me close enough to breathe me in
Her name spoken in the pre-dawn air between them by him sends an unfamiliar rush of warmth into the pit of her stomach. She pauses to examine it, because the feeling is so new to her. Momma had told her that there would come a day when she would yearn for more than just the company of her brothers and sisters. She had said that the games they played wouldn’t stop but they would change, become more complicated over time. Dad had said adulthood would be its own evolution of sorts, akin to the animals and plants that had to similarly adapt over time. It had made sense, then, as a lesson she only had to hear about still wrapped in the bliss of childhood. But now, she realizes the weight of those truths – feels their tickle as they settle inside her guts.
Evolution is here and now, she concludes; she is growing up.
To his credit, the young man says nothing after her lips run free seemingly of their own will. Buffered by his lack of disparaging response, she meets his metallic-tinged gaze with her own chipped-amber. The brightness in the corner of Ivar’s eyes does nothing to quell the butterflies he sets free in her stomach. Butterfly boy, she thinks again but for far different reasons, her lips quirking sharply at the thought. He hadn’t appeared to appreciate the moniker before, but she must admit it is appropriate.
Radiant follows Ivar’s gaze upward and into the winter-bare trees. Pink fingers of light reach across the sky above them, pulling dawn over the land in a brilliant display of color. She’s never seen a sunrise from anywhere besides Tephra (never been anywhere so far from home, in truth). She imagines it is beautiful here too, only different. Here, there are no foamy wave caps to be gilded by the sun. The billowing smoke from the volcano won’t kaleidoscope from red to orange to yellow as the morning spins on. He says he doesn’t frequent the meadow but he does reveal that he’s visited her home before. It is enough to draw her interest back down from the heavens to search his face for a review. She doesn’t see one, but the red roan girl hears instead that he feels much the same.
“Magma, she says like there is something sour on her tongue, “fire is not my favorite. She snorts, inhales the clean scent of the pines and then remembers the sulfur of home. And I apologize if I smell – I’ve heard it would be enough to knock Carnage over well before he ever reached our border. I can’t imagine how it must affect a mere mortal like you.” Radiant laughs easily and nudges the colt’s shoulder, feeling the smooth scales her velveteen muzzle brushes across. Like a rat snake, she observes. Those hadn’t been there before, had they? But then, it was impossible to remember every detail of every child she played with that day. “And you? Where do you rest your traveling feet, Ivar?”
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
The red girl doesn’t seem afraid to meet his gaze, and so Ivar smiles back warmly at her. All too often he’s been greeted with downcast gazes and flushed cheeks – it is nice to have someone who will talk to him directly.
And speak so directly too – he snorts sharply as she brings up the smell of Tephra. It’s a poor attempt to muffle a laugh, and it escapes anyway.
“It’s…memorable.” He concedes. “There’s no mistaking a Tephran as being from anywhere else.”
Her tone does not suggest she is especially fond of the volcanic islands, but Ivar does’nt blame her. Memorable indeed – and not pleasant. He supposes that in time one might get used to it the same way he’s gotten used to the perpetually autumn leaves of Taiga.
When she reaches for him, he falls still, watching as she brushes his scaled white shoulder. She is warmer than he expected given the chill of the air around them, but he does not lean closer. Too forward, he knows, but he wonders how smooth her own roan coat might feel beneath his pale muzzle. Will she taste like sulphur too?
build me up from bones, wrap me up in skin hold me close enough to breathe me in
She’s certainly not shy, that much is true.
It would be an impossible outcome, with her father being the man he is. Like a popped cork, stories and names and details poured out of him ceaselessly once his lips loosened. She never minded it, of course. None of the kids did. At night, he could fill their ears and minds with his particular prose until they were fattened and sleepy with their take. Mother never minded it, either. He’d send them off to bed and she’d be there first thing the next morning, their silent pillar of strength and love.
Radiant had sprouted under their care and guidance into a smart, confident young woman. Only recently – with their joint disappearance – had she begun to wilt. Father had been the heart of their family and mother had been their legs. With both gone, the red girl felt lost and utterly abandoned. But Fox pulled her back from the brink. Her brother reminded her of better times, reminded her that she was not alone in life or her grief. She stays in Tephra now, for him (for herself, too), but isn’t sure she will stay forever.
There is a big world out there waiting for her to map out.
Ivar reminds her of this exciting fact. He seems worldly in a way that she is not, despite all of Weir’s knowledge knocking around inside her head that she had drawn in like a magnet. It intrigues her more than anything else about the painted boy before her. “Perhaps I should have taken a soak or two in the river before scouting for company I intended to keep?” She laughs at the continued joke at her expense, though a part of her truly wonders if she stinks and he is being polite. She hopes not, for his sake.
When Radiant withdraws her muzzle from his sleek side, she meets the brown of his eyes again. There is a spark of delight in her own. A mixture of nervous energy, discovery, freedom, and youthful joy brightens her gaze. He lists kingdoms like common words, and she wants to have that familiarity with their world herself. There is so much more in store for her then languishing on the sulfurous shores of Tephra until her parents return. “I haven’t.” She hesitates for a moment more before deciding. “But I am going to now. Tephra isn’t my forever, I don’t think. I want to see everything I can.” The red-haired girl takes a step to the side, not knowing if it is the right direction or not. She smiles quickly back at Ivar, because she realizes it is probably not. “Will you show me Sylva? You don’t have to stay or anything, I just want to learn how to travel without getting lost.”
