"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
She arrives on Tephra’s shore just as twilight is approaching. The sky is cast in the beautiful colors of the sunset while the stars above are beginning to shine their constellations. The world is still warm from the sun’s light over the course of the day and so Wishbone feels no chill even as her body is dripping with excess water. The tide is high when she crosses, but the young woman has always been a strong swimmer and she pulls herself from the waves easily. She hasn’t noticed how much muscle she’s put on during her time in Nerine, at least not until she realizes how simple the swim across is compared to how it used to be.
She knows exactly where to find her father this time of day and her feet guide her easily through the trails of her home. It’s thrilling to be back in Tephra, among the sulfur and brine of her birth-home, and she slides easily through the undergrowth as though she were a child again. A laugh bubbles from Wishbone’s mouth even though there is no one to hear because she is so consumed in her joy.
The stars are truly shining by the time she reaches her father’s favorite place — nestled on the shore with the volcano’s rocky face behind his back and the wide, expansive ocean in front of him — and they cast an ethereal glow on her mahogany face. She doesn’t think about how much she has changed (with her long legs and slender curves and sinewy muscle and tiny, thin scars from practice and the fading bruises on her hips and neck) or about how much he has changed (with the harshness of a king’s life wearing him down and the passage of time chipping at his bones and the lifestyle of a father nestling against his heart).
She is a child again, pure in spirit and desperately climbing for the summit of the volcano. “Dad, I’m home!”
The depths of twilight filter throughout the landscape, spilling blue-black darkness across the sky and dipping into the grooves and hollows of volcanic rock, darkening the ocean waters that are illuminated only by a rising full moon. The rhythmic sound of the waves against the blackened shoreline (dotted with broken shells, glittering softly as the moonlight catches the worn down lava rocks) are mixed with the soft hiss of tropical foliage behind it, stirring gently in the night wind as the thrumming of the volcano pulses with a vibrant orange glow.
A blue-tipped ear flicks back as the sound of a familiar voice (older now, somehow, more mature) finds him on the sea’s breeze, his head following as he turns to glance over his shoulder. A smile - broad and all encompassing - finds his navy muzzle and a sharp neigh of welcome vibrates in his throat, calling her to him. In his excitement to see her he turns toward Wishbone, the wings at his side unfurl and sweep beside him once, then twice, before folding back to his sides.
“Wishbone,” he says to her as he greets her with an embrace, his neck around hers. Nostrils flutter as his mouth gently tousles the damp tendrils of her mane at her withers, inhaling the scent of Nerine’s cliffs and summits, a pang of sadness gripping his heart as he realizes there is no trace of smoke or brine on her skin. She is truly Nerinian now - a Leviathan.
Soon to be queen.
The Overseer steps away from their intimate embrace, huffing softly as his large cerulean eyes take in her figure. She has grown admirably, of which he is not surprised in the least. She has grown in height and in muscle, and he cannot help but note the new scarring that litters her shoulders and other parts of her auburn hide. Wishbone had always been covered in soft bruises and scrapes as a child, but knowing that these come from practicing skill and not from play, the silent concern of a father is found flickering in his eyes. But there is adoration there, too. The warm smile never fades from Warrick’s expression as he steps forward to place a kiss between her soft and kind eyes (which he hopes never changes).
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
Bittersweet nostalgia pours over her shoulders with the pressure of a waterfall, threatening to push her down and drag her along the river’s current. Wishbone feels safe here, with the humidity of Tephra snuggling against her sides like a tiger-cat. As much as Nerine has become her present-day home, Tephra is the place of her birth and her youth and will always hold a special place in her heart.
Alongside Tephra nestles her father. A heavy, shuddering sigh falls out of her sable mouth before she can control it when they embrace. She pushes her nose into the thickness of his navy feathers, inhaling the familiarity of his scent — windscrubbed skies and brine and ash and warm sun. He smells like home, even if her own body is coated in the scents of Nerine (of wild winds and granite cliffs and northern oceans). Pinpricks of premature tears dance along the back of her eyes, but she blinks them away before stepping back to observe Warrick easier.
Her life is one endless adventure and leaving Tephra for Nerine has just been one piece of it.
A syrupy smile finds her mouth when he mentions his pride and she feels deep, burning warmth blossom in her chest. “You’ve heard, then?” Wishbone assumes he has; Scorch had personally accompanied another Leviathan (Porcia, if she remembers correctly) to Tephra to deliver the news. Part of her wished to tell her father herself, but she is glad Nerine has jumped at the chance to spread the news of their loss and gain.
Wishbone’s heart quickens at the thought of her coronation and queenship thereafter. She’s grown up watching her father lead Tephra nobly and her sister lead Hyaline gracefully. There are expectations set in place — maybe not from her family’s side, but from her own and from Beqanna’s — for Wishbone to lead just as well as them and the thought brings cold tendrils of doubt to wind within her abdomen.
“Do you think I’ll do okay, leading Nerine?” The northern kingdom is a powerful one, filled with hardy warrioresses and silver-tongued diplomats. Will Wishbone’s hand be firm enough to guide them toward success and security? Her excitement is a powerful thing, her bravery even more so, but only time will tell if her wisdom will also thrive. Wishbone’s amber eyes gaze into the cerulean of her father’s eyes, curious to know what Warrick might say.
