"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
It is inevitable that change will happen. And in the time she had taken her leave of Beqanna, much had changed throughout the kingdoms. Indeed, much had changed within her own family. And, well, as absentee a parent as she had been, she has much to make up for. Starting with her grandson.
She would be lying if she said she were not proud of him. He had accomplished a great deal in his short life. She might play a long game, but it appears he does not. And there is certainly something to be said for that. But while his father’s star and burned bright and fast, she could only hope that his would not.
The wrenching heartbreak she had felt upon learning of her son’s death is not something she cares to repeat any time soon. It had also sparked a realization that she could not continue to ignore her family as she had been. She could not stomach the thought of never knowing them as more than distant visions.
And so, she makes the journey from Nerine to Loess, purpose in her easy stride. Winter has settled its icy grip into the land, coating the land in a layer of snow and ice. Chill sea winds often buffet the shores of Nerine, so Heartfire had quickly grown accustomed to the cold. Her mottled blue and white coat had grown thick, concealing the lean strength of her slender frame. Her dark locks fall errantly across her neck and forehead, contrasting sharply with the vibrant sharpness of her blue eyes.
Despite the hindrance of the snow, she soon finds herself on the border of Loess. Slowing to a halt, she glances around curiously at what she can see of the mercenary kingdom. After a moment, she reaches with her sight, finding who she needs easily enough (he is her grandson, after all. And she would certainly not be who she is if she hadn’t kept an eye on him). A simple tweak, a brief vision of his kingdom’s borders is enough to send the message she needs. His curiosity and surprise would no doubt do the rest.
For a very brief period of time during Bane’s childhood, Longclaw had been close to a normal father. Better than, actually, because he was present and committed to the rearing of a colt he considered his natural heir. The smattering of other siblings Wolfbane grew up with were also important to the late warg; he never denied them guidance or affection when that spark of sanity returned to him, but there had always been too much of Bane’s grandsire in the old guard of Tephra.
Funny, that he should know plenty of the nightmarish self-manipulator while knowing little to nothing about the roan grandmere who truly started it all.
Upon receiving her vision, the Pirate Lord startles himself into a backwards, braking sort of flap with his wings, avoiding a near-catastrophe with the irregular spires of red stone he often used to practice maneuvers. He’s not sure what to make of it - inspiration from the gods, perhaps? - but knows that his curiosity won’t allow him to ignore it.
For a moment he hovers, contemplating if he should bring others along for reinforcement, and then he reasons that if he’s going to deal with something supremely magical, he might as well be the sole brunt of its forces.
Clearly, the sender wasn’t the shy sort.
From aloft, Wolfbane banks on icy winds to backtrack and coast for the spot Heartfire has supplied to him. There’s little hesitation in his flight; the striped oddity rockets through snow-laden nimbus with breathtaking speed, cutting a sharp circle above where she waits for him, eyes narrowed and intuitions honed. There seems no reason for alarm, not yet anyways, so he drifts lower until his legs are perching on a rough outcropping some meters away.
From where he stands, just inside the border, they view each other wholly and face-to-face. “Was that you?” He asks inquisitively, knowing the sapphire and white-flecked mare will either understand completely or not at all.
Dangerous she might be, but never to those she considers her own. Though her grandson might not know her as he should, she would never pose any threat to him. Of course, upon first glance, one would hardly assume she could be a threat to anyone. She is a very unassuming figure. Lovely enough, but no great beauty. No spectacular colors or unique features. Simply, a mare. Plain and blue and altogether boring.
In many respects, the perfect weapon.
She watches him, from the moment she had sent her less than subtle message. She sees him nearly crash into the pillar. The confusion and curiosity, the internal debate. But she has seen enough of Wolfbane to know that he will come if for no other reason than curiosity. And that he would likely come alone. Not that that mattered particularly.
In hindsight, perhaps she should not have left. Perhaps Wolfbane would have known her as more than simply a name. A body that had brought his father into the world. She might know him, but he knows nothing of her. Knows nothing of what Longclaw (of what his children) mean to her.
In short order, he arrives, question upon his lips. Her blue eyes settle upon him, curiosity and faint affection in her gaze. “It was,” she replies mildly, shifting comfortable from her settled position. “I thought it time we finally met, Wolfbane.”
It would’ve been odd to know that without his prior knowledge, he’d always been on someone’s mind. One thing for certain is that Bane’s going to consider it later and for a much longer moment than he’d ever admit out loud. For her part though, the visiting mare seems content with herself. It’s nearly unsettling to Wolfbane, her oddly tender scrutiny, but he endures it like someone who’s used to having total strangers send them mind-messages. Oddly at ease, as if this sort of thing happened to him every day.
“We haven’t before, huh?” He surmises as the cold ice of her blue eyes sinks into his mind. “Répondez s'il vous plaît not optional, eh.” The drake chuckles, his father’s smirk settling nicely onto the dark curve of his pointed lips. He’s not exactly sure yet if he appreciates this ‘event’ and its unexpected air, regardless of her intent that it should be now or here. “And why do you think that?” Her grandson asks.
There’s a way about her, that’s for sure. Despite the timelessness of her stare, youth nearly close to his own reflects in every blue-black loop, curve, and bend. “Something’s afoot.” Wolfbane knows, sharp senses tingling as he sighs outwardly. The roan female is subtly cock-sure and one of the Lord’s constant irritants was the fact that out there, some of the more magically-gifted creatures here played strange games with other inhabitants. Elite power in the wrong hands could always wield disastrous results. After all, one had turned his own sire into a complete monster.
Still the smirk remains and so does his patience. He’d hardly like to be known as offensive or assumptious, after all.
There are no doubt any number of horses out there that find it exceedingly uncomfortable to know that she is often watching them. Most never learn of it, of course. But for those that do, it’s generally safe to say she has a somewhat unnerving quality about her that seems to unsettle them in one way or another.
No matter, she’s quite used to. Indeed, she’s come to depend on it in some respects. There is far more power in perception than many realize. Indeed, often more so than any brute power that she might bring to bear.
His wry quip brings a faintly amused smile to her lips, just the slightest of quirks. “Rarely,” she banters drolly as he settles into the conversation. Indeed, she has almost never had her summons ignored. And if they ever had been, she could almost guarantee it wouldn’t happen a second time. Knowledge is power, after all.
Of course, with her, something is always afoot. He would be quite right in his assumptions. While she might recognize how much she and Wolfbane could help each other in the future, today she is here for surprisingly honest reasons. Simply, she would just like to know him. It’s not often her motives are so pure. Indeed, the next time he saw her, they likely wouldn’t be.
Her smile deepens slightly at his final question, and she tilts her head faintly in response. “Frankly,” she begins a bit dryly, “I wanted to see what you had made of yourself. After all, you wouldn’t exist were it not for me, would you grandson?”
Loess is calm in the backdrop, seemingly undisturbed, and Bane is casually standing with one gleaming hind leg bent for comforts sake. He refuses to tear his eyes away from her, the precipice of some inevitable edge she’s driving towards all-too enticing for him to feign boredom or haughty indifference. But what she says is not exactly what he expects, and he assumes his reaction, likewise, will seem unexpected.
“I’ve got a vampire girl claiming to be my Queen, a wolf sister who won’t come home,” He blinks, slowly, “and now an immortal, mind-fuck of a grand-dam.”
Why not?! She could join the plethora of others who suddenly showed up and made themselves right at home in his life, when before (when he’d been nothing, had nothing) they’d been absent and unaccounted for. So she wanted to see what he’d made of himself, eh? Well she was welcome to take a look.
The light-footed stallion slips casually from his perch, down to ground level where they can stand nearly eye-to-eye. “You couldn’t just take a peek, see for yourself?” He presumes, “Or is it only a one-way thing, this ‘vision mail’ of yours?”
Maybe the sight just wasn’t good enough, wasn’t real enough for her tastes. Or maybe, if it was true that she’d been watching him all this time, he’d just never been worth the effort of an actual trip. “And what about Longclaw, your son?” He bites, hardly giving her time for an answer to his first inquiries, “Didn’t want to see what he was made of, did you?”
Of course, she hadn’t been in his life as a child. It’s something she would always regret, though it couldn’t be helped. When she’d left, Longclaw had been young. Healthy and wild and willful, and she had not worried overly much that her parting might affect him. And she’d been too far away to know he’d had children. Far reaching she might be, but even her vast sight has its limits. Regrettably, proximity is one of them. He might believe her simply another opportunist (and make no doubt, she is an opportunist), but in this case, she is merely making up for lost time.
At his accusation, she offers a faint shrug of her shoulders. She had already peeked, of course. But she didn’t have any desire to gain his enmity. He doesn’t know her yet, and a stranger having intimate details of his life readily to hand would no doubt cause him to throw up endless walls.
But he doesn’t particularly seem to care much about an answer anyway. Instead he barrels onwards, accusations springing freely to his lips. It’s to be expected, given her unorthodox approach, but nevertheless, the spiteful, accusatory words arrow straight to her heart. She stills when they fall harshly from his lips, the warmth in her features chilling to icy indifference. Her only defense mechanism, the one she uses so readily.
But she is far from indifferent. Far from heartless, as she has so often been accused. Few ever realize how wildly the emotions beat in her breast, how much she works to keep them contained. Her self-awareness is often mistaken for conceit (though, to be sure, there is plenty of that), but without it, she could so easily destroy not only what she loathes, but what she loves too. Sometimes though, they seem almost impossible to contain. Times like now.
It takes her a moment to realize the edges of ferns and scraggly brush that are scattered about them have begun to disintegrate. It isn’t until the faint hissing of dust hitting the earth reaches her ears that she realizes her carefully contained grief had begun to spill over into her own destructiveness. It stops abruptly, reined in by an iron will.
“I know exactly what he was made of,” she responds with deceptive gentleness. Wolfbane might never know of her true grief, but at the very least, he would know she cared. “And what happened has not gone unnoticed.” She knows, and she would respond. But she plays a very long game.
The glare in his eyes unveils whatever secrets about himself Bane might want hidden. He wants to hate her, and that gives them an unusually hard edge. He wants to turn her away from here, threaten her with expulsion by force, and that narrows the lids usually kept wide in amusement. He wants so badly for her to wipe away a childhood ruined. Instead they stare one another down, him refusing to look away even when an unusual whisper of activity catches the rotating ears atop Bane’s head.
In the end he’s not allowed to blame her for a past she took no part in.
That would make himself a loathing hypocrite and he utterly hates dwelling on things no one can change. Only her promises (nearly apologies, but those seem beneath her) soften his hardened exterior enough for the striped horse to glance away, a lengthy sigh rattling up his constricted throat and out into the open air left between them. Today she won’t be privy to his internal mourning; he won’t cry no matter how terribly he wants to. Instead, he chooses the path of least resistance: hoping to build a foundation where there’d never been one before.
“He was a hell of a dad.” The pegasus laments, momentarily, “Probably would swat me if he knew how long I’d kept you here.” Her grandson admits finally, turning aside so that she could bypass him and make herself comfortable within the confines of Loess if that was her wish. He would follow suit. “Near the end he mentioned Wyrm a lot. Mostly warnings. Babbling.” Wolfbane shrugged, less than concerned with the possible, sudden appearance of a horse who should be long dead by now.
His anger is justified, and even she would be hard-pressed to deny it. But she is also equally stubborn, and she will not let her family drift farther apart than they already have. He is not the only one she has lost time to make up for.
She matches his hard stare with her own steady gaze, but a part of her thrills when his expression shifts from blame to acceptance. Wolfbane is a piece of her son, still living, and no matter what face she wore, it would always eat at her to know that he could not accept her despite her many failings. It is a relief to know she will not have to add that to her growing list.
But then his words turn to nostalgia, and the unacknowledged grief tugs at her heart. Her features soften slightly as he reminisces on his father. Her throat tightens, but still she continues, her voice soft, not her usual bold tone. “I know he was.” She pauses for a moment then. Gathering herself, though her features and tone remain unchanged. “He was an amazing man.”
Perhaps she views her son through a mother’s eyes, but she knows the truth of her words, no matter how short his life had been. She stills when he continues however, offering more. Offering insight into the days before his death. After a lengthy silence, she simply queries, “Warnings?”
It is something she might normally have asked, a method to avoid revealing everything she knows. But now her ignorance is unfeigned. The thought of peering into her son’s last days leaves dread curling in her gut, and so she has avoided it. She had seen his death, and she refused relive the violence her reaction in that awful moment. But now, she knows her own ignorance cannot stand. Perhaps Wolfbane could tell her some, but no doubt she will need to bite the bullet sooner rather than later.
09-29-2018, 09:23 AM (This post was last modified: 09-29-2018, 09:24 AM by Wolfbane.
Edit Reason: Deleted unnecessary text outside of code
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WOLFBANE
In contrast to the dark mood overtaking them, Loess seems bright and pleasantly calm. As he walks, Bane’s distinctive blue hooves stir up a fine layer of ochre dirt that gathers over his legs and settles onto the primary feathers of his usually white wings. He’s more so lost in the past than holding onto the present, happily trodding in silence alongside the roan mare who pauses only to question the last few days he can remember spending with Longclaw.
“He was convinced that any moment the shape-shifter would come back for him. As if the idea of having lived a happy, full life was some sort of summoning for evil. Inevitable, inevitable! That’s what he’d grumble about.” The pegasus shrugs, peeking longways to catch the shape of her expression. It doesn’t seem altogether ‘enlightened’ and he wonders if he should continue down this path of conversation. “Mom told us to try and understand that he was battling inner demons, but he went certifiable. His deterioration was rapid and hard to watch as a young stallion.” Her descendant explains, giving insight as to how he ended up in a place like Loess.
So few in Beqanna even knew this story.
“I miss him. The real him.” He sighs, “And ironically enough something did come, but I don’t think it was solely for him. As much as I sometimes despised him, Longclaw was a true guard to the end.”
So few in Beqanna could say the same.
He’s rambling still, acutely aware that his grandmother hadn’t been given a proper opportunity to introduce herself and so he closes by shifting the topic. “You’re alive though, which is what matters most in this grand scheme of life so could you share a bit more than glimpses into my own mind?” Wolfbane chuckles, “What should I call you, grandmum?”
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