"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
He has two siblings, born alongside him to a plain, doe-eyed mother who had barely healed before she had been ushering them forth, depositing them with another woman. It had been the first lesson that he had learned, even as Etro had pressed hasty kisses to his already broad forehead: love is temporary. It had seared across his heart, flaring into life with the flames that licked up his sides and replaced the crimson of his mane and tail, brushing along his hocks. It had been the first lesson tattooed upon him.
But it would not be the last lesson he learned.
He is not an obedient ward and were his heart softer, he may be concerned for the woman who he slips out on often. Even though he is young, born prematurely as the trio took their first breath, he is built thick and heavy, and he does not stumble as he makes his way out of Taiga. He finds his way through Hyaline, not understanding or caring for the politics of borders and kingdoms, and then makes his way upward into Silver Cove. He has no real destination in mind—nothing that draws him forward like gravity.
He simply cannot stand sitting still, grows impatient and irritable and short-tempered when he tries.
Or, rather, even more short-tempered than he is predisposed to be.
Still, the irritation grows to a dull roar in the back of his head as he makes his way along the beach, the barest hint of dawn beginning to streak across the sky. He lifts his charcoal head, the tendrils of crimson streaking across his youthful features and his pupil-less eyes soaking it all in, remembering every detail.
If he sees the other girl of flame out of the corner of his eye, if the fire in him responds, it doesn’t show.
He just continues to stare upward, continues to burn.
@[Ember] - I hope you don't mind! <3 I couldn't resist.
01-06-2019, 05:53 PM (This post was last modified: 01-06-2019, 05:58 PM by Ember.)
Ember wonders about her family.
She tries to guess what her mother might look like, if her father would love and protect them. She wonders if she has brothers and sisters or if she's their first together—if she's the one and only for the both of them. It keeps her awake at night, this little guessing game; the tears turn to steam on her cheeks as her body grows hot with emotion and scorches the sand around her. As flames flicker to life along her spine and spread down each tendril of hair that makes up her mane and tail.
It happens that way almost every night, at least, until she succumbs to exhaustion and the heat and the flames all die out with one great big woosh. It will happen that way for a while yet.
Ember is spreading out her right wing, mesmerized by the way she can make the little flames flicker and dance along its edges, when she spies someone from the corner of her ruby red eye. He's equal parts fire and ash. Beautiful, at least to her, without really trying and she whips her head around to scrutinize him fully.
He pays her no mind and she swivels her ears towards him curiously. The less attention he gives, the more curious she gets—he's the only one thus far that hasn't looked at her funny, that hasn't come close because of the fire and the scales and she runs her tongue across her sharp teeth nervously. As far as he seems to be concerned, she doesn't exist, and she isn't exactly sure how to go about approaching someone that has not already acknowledged her directly. 'Notice me,' she thinks, her ears flicking back and her tail flicking anxiously. 'Notice me.'
He doesn't.
Ember snorts in frustration, slinking forwards—her red cloven hooves sinking down into the white sand, a stringy muscle in her little shoulder twitching beneath her scales. There's no reason for her to be annoyed with him, really, but it's the first time she's actually had someone deny her attention and it pricks painfully at something inside her; something that desperately doesn't want to be left alone.
"Hello," Ember says finally, trying to sound friendly despite the way her blood boils beneath the surface. The filly comes to an unsure stop some feet away, standing slightly off to his left—the ocean, in all its moonlit glory, spread out before them. "I'm... I'm Ember, what's your name?"
Nothing has ever truly drawn Cleave’s attention outside of himself.
He is an inferno and he looks inward mostly, his thoughts cutting and mind cruel whenever he does look outward, even when that is to look at his siblings and his mother and his new adopted family. Still, he feels her more than sees her and something within him twists in recognition, the flame recognizing like. It is enough that he doesn’t instantly banish her from his presence or simply turn to leave, but neither does he give her that attention she so craves. He doesn’t have such softness within him to yield so easily.
Instead, he makes a rough noise inside of his youthful throat, something like a grunt, a growl, a way to acknowledge that he recognizes she is there even if he cannot be bothered to drag his eyes to her.
He stands like that for several moments, flames beginning to flicker down his spine, glowing softly in the light, playing along the cracked crimson racing across his body. They are the closest thing to love he has ever felt, the closest thing to affection he could muster, and he snuffs them out, dragging them into his core with a deep breath when he finally sighs, a heavy exhale, dropping his head down to her.
“Cleave,” he finally offers, red eyes finding her and studying her with a rather blank expression. He doesn’t startle at the similarities in their appearance (she looks more his kin than either of the triplets) or the otherness in the scales and the wings and the sharp teeth that glint from behind her lips.
He just nods, accepting it because it really doesn’t affect him much either way.
“Do you live here, Ember?” His voice is heavy despite the lilt that comes with youth and his lip curls slightly away as he looks at the ocean, something like disdain crossing his handsome features.
“I can’t imagine wanting to live so close to the water.”
He makes a sound that stills whatever pitiful beast he's awoken in her; the ache fades, the hard lines in her childish face soften and Ember turns her head to admire the widening streaks of reddish-pink and fiery orange. It's enough that he's noticed her. It's all she wants, really, and she decides not to poke at him for anything else.
It's his fire that catches her attention again, the flames dance along the length of his body—twisting, flickering, beckoning her to touch them and she edges towards him as if she's been hypnotized. Ember reaches out, she's close enough to feel the heat from his fire. Her red eyes are wide, her heart is hammering in her chest; there's something oddly exhilarating about being this close to something so familiar, so like her, and yet not.
She leans closer, wondering if it will burn her, but right before she's able to make contact he snuffs out the flames and the only thing fanning out across his skin is her breath which likely feels cool after experiencing such heat.
He offers his name and she draws back.
"Cleave," she tests the name, her ears flicking. It sounds less refined coming out of her own mouth she decides.
"I dunno where I live," the dragon girl admits, taking a careful step back. "Just sorta showed up here one day and haven't left yet—" but she will. Lie is gonna take her places. He's going to lead her right out of this place and, eventually, take her to wherever it is that her mother lives.
Cleave demands attention more than he craves it, but the need is not entirely foreign to him.
He watches her from beneath hooded lids, his eyes nearly sleepy although anyone who was paying attention would be able to tell that the crimson, depthless gaze is anything but lethargic. Already, there is something that simmers beneath the surface; already, there is something that churns and bites and nips.
It is a small thing still though, much like him, and he is able to bring it to heel. Able to stay still and quiet and watchful as the sister of flame watches him. In his youth, there is a certain possessiveness that stirs in his belly—a need to own and collect and keep. It is draconic in nature, and watching her now, with her scales and colors of smoke and fire, he decides that she is his—in whichever way suits him.
“So you are homeless,” he says, blunt always, failing to find delicacy in the moment. He could beat around the bush, soften his words, but he doesn’t see the point of it. In some ways, he is homeless. Taiga is where his family lives (his sister and his brothers and his mother who is not) but it doesn’t pull at his heart, not truly. He yearns for something else. Something he cannot name. Something he has not seen.
Maybe she yearns for the same.
He tilts his head at her, studies her, his mane disappearing in a wave of flame up his youthful crest. There is something else that lives beneath her surface and the fire within him swells up his throat, almost as if it is reaching for its counterpart buried somewhere deep within her. It’s a confusing feeling, a pull of a magnet, a tug of gravity, and his eyes remain guarded, face impassive, the silence brutal.
“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else,” he demands suddenly, reaching for some piece of her to stash away—some piece of her to hold, whether it be momento, treasure, or weapon.
