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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    [private]  Why Bother? [Cress]
    #1

    I glance over at the blue bird seeking refuge in the depth of the emerald green shrubbery to my left. My nose extending softly to play with the tips of the leaves, watching as she spooks into flight reaching higher than my nose can reach. I withhold the amusement, entertained for only a moment before returning my focus to the worn dirt path before me.

    Oh, how it’s been so long since I have emerged from the shadows of the meadow.

    Summer has done no favors, the sun taking advantage of my dark colour in ways a woman never could. Since my disappearance, I have quite enjoyed the company of me, myself, and I.

    In fact, I feel as though all the faces I pass since my arrival has been strange. I recognize no one, nothing, nothing except the low hanging branches that used to be too tall for my back to scrape and now I find myself ducking to avoid their ravage claws.

    The heat dies down as the sun takes refuge behind the rolling hills and endless pine trees, a relief I am grateful for. It doesn’t take long before I am exposing myself from the treeline bordering a small stream, taking in the plethora of colours that cloud my judgment. I lower to my knees, my hind following suit as I roll into the dusty ground to sooth the sweat that had began accumulating in my girth, chest, and flank.

    I feel myself hesitate for a moment, taking in the peace that surrounds me with nothing but the calm babbling of running water to break the silence.  

    DALTEN

    THERE IS SOMEONE OUT THERE WITH A WOUND IN THE EXACT SHAPE OF YOUR WORDS



    @[Cress]
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    #2
    cRess
    like a house on fire we're up in flames; i'd burn here if that's what it takes

    It has been days—weeks, even—since the genie woman healed her of the plague, and even though her symptoms have healed without a trace, she finds it hard to believe that the plague is truly gone from her veins. The weakness, the blood, the fever, the shakes... gone, just like that. She had realized later that the fatigue wasn’t from the sickness itself—it was from within her, as she sapped all of her energy into keeping herself alive and well enough to put on the front for the others in the Resort. Tiphon had given her some of his own energy, true, but she had long since burned that up before even trying to heal Heartfire.

    It’s terrifying to think that it nearly killed her. She is still young, and death is a haunting presence that had been hanging over her head without her even realizing it. Sure, she has lived and loved and mothered three children, but she is nowhere near ready to pass on into the next world. She has so much that she has left to do, so many things she wants to accomplish;

    So many hearts and wounds she wants to heal.

    Her golden wings catch her as she lands on the sandy shores of the river that borders the Forest and she, much like her polar bear daughter, is sorely tempted to splash up to her belly in order to cool off. It has been a hot summer in Beqanna this year and living in one of the southernmost tips of the land means that she swims in the rivers and ocean quite often to keep cool, using her powerful wings to float in the currents. She takes a few steps towards the water, but something—someone—draws her attention away.

    A dappled stallion is lowering himself to the dirt, clearly as much over the heat of the day as she is, and her eyes widen as she recognizes a face from her childhood. He has grown and filled out and lightened some with age, but there’s no mistaking him. “Dalten,” she calls, praying that he remembers her, too. They had met as young adults, before Beqanna changed. Before the Dark God, and before the comfort of Flamevein’s fires. It all seems like so long ago now.

    “How have you been?” she asks him, an echo of their first conversation. Please remember me.

    infected.
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    #3

    I see a golden kissed coat still shimmering despite the setting sun beginning to dive into the forest, her face familiar yet not placeable. I itch the side of my nose on my leg before rising as she begins to find her way into my company. It isn’t until I stand that I realize the feminine perfume that rises from her presence is eerily memorable.

    Her voice lifts into the air erupting the silence in a joyful tune, how have you been. It takes a minute, maybe two before my mind places the name Cress. I hardly remember our interaction prior, how old must I have been?

    “Cress,” I nod, giving a rough shake that vibrates from the tip of my nose till the end of my hindquarters, dust lifting off. “It’s been awhile”.

    I see her, I see her desperately wish to remember. I can feel it, and I hesitate to watch her disappointment when she realizes my memory is not as crisp as hers. I hate watching women sulk, their emotions as thick as the dirt on my coat. I nearly hold my breath waiting for her response.

    “I have been well,” I lie, not wanting to dip into the details of where I was or what I was doing. Why bombard her with broken stories and blackened memories? Why relive the past few years in the shadows?

    “But, you? You seem to be doing well,” I nod as my eyes scan over her palomino coat, obvious that she had barred children.

    DALTEN

    THERE IS SOMEONE OUT THERE WITH A WOUND IN THE EXACT SHAPE OF YOUR WORDS



    @[Cress]
    Reply
    #4
    cRess
    like a house on fire we're up in flames; i'd burn here if that's what it takes

    While Cress has certainly lived in her years on Beqanna, she’s not sure she would call it thriving. To her, the only good things in her life are her children. Her mother is dead, Flamevein and Ledger have both vanished to who knows where, and her father is a grumpy old man who would rather be left alone than anything else. Her one true home was destroyed long ago and most of the friends she’s made along the way probably don’t even remember her.  

    She tries not to dwell on the past too much, because it hurts. She doesn’t like to think of the pain her family and loved ones have caused her, or to think back to the torture she had been dragged through just because the Dark God needed some new playthings.  

    Dalten shakes and a layer of dust takes to the sky, slowly dissipating into the air. “It’s been entirely too long,” she agrees with a nod, brown eyes sparkling as she smiles. Though their conversation so long ago had been brief, she would still consider him a friend. Then again, Cress hardly meets anyone she wouldn’t think of as friend. It’s perhaps her hamartia, her fatal flaw. One day she will trust someone too much... but she tries not to think about that.

    She can sense the lie in his voice when he speaks, but she doesn’t push it. She watches him as his eyes trace her body, and she wonders if it is so obvious that she has bared children. She doesn’t think so, but she has never seen herself through the eyes of a stranger and she is suddenly self-conscious.  

    He assumes that she has been well and she chuckles dryly. “I would not call it well,” she tells him. “I’m certainly missing a couple body parts that I’m sure were still there the last time we talked”—though her lack of ears could certainly be missed if one wasn’t looking closely—“and it seems any relationship I build is doomed to fail. But other than that, sure, I’ve been well.”

    @Dalten

    infected.
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