"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
04-23-2018, 07:41 PM (This post was last modified: 04-23-2018, 07:41 PM by Erinys.)
I'm lying in the ocean, singing your song your face is like a melody, it won't leave my head.
She rises in the early hours of the morning. The days were becoming colder, as autumn began to shift closer to the wintery days. The seasons were quick to come and go—time simply had no meaning for Erinys though. She had no obligations or anything to wake up to truly. However, she finds herself of late thinking of her life (perhaps due to the recent event of meeting Hephaestus).
Erinys yawns as she stirs from her slumber. She stretches each leg carefully, rather taking her time from the spot she had spent the night in. With recently returning to the world where she interacts with others, away from the dark hole she harbored herself in the last years, the meadow has become her home.
It was a home nevertheless for now.
The black mare pulls herself away from the shading of the tree she slept upon. She casually makes her way into the more open space of the meadow. Her stomach growled and rumbled to be feed, and so she searches for something to eat. Her nose digs through what remains eatable in the meadow as the vegetation becomes lacking during this time of the year.
Erinys finds a rather decent spot. She takes a couple bites of the grass. Curiously, and mostly absent-mindlessly she glances up. The black mare scans the horizon of the meadow with amber eyes. Her eyes eventually land upon another mare, but something familiar (perhaps it might just be a mistake) catches her eye. She swallows her last bite, and moves towards the mare.
When she reaches a comfortable distance, she stops. It is a bit further away than normal strangers might stand when greeting another as Erinys has not always been so confident when coming up to others. “Uh,” she begins, finding her voice awkwardly, “I might be mistaken, but I think we might know each other.” Erinys swallows hard for a moment, and softly smiles at the other mare. “Are your brothers Malfunction, Skid, and Smear?” Erinys could never forget their names—they had been the first group of horses she met that were somewhat of a kinship to her.
ound knows well of the homes that are not true homes (where her roots temporarily secure themselves in order to stay alive) — her entire young life had consisted of them. Perhaps the only place she could call home in those days had been the embraces of her brothers with their slick and skinny and irreparable arms. But the physicality of their home (of brooks with paths she’d memorized and trees she’d sleep under and trails she’d race along) changed depending on the time of year.
The scents of her brothers are the comforts of her childhood. When the silvery mare finds herself overwhelmed with her Tephra life she seeks out the corners of Beqanna that feel familiar. Sometimes she catches the barest hints of her siblings, still living among the wild bramble and untrekked forests, and her heartbeat quickens within her chest.
It is one of such days when Wound reaches the fringes of the Meadow. She’s followed a familiar scent to this area (a scent that reminds her of hazy days and cobwebby trails and hushed, defensive voices) and her coffee-brown eyes are rapidly scanning the clearing. Wound is doubtful her brothers would emerge from their hiding in such a manner as she had, when she had boldly stepped into the Field and thereby boldly stepped into her future. But her thoughts twist toward the possibility of her mother seeking out the groin of her sire once more to perhaps produce another sibling.
It is while her eyes are scanning the Meadow that the familiar scent draws closer. The mare is a hazy version of a distant memory, one that Wound can’t identify whether it was a dream or a reality. The dark mare has a similar shape as her own (perhaps not down to the specifics, but neither of them look as though they are crafted from good bloodlines and a royal pedigree) and the silver bay’s eyes immediately alight with warmth. She can’t deny the irony of it — first meeting Hephaestus in the woodland and now meeting this unique mare.
A mare who not only recognizes Wound herself but also remembers her brothers. “Yes, they are.” There’s a sunny smile on her face at the mentioning of her siblings, though it is darkened slightly by nostalgia. A bitter pang dances against her heart for a moment before she forces her thoughts toward the conversation at hand before she enters a mind-track she only dares walk through when she is alone on Tephra’s sulfuric shores.
“There’s no need to apologize. My name’s Wound.” Her eyes take in Erinys’ figure, not to curiously prod at her deformities but rather to see if it will jog her memory. There’s a faint remembrance, curling like a wisp of smoke at the edge of her brain. “I do remember meeting you, but I must have been a lot younger than.” Her mouth splits into a gentle smile. “How have you been?”
I'm lying in the ocean, singing your song your face is like a melody, it won't leave my head.
Erinys searches the other mare’s eyes, waiting to confirm she was not wrong on her instinct. She would have felt quite embarrassed if she had been wrong. It’s not likely of her to feel a bit of confidence and her voice to approach another (someone would possibly could be a stranger) and be direct.
Thankfully, her instinct had been correct. The other mare’s eyes light up, and she cannot help but smile as well. The feeling of her heart beating in her stomach fades, and she feels a lot less nervous than before now. She is not only happy that her gut feeling had been correct, but also to see that the silver mare had also recognized her.
“Oh, good,” she says with a soft relief when she answers her question. It was a sigh of relief, though something she did plan on exposing out loud like she had done now. Erinys pushes it aside though and allows her amber eyes to relax onto the mare.
Wound, she thinks. She knows the name now—it had slipped her mind, but never did she forget a face no matter how young. They had only met once, but back then those days had just been the beginning for the now-grown mare before her. “Yes, it has been a very long time ago,” she admits herself, but she is glad to find Wound remembers her a bit after all these years.
“It’s good to see an old face, Wound.” Erinys cannot remember the last time she had felt happy to see someone. Perhaps it had been meeting Hephaestus—she had found his company more pleasant than she had imagine. But maybe that is what it felt like to finally make a friend out of a stranger. Were they friends? She isn’t sure. She doesn’t really know what having a friend is like after being alone most of her life.
Erinys gives her a soft smile back when asking about how she has been. “Well, there isn’t much to say,” she confesses. It feels strange to easily open up to another, even though they were not practically strangers, she still did not know Wound very well. “I’ve been doing much better than I have before recently. I still come and go from here for time to time, but seem to find myself more settling back into staying in Beqanna.”
It was a change for sure, never did Erinys imagine she would return to Beqanna. There had been too many memories left here—the beginning of her life had sometimes held her back from becoming more. And the idea of starting anew outside of this world seemed more welcoming than anything. But here she is again, back into the lands that she was given birth in.
ound has never been past the borders of Beqanna. Within her homeland, she’s traveled to many places (Loess and Hyaline and Tephra and the outer, rural fringes) but never has she gone Beyond. The thought pricks at the pieces of her that shy away when others stare at her with accusing eyes. Despite the bravery she’s grown to accept during her time in Tephra, there are still pieces of her that cringe uncomfortably when strangers draw their children closer in her presence.
She can’t imagine what that might be like outside of the comforts of Beqanna and in an unfamiliar land.
“Beqanna is a beautiful place,” she admits. “I’m sure there are other, equally as beautiful, places outside of it though.” Wound wonders if there are other countries with such varying biomes. She would be surprised to find a place such as Beqanna, with its beaches and volcanos and cliffs and mountains and lakes and forests.
A gentle smile finds her face as Erinys returns her question. She has certainly grown — both in size, personality, and experience. “I’m the Head of Peace in Tephra.” Although the words should feel prideful on her tongue, there’s a bitter taste in the back of her throat. Wound wishes that this stranger-turned-friend would find all the same joy and wealth that she’s found since their last encounter.
“If you’re planning on staying in Beqanna, you’re welcome to come and visit Tephra any time.” She hadn’t meant for their conversation to turn toward recruitment but this is more of a personal invite into her home rather than a petition to serve a kingdom. Wound smiles again, this time unhindered by doubts. “I have a daughter. Her name is Wishbone.”
I'm lying in the ocean, singing your song your face is like a melody, it won't leave my head.
The world outside of Beqanna held many differences. There was those who did accept Erinys for what she was and there were those who did not. She found comfort in others, though they were only friends for a time. Now they were complete strangers again—strangers she would likely never see again.
It was always this way though. Erinys did not make friends so easily. She held herself back from possibly ever making a connection with others. Only recently did she allow herself to branch out a little more, to find that calling someone a friend wasn’t so bad. There were others out there that could care for her, even ones that were kin to her in physical deformities.
Everyone carried their own scars. Some were physical while others were mental. She carried both scars, ones she was imprinted on the very day she was born, and others that she made herself. Erinys no longer wishes to live in the life she knew—she wanted more out of it all.
“There are,” she answers back to the other mare. “But something about home compares it to nothing else.” She felt a strong force pulling her back to this place. Perhaps it was her future to make herself to be something, to not be the scared little girl she had been in the confined forest all those years. Erinys had never been truly a coward. She always had a hidden strength within her, one that carried her through the hardships she has faced.
When Wound mentions she has made a life for herself—a position that was not given easily, at least from what she knew of the kingdom life—she founds that she is smiling. Erinys is happy to see that others like her are finding their way into the world, in positions that many would never dare to dream of reaching. “That’s wonderful, Wound.” It really is, she thinks to herself as her smile grows wider.
It gives her hope that she one day might be able to share the same joy that Wound has found. Erinys cannot imagine what it will be like, but she has always found holding onto a small piece of hope has changed her life for the better. It has gotten her through more things than anything she imagined never overcoming.
Wound’s offer for her to see her home in Tephra. She never has been there before and sees no reason not to visit (maybe a chance to truly leave behind her own confined home, but that step is a big one). “I would very much like to visit,” she says with a smile, “I cannot remember the last time I ever saw the other parts of Beqanna besides the meadow and forest,” she adds a soft laugh at the end. It’s care free and natural.
“A lovely name for your daughter,” she replies. Erinys has no children of her own, but for a moment she wonders what would it be like. It brings an invisible frown to her face; however, an obvious sadness touches her amber eyes for a moment. She doesn’t share what she feels though—there would likely always be a sadness when she thought of her own parents (mostly her mother) and what it would have been like to have a different life than the one she had.
hey are kindred hearts, Wound perhaps a few steps ahead of Erinys. The majority of the silver bay’s life has been spent in seclusion, alone aside from the protective company of her brothers. They led a gypsy life (her brothers might still, she hasn’t seen them in years), sporadically traveling from one abandoned forest to the next. Her childhood was spent playing among cobwebs and decomposing leaves and at night she would nestle into the throng of her brothers sides and dream of friends and lovers and a world without staring, accusing eyes.
It had taken her a while — years, in fact — to depart from her brothers and then a few years after that to finally take those first steps into the Field. Those bittersweet, tender movements had led her to Femur and then to Tephra, on and on into the brilliant life she has now. Perhaps that is why she offers her home to Erinys; there is a kinship between them that isn’t built upon blood or family, but upon the beginnings of their lives.
A soft smile finds Wound’s face when the dark mare accepts her offer. Clawing hands of doubt and apprehension gripping her stomach dissolve away, intent on showing their twisted fingers on another day. She deals with this cycle endlessly — the ugly head of paranoia with the pressing body of anxiety and the stomping feet of doubt attempting to suffocate the bravery and relief from her lungs. It rarely wins (except for that terrifying moment in the Forest, when Hephaestus’ broad, dark chest had accepted her as she heaved irregular, panicked breaths), but she still suffers from the pressure in her chest and the erratic racing of her mind.
“I can assure you Tephra is nothing like the meadow or the forest.” The volcanic island has become her paradise, so familiar to her that she can trace the trails and smell the ash and brine in her dreams. If Erinys decides to stay, Wound will consider herself the Femur for this woman’s life-story but if not, she can only hope that she helped the dark mare take a few steps closer down the path of discovering a fruitful and wonderful life. “My brothers and I lived in the forests when I was a child and when I finally left the shadows, Tephra became my saving grace.”
She can see the hints of sadness in Erinys’ eyes at the mentioning of children. Perhaps she has never found the right man to be a father to her children or perhaps her womb is incapable of carrying such treasures. Wound feels pity swallow her heart like a dark, compassionate mouth and she reaches forward to touch the mare’s shoulder with her silvery nose. “She’s been my greatest light,” she says softly. The silver bay doesn’t pressure Erinys further, but empathy mingles with the coffee-brown of her gaze.
“Speaking of Tephra, I should be getting back.” The tension that has settled across Beqanna is as heavy as the weight of a tiger upon their shoulders. It’s undesirable to linger past the protected borders of home for too long. “If you’d like to visit now, you’re welcome to come with me. But my home is open to you at any time of day for any reason, Erinys.” Another easy, sunny smile finds her mouth before she turns with a final touch to the dark mare’s shoulder and then turns toward the trail leading to Tephra.
credit to nat of adoxography.
@[Erinys] / yeah so if erinys decides to come with her, you can just post an opener in tephra and tag wound and i'll reply!! or she can visit whenever, haha. feel free to reply back or just leave it as is, but i figured this was a good place to wrap things up <3
