"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
Ivy breathes the moonlight in deep, savoring it as she skitters along the edges of the forest.
It is quiet tonight, which is the way she likes it. She feels like in the silence, she can unlock the truth of herself, losing herself to the freedom that can only be found in the milky light of night. During the day, she remains to herself, finding quiet corners of common lands to sleep or daydream or wander—it doesn’t matter so long as she remains alone. But at night—oh, at night—she lets herself come closer to the heart of the land. She likes to fancy that she can hear the echo of footfall and the shadow of those who had been here. She likes to imagine their stories. The they fell in love. The way they laughed. The way they fought.
She likes to imagine it, but only from afar.
Never up close.
Never personal.
It’s why she comes here now, wrapped in silver, her indigo nose twitching as she drinks in the scents of those who have long since left. Her youthful eyes are wide and bright beneath the wild tangles of her forelock, and she stands still beneath the boughs of the trees to drink in the forest. For a moment, she considers racing through the trees and the branches, the feel of the scratching her sides and the wind weaving through her mane, but she remains still—for now. Her heart pounds in her chest, reminding her of all of the life that lived here before, and she cannot deny the way she thirsts for adventure.
She hungers for the excitement and the joy and the knife’s edge of life as much as she fears it.
She reaches for the flame and withdraws at the last second, content to live in the shadows.
Maybe someday she will fling herself into the wild blue, but for now, she watches from afar.
10-08-2018, 08:45 PM (This post was last modified: 10-10-2018, 06:56 AM by Nier.)
NIER
Typically, hunters preferred the night for the stealth that it provided. The ability to keep out of sight of the prey. But he didn't need any help with that. That wasn't why he preferred the night.
One might think that beautiful, young women are alert when the lights go out. Guarded. Maybe even afraid. But so often, he found that after a time, they let those guards down. Got comfortable. Cozy. Slowly, and then completely the walls were gone. And even if they didn't, he taught them how to. He was a master at that. After all, it wasn't cheating if it wasn't real, right? If it was just a vivid dream.
Yeah, he got a kick out of the married ones. So desperate for real satisfaction.
It was ones like this one, though, where he found his best fun. He'd been watching her from afar, as she seemed to do the same with the rest of the world. Sometimes, he'd get curious, walk just a little noisier, and he swore she heard it. But he was a living shadow, wasn't he? And she hadn't found him yet. He wasn't always a patient man, and he'd tire of it soon enough. Tonight, even.
Damn, though, her wide bright eyes. He wanted to make them go wider. In shock. In pleasure. Or maybe fear. Decisions. And that hair.. He could work through it until it was soft again, tangle-free and luxurious. Or leave it in that chaotic mass of curls. And damn those legs of hers too. Dipped in blue like she went skinny-dipping and came out with stains, water painted forever over calves and ankles like tattoos.
He always remained down-wind, had so very, very many years of practice with this. So silently, he made his way closer, each step placed deliberately, expertly. Closer. And she looked even better up close - he hadn't quite come this near yet even as she slept. Somehow, he managed to drag his eyes up off her beautiful body, approaching her from her right rear flank. He passed her slowly with a couple feet between them, watching her like she was frozen in time just for him to enjoy, her eager eyes ahead of her. She looked right on the edge, right on the verge.
He craned his neck out, put his mouth near her cheek, a few inches below her ear, and spoke a clear command.
She can feel it like an electric charge in the air, something wild and unattainable and dangerous. It skitters on the outskirts of her mind, brushing the edges and never dragging its hooks in her. There is something—something—about it that causes her heart to hammer even louder in her chest, something that makes her pulse begin to spike, the feeling like a bird against the ribcage of her chest. Her legs dance beneath her and she tosses her head, the silk of her wild indigo mane flying and then falling back down to drape against the slender arch of her neck, the mahogany beneath gleaming in the silver light of midnight.
But she doesn’t run.
At least, she doesn’t run until she is commanded to.
The voice comes out of nowhere and she snorts wildly in surprise as it brushes her cheek, the ghosting of breath the only sign that the voice is tied to something very real. She should stop. She should ask questions or fight back or try to sort out the impossibility of the situation but she does none of those things. Instead she plays right into his hand, obeying without even meaning to.
She takes several dancing steps to the side, swinging away from him, and then launches forward. Her tail streams behind her as her thin legs begin to push her forward, something like fear and excitement racing in her throat. She doesn’t stop to think about what would want her to run. Why he wanted her to run. Was she running toward something? Away? None of it makes sense except the pattering of her heart, the edges of her vision going blurry with the need to get away. She leaps over obstacles as they come before her, centering herself and tucking her legs to her chest as she clears the logs and the bramble. She twists her youthful body around the trees, tucking her head beneath low branches.
She levels out, letting her legs carry her faster and faster—faster than she’d ever run before.
She does everything she can to prevent the only thing she cannot: stop.
His wild green eyes took her in hungrily as she responded to him, her slender body dancing to the side. Every muscle seemed to coil for his pleasure, showing off just for him, and he had a ready smile on his dark lips as he slowly followed those legs down and back up again. She was perfect for tonight. He wanted her heartbeat pounding in her ears, her breath panting, her eyes wild and beautiful.
She launched forward, bolted away at his command. His grin twisted into sick satisfaction as his head lifted to the sky, huge wings spreading wide with a casual grace. God, it felt good. This would feel so good. It had been so long since he'd had any real fun. She was perfect for tonight.
He looked to the side, took a slow, deep breath as he watched his wings spread, arch up so powerfully. His head turned forward again, an invisible smile, eyes glittering. And with a violent thrust, he threw himself into the air like a great dragon unchained, beating in gradual pulls. His wings curled tight as they lifted high, stretched out as he shoved the wind out of his way, commanded it to his will.
He rose above and scanned below until he found her again, let himself level out as he rode the current, the thrusting of his wings gone silent. And when it was required again, he drove the wind to his will again, chasing her with the sound of massive wings and an invisible creature, the sound of the night's casual heartbeat as it tracked her. As he tracked her through breaks in the canopy. She was as beautiful from here as she was up close.
Faster, though.
And he dove closer to the trees, cracking branches high above her like some giant beast, shaking the tops of them with his gusts like a wheat field rippling for a breeze. He caused a torrent and then rose again, his back arching as he shot higher once more. He loved to watch her race, loved to finally fly like this again. Not the dull flying of just getting to where he wanted, but this. This purposeful hunting, pushing himself to remember the skills and experiences that made him so damn good at this. Feeling the stretch and the burn in his limbs that he'd been craving as earnestly as she would watch strangers living their lives.
He repeated it with another dive, following every turn and twist she made. Stalked her. Hunted her. He wanted to run her dry, catch her when she'd lost her energy and could do nothing but catch her breath as he held her, as he touched her and gave her a better reason for her heart to race. She was perfect for tonight.
