"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 fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
It is once their meeting draws to a close that Wishbone departs from Breckin and Tähti. She urges the two other Nerinian’s to travel home without her and if Scorch wanted to bitch about the heir traveling back to Nerine by herself then she could do so once she crossed the border. The mahogany girl hadn’t expected to see Svedka at the meeting and she had been correct. Her brother — a kindred heart to her own youthful one — didn’t seem to have a taste for diplomacy.
So she goes in search of him once Breckin and Tähti depart safely, spinning away from the border on her heels to race away. It feels delicious to stretch her legs on Hyaline’s wide valleys. With the snow-dipped mountains, crisp blue sky, and fresh spring air, Wishbone feels free enough to give a wild buck in the midst of her run and let out a gleeful cry.
Her dark mane whips against the sleek muscle of her neck as she begins to slow, reaching the clear lake she’d swum in with her brother the first time she visited Hyaline. Although the visit had initially been intended for politics, Wishbone and Svedka had been able to dance and twirl and swim and dream the day away until the sun dropped in the sky. Warmth finds the girl’s heart as she remembers that day fondly.
Wishbone’s amber eyes scan the lake’s surroundings. Cattails poke through the surface of the shallows while silver minnows dart against the sand and pebbles on the floor of the embankment. The girl drops her nose toward the water, allowing her sable nostrils to quiver a ripple of air across the surface before she pressed her mouth down and took a drink. When she raised her head once more, Wishbone took a few steps into the lake’s shallows, enjoying the briskness of the mountain run-off. “Svedka?” Her voice seemed to echo off the faces of the mountainsides as she searched for her brother.
The springtime sun gently warms his back, tendrils of sunlight spilling through the soft green of the willow tree’s long vines. He’s dozing, half asleep and half awake, caught in the middle of consciousness, eyelids fluttering. His cerulean gaze catches the sight of the sparkling lake each time they open, crinkled reflections of the sun glittering off its rippling surface. The wind is heavy with the scent of blooming flora that have sprouted throughout Hyaline, of jasmine and gardenia and bright sky. He had heard the call - his young (not so young now) half-sister had come to visit, though when his cerulean gaze flickers to the ever-growing group, the stallion smiles lazily. Kagerus is there, amongst many others, so the Heart decides to continue basking in the springtime sun, thoughts of white feathers and the purple of wisteria clouding his sleepy mind.
Svedka naps for a little while longer, and the sound of his name quietly resounding in the valley causes one single eye to open, a lazy smile on the pink of his lips. He knew she would not leave without finding him, so when he sees her wading in the shallows of the fresh mountain lake, the stallion’s heart pumps with excitement. Stepping out from beneath his willow, pulling the vines away with a push of his nose through the trees, Svedka’s chest rumbles with an audible nicker in her direction.
“Wishbone,” he greets her, blinking hazily as the brisk spring wind pulls at the white and blue locks of his mane and forelock, twisting the red and black hawk feather behind his ear. His bright oceanic blue gaze studies her carefully, noting the ways she had changed since the last time he had saw her. There are slight scarring and bruises (fading fast), as well as newly shaped muscle beneath the mahogony of her skin. The smell of Tephra (the smoke, ash, sulfur) is faded on her skin, though the briny smell of salt and wind still remain. “What adventures have you been on, hm?” He asks her casually, stretching his neck forward to huff gently at the black tendrils of her mane, before lowering his head to take a drink.
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
She laughs aloud when he appears. He’d been hiding in plain sight, beneath the shade of a willow tree, but when he drags himself into the sunlight he looks as though he had been birthed from the tree itself. It’s a funny thing, to picture her older brother sliding from the thick trunk of the willow, and it leaves a lasting smile even once the echo of her laughter has disappeared into the crisp mountain air.
Wishbone waits for her cream-and-gold brother to approach her, amber eyes scanning over his body even while his blue ones do the same. She hadn’t noticed the benefits of her time in Nerine until she’d traveled with Tähti and Breckin, the journey seeming much easier than the past couple of times she’s traveled. At first she had measured that up to be the short distance between Nerine and Hyaline, but with the stretch of her run Wishbone has finally recognized that she has, in fact, grown up (and gained muscle, thanks to Scorch’s exercises).
The girl closes her eyes against the warmth of Svedka’s breath and when her eyelids slide open again, there is mischief in their amber depths. She allows her brother a few moments to gulp the fresh water from the lake, but just when he might raise his head she strikes out with her closest foreleg. The surface shatters before them, droplets twinkling in the sunlight and hopefully spraying her brother’s gold-and-white face.
Wishbone scurries backward, out of the water, before her brother might lash out with any retaliation, and pauses with her lithe body half-turned, a smile on her mouth. “Annoying you, even for a little bit,” she banters in response to his question. The girl tosses her tangled dark forelock out of her face before stepping closer again, amber eyes beginning to sober with seriousness.
“But other than that, Queen Hestia is dead. Scorch is the queen of Nerine now, but she’s named me heiress.” They are heavy words, so soon after their sibling bantering, but Wishbone is certain Svedka can handle them. The mahogany girl moves herself closer to her brother now, lipping at his shoulder as she does so. “Do you think I’ll be a good queen, when the time comes?” His opinion is worth just as much to her as the Nerinians, as Scorch’s, as their father’s, as her mother’s, as Solace’s and so she holds her breath in tender anticipation.
The idea would suit him; to be born from the trees and flora, one with the Earth-mother and a child of nature. The story would almost be believable, in the way he is. Svedka notices how Wishbone has grown since the last time he had seen her (no longer a child; not even a filly), and is impressed with the way she holds herself - he knows of her time in Nerine, and the hardened cliffs of the sea are not for the faint-hearted. He smiles confidently knowing that Wishbone is anything but.
He is surprised by the movement of her foreleg that now scatters cold and refreshing water across his face and neck, throwing his head up quickly and snorting sharply. He does not hesitate, though (not for a moment) and while a breathless smile finds the pale pink of his mouth, he half-rears and lowers himself quickly, breaking the water’s surface with the weight of his body in hopes that the splash will reach her even though she has scrambled onto the pebbled bank with laughter falling from her mouth. “Impossible,” he replies with a grin as the water settles, sparkling and crinkling in the sunlight with the movement they have caused.
Wishbone steps forward again, and he can see the seriousness in her soft gaze, and he mellows. Though a free spirit (and a ‘silly boy’ as Kagerus so chidingly dubbed him), he knew that there are times that are too serious for jokes. His brows raise curiously, lifting his head slightly at the sudden regality that has overcome his half-sister. Heiress? he repeats to himself mentally, lips pursing in thought. What is it about his sisters and reaching for crowns and leadership, and how has that motivation not touched him in the slightest? It amuses him to think of it, but he does not voice this. Too serious for jokes.
There is pride in the admission, but uncertainty wavers in the deep almond of her eyes. There is an easy smile that immediately pulls onto Svedka’s mouth, hanging there loosely on his lips. The bridge of his nose pushes gently into the sleek auburn of her neck playfully, nudging her comfortingly. “Queens are queens the moment they are born, whether they know it or not.” He tosses his head lightly, snorting softly. “If you are anything like father, Nerine will be a greater country because of you.”
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
It feels good to splash and tousle with her brother beneath the spring-blue sky. Hyaline is a welcome change in scenery with the depths of the lake and the height of the mountains and the variety of color in the landscape. Wishbone’s mind and feet grow restless when the same show plays on repeat — the drag in and pull out of the tides, the shifting of gray sand under her feet, the reckless tug of the wind upon her mane — and she feels her volatile self settle under the spray of Svedka’s counterattack.
Wishbone knows her brother well enough to practically taste the humor on the tip of his tongue — she can see the shine of it in the depths of his eyes. Their topic of conversation doesn’t allow her to prod at the bantering that rests just under his skin, but it does allow a relieved smile to find her sable mouth at his comforting words. Svedka is no ruler in comparison to Warrick or Solace, but he has been around their family long enough to understand the responsibilities of a leader. Perhaps that is why he hasn’t claimed his own throne; the crown’s weight might rub uncomfortably upon his head, but Wishbone is certain his kingdom’s people would love him.
Wishbone leans into his nudge, finding comfort in the sway of his touch and lull of his words. “Thank you,” she responds quietly. For a moment they rest, crystal-clear lake water lapping against their legs with the sun warming their backs. A hawk lands in a tree along the lake’s shore, careful eyes scanning for any signs of prey-life.
Before the silence can tighten its grip any longer, a mischievous smile alights Wishbone’s mouth. “So, Svedka,” she begins, and there is a syrupy-dangerous tune to her song, “what have you been doing while I’ve been gone?” Kagerus announced herself as Queen-Consort at the border, proving Solace has been… keeping busy. However, Wishbone’s curious to know what her brother has been up to these days. “Solace has herself a wife, in case you didn’t know, but surely you’ve got at least one desperate lady-lover.”
It does not take long for the conversation to shift, and though he would have continued encouraged her that her new crown would fit perfectly atop her head, he welcomes the change in subject. Ruling and leadership are not things he can truly understand (though he knows about them, is familiar with them) in a way that his sisters seem to do, and thus feels as if his opinion is rather unwarranted in most cases. Besides, his sisters will do what they like with or without his approval (that is something he rather enjoys about them), but for some reason his steady voice and encouragement soothes them. He does not mind giving it.
“Oh you know,” he replies with a mischievous toss of his head, cerulean eyes sparkling dangerously. “Whatever I feel like doing.” His nose wrinkles playfully (because, of course, that’s not entirely true) as he stretches towards her to nip gently at her auburn shoulder, pulling his head back immediately with a wild toss. Tendrils of sky blue and white fall haphazardly across the bridge of his pale-gold nose, shielding a single blue eye from view.
Svedka then laughs at her next statement; a deep, resonating sound that is both comforting and delightful to hear. “Well,” he begins, still in the midst of a chuckle, “I wouldn’t say just one.” The world, and people, are too beautiful for just one. “Though I feel as though I am perhaps the desperate one.” He laughs again, prancing forward through the ankle-deep water as he jokes about himself, a smile plastered to the pink-rose of his mouth. Suddenly, as his mind thinks about all of the lovely creatures he had met since he last saw Wishbone, he halts and his brows rise. “There is one girl I met, in the River this last winter. Wishbone, she could walk on water.” His voice is soft with admiration and nearly disbelief. If he had not seen it for himself, he probably would not have believed it either.
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
They are two kindred spirits. Wishbone can imagine her brother doing many of the same things she had done as a child — attempt to summit the volcano, attempt to swim with the whales, discovering new corners of the island, diving in the hot springs and seeing how long they can hold their breath — and part of her wishes they had been born near the same time. He is ultimately her older brother, with more experience in the world and the ability to hold her age over her head (as older brothers often do), but sometimes she does wonder if she is perhaps a tad bit more mature than him. Mature enough to get a crown, at least.
That settles her own internal argument and she laughs aloud at Svedka’s response to her prodding questions. For a bittersweet moment she is jealous of him — he will have the freedom she has sacrificed for Nerine; the ability to come and go whenever he choses and not limit himself to the responsibilities of ruling a kingdom. Yet his nip at her shoulder distracts her and she quickly returns his favor, only catching the air where his cheek had been a moment before.
Suddenly, her brother is changing before her eyes. The laughter at the edges of his eyes softens into something rosy and fragile. He is becoming supple around the angles of his body and she wonders, for a deliriously funny moment, if he will melt away into the sea of love like so many others. The awe that captivates his voice reminds her of the underground cavern with Wolfbane — it’s the same awe she felt looking at her childhood best friend’s angular face caught in the light of the glow-worms.
Wishbone relates to him easily (perhaps too easily) but that doesn’t mean she cannot tease him. “If you’re not careful, I think you might melt into the lake.” This time she is aiming to catch him off-guard, hoping that his gold-and-pink tinted thoughts will give her an upper-hand. She quickly snatches a tender nip at his crest just behind his ear, potentially catching a mouthful of pale blue and ivory mane in the process.
“What was her name? I’m definitely going to need to meet her before anything happens.” The second bit isn’t a question (“Maybe I could meet her sometime?”) but rather a simple demand. “I will be a queen after all; you won’t be able to refuse my will.” She laughs to herself this time, smoke and honey mingling in the catch of her breath. Her eyes turn toward the sky now, where the sun is beginning to dip toward the mountains. “I need to find Solace before I leave… She wasn’t at the meeting.”
The girl shifts away from Svedka suddenly, pawing the still water one last time in a last-ditch effort to get in the last word on their playful bickering. “I’ll see you around, big brother!” And then she’s racing away, tossing up a final teasing buck on her way toward the inner-layers of Hyaline.
