"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
Under his weight, she had sunk to the bottom of the sea. He’d made her feel weightless, as if she had been floating, but the reality had been very different. Through his actions, he had put new life into her, but stolen it from her at the same time. Dying hadn’t felt painful to Kylin, as she had simply been unaware of it. He had erased all pain from her mind, tricking her body to believe nothing was wrong, and she had gone out with a smile forever painted on her then peaceful face.
She had felt special. Treasured, loved, guarded, looked after.
The pull of the water had never left her body to truly rest. First it had only been here pearl and lavender mane and tail that were drifting in the current, but soon the change of tide – or is it simply Beqanna’s magic? – had stolen her body from him. The beach is known as the last resting place of any Beqanna’s habitants, and though life had left her someplace else, Kylin had been no exception to that. The sea had claimed what was rightfully hers, giving her a place in the deep sand along with anybody else.
However, not all life had been taken from her body. By planting his seed deep into her core, he had not only taken a life, but created one too. Life has no space among the death, and the waves only takes all who have fallen.
Her body washes up onto the shore, her legs in the water as her head rests on a sun dried part of the beach. The sand lings to her soaked form, to be washed away by the waves that roll onto the beach, and to be replaced by more fine sand as the gentle breeze carries it with her. Kylin’s expression is still as soft and peaceful as when it had been when life had escaped her, preserving that what once was.
The river that seperates the common lands (and Tephra) from the rest of Beqanna, is icy even this time of year. Ivar drifts aimlessly with the current, past the Forest and border of Sylva, past the Mountain so tall its peak is always lost in the cloud. The kelpie knows where this current leads; he is not a stranger to the beach. From time to time he finds a mare pacing these bone-white shores, unable to make the choice to leap from the cliffs or not. Ivar, forever helpful, is more than willing to assist with such decisions. They always choose the sea, of course.
On this particular autumn morning the shore is clear of all but the fluttering gulls. Their raucous cries grate in his cobalt ears, and he snaps at a few that come within reach. Ahead, one perches near a beached figure. The kelpie nearly passes by, but a glint of sunlight on a translucent fin catches his eye.
Kylin?
It is, and her piebald sides rise and fall. She should be at the bottom of the sea, he knows; if not where he left her at least not far from it. It’s been less than a day, after all, and even the tides are not so strong as to take her here. Magic, he decides. There is a brief moment of indecision and then he is stepping closer.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Ivar says, tugging gently at the salt-crisp strands of her lavender mane. He offers a silent prayer to whatever fairy had seen fit to set up this perfect coincidence, and the gentle nibble he’d meant to place along the rise of her withers is accidentally sharp with excitement. She’d told him she was his, he thinks, but he’d never dreamed she meant like this. His forever. His to take and drown time and time again, a fantasy come to immortal life.
I know my lies could not make you believe in my dark times, baby this is all I could be . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Even though Beqanna’s beach is a place of death, it does not look like a battlefield. The waves makes sure to drag the bodies of the fallen into sea, where she lays them to rest deep in the ocean. One would call the sand pearly white, but the pale color has a whole different source. It’s simply beautiful, and watching the sun rise or set would be amazing, except for the smell.
Not only through the smell the beach is a place of death, the lingering gulls cast something eerie on the land too. Not often do they get some easy prey, and even less often the flesh is still warm. It is only due to Ivar’s arrival that the one brave gull takes off without causing any harm.
Her breathing is nice and easy, almost peaceful, the rise and fall of her flank barely noticeable to the eye. Kylin is fast asleep, dreaming about the last moments before life had escaped her. A nice dream, as shown through the smile upon her lips. A dream in which she does not need air to survive, and in which she can swim with the many wonderful creatures that hide below the surface.
But to all dreams comes an end. The sharp nip on her withers startles her awake. The sudden jerk of her head is accompanied by a gasp. Hazel eyes blink slowly, confused and disorientated, as she takes in her surroundings, stopping at Ivar’s face. “I-Ivar?” For a moment she looks at him, then shudders and glances away, rolling to sit up with her four legs still in the shallow water. Where were they? How did they end up here? “Where..? How..?” she murmurs, her ears nervously flicking back as she suddenly is so very aware of the smell of death. It is not a smell Kylin fancies.
As she tries to stand up – through putting her front legs in front of her – Kylin is confronted with the stiffness of her bod. A soft groan escapes her lips, as her muscles and joints protest against any and all movement. She does not moves as graceful and fluently as she should, but by the time she’s up Kylin cannot care less; her confusion and blanc gaps in her memory are more reason of concern. As she melts into Ivar’s side – by pressing close against him – she feels little, so very little, and vulnerable. What had happened? Why couldn’t she remember?
His not-so-gentle nip is what startles her awake, and when he realizes this is presses his scaled muzzle more gently there. A wordless comfort for the damage of his excitement, one that turns into a gentle caresses before he pulls away to let her stand.
The kelpie’s face does not betray him; the smile the he gives the befuddled mare is fond and gentle.
“You fell asleep,” he tells her as he brushes a hank of crisp mane out of her face. “Don’t you remember? I told you to rest.”Ivar had not expected to deal with the aftermath of their delightful afternoon, but he has always been a quick thinker and Kylin has always been too trusting for her own good.
“The current caught you and we came here.” Continues the scaled creature, gesturing at the empty beach. “Not my favorite place, I must admit.” Rather than giving her space, the kelpie keeps near, his gentle caresses smooth and slow, as though they are a continuation of what she thinks had been a dream. He could hypnotize her again, he knows, but he has seen the effect of too much mind control. For all that he loves the compliance of mares, he is rather fond of Kylin and would prefer to keep her sane as long as possible.
“Maybe next time you will listen to me when I tell you you’ve had enough, hmm?” He breathes into the soft curve of her nearest ear before nipping gently at the curve of her jaw. “Let’s go home,” he adds, “Perhaps we can stop in Sylva on the way? It’s been a while since I visited.” Ivar is unaware (uncaring, really) of the changes in the autumn kingdom since his time there as a child. Still, he’d always meant to show Kylin the place he’d grown up, and this seems as good a time as any.
I know my lies could not make you believe in my dark times, baby this is all I could be . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
@[Kylin]
Maybe adventure in Sylva time? Or they could just say they went and we could continue in Ischia? Either is fine with me
06-25-2018, 01:16 AM (This post was last modified: 06-25-2018, 01:17 AM by Kylin.)
The gentle, re-assuring touch is what kept her from jolting to her feet, just as the lack of it is what silently urges her to get up. Her face tilts into his touch, leaning into it in such way that she ends up ghosting after the touch when Ivar pulls back. Her hazel gaze meets his for a sort moment, a small flustered smile breaking through the panic. "I did..?" she murmurs, without really looking for confirmation.
Yes, Kylin does remember now. She remembers how he had told her to rest, and how she had asked if they couldn't stay in the water just a little longer. She does not question how she could've been swept away by the current without drowning. Peeking up through her lashes, she searches his gaze. "Thank you.."for staying, for keeping me safe.
She presses her shoulders more firmly into his, her eyes quickly sweeping over the beach. It could have been a wonderful place, if it didn't come off as eerie. Ivar's gentle touch relaxes her, but does nothing to stop her from flustering as he playfully 'scolds' her. Her hazel eyes find a spot on the white sand to look at, avoiding his gaze as she melts into his touch. The nip makes her shudders, but never does Kylin pull away.
Not until he speaks again. Her eyes find his, pleading. "Please, can we leave?" she asks, not only eager to leave, but also rather excitement of his suggested trip. When Ivar moved to Loess, the trip to Sylva never happened. Unlike Ivar she is blissfully unaware of Sylva's current situation, never getting involved in the Brotherhood's kingdom affairs much. "Can we?" die asks again, this time her own pale lavender muzzle finding his. "I.. I'd love to visit."
And roam around as they had once roamed through Ischia.
Ooc: sounds fun! But he better keeps her safe
@[Ivar]
