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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


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    Brilliant Pampas: Round 2
    #1
    ROUND 2
    They come from far and wide, converging upon the Brilliant Pampas as requested. But they don’t make it far - the ring of red flowers is all around the land, a wide swath, and none can escape from the sedative qualities of their pollen. Unfortunately, that’s not the only effect it has. Each and every one of them succumb to a dream, hallucinations of terrible things happening in the land of wild flowers and green meadows they fell asleep in. Some of them might realize it’s a dream state but it feels quite real. This, then, is the terrible thing they will face to complete this portion of the fairies’ quests.

    Rules
    -Posts must be no less than 500 and no more than 1000 words
    -The first 10 (80%ish) of people to respond will move on to the next round.
    -Failure to respond at all before 2 days (48 hours) are up will result in a permanent defect. Please let Devin know if you need more than 2 days to get a response up.
    -Your post should describe your character hallucinating a natural disaster of some sort overtaking the Brilliant Pampas (i.e. flood, fire, hurricane, drought, etc.). They can know they are dreaming/hallucinating but it should feel very real.
    -End your post by having your character wake up; either after they find a way to survive/escape the natural disaster or when they die/succumb to it.
    fair winds & good luck

    #2

    keep your dreams in check

    The world is filled with darkness, swallowing the perception of freedom as everything dims, silence overcoming the green meadows, the wind hushed as all animals cease to exist, only Rouhi stirs, his eyes fluttering open, a dark world opening for him to play in, to seek guidance, but something wasn't quite right. The screech of birds above caused the stallion to wake, or think he had awoken from the deep slumber, while in fact. He had just entered hell.

    The grulla stallion stands, his legs trembling as the breeze picks up again, life is in motion once more, the world spinning as he searches for any other signs of life, but to no avail, he succumbs to the feeling of hopelessness.
    The stench of the sea brings word of fury, telling all to stay clear from its warpath, a clear declaration of war upon all lands. The distant sounds of waves crashing confirm this, old trees stirring, their trunks creaking as water overcame them.
    The sea's advance was slow, but still terrifying. Rouhi blinks vividly as the waves become visible to him, he sits atop a large hill, surrounded by blooming flora, everything around him seemed to die as the water inched closer, the stench of dead bodies reeking below as the stallion became stuck, his body unable to move as the blue liquid advanced, the waves laughing at him as they came crashing at his feet.

    The water seeped into his soul, covering his legs entirely now, his body convulsing desperately, trying to free himself from his tragic demise.
    Though he is unable to, the sweet smell of the flowers is gone, the hill he stands on is the only one that towers above, a view of destruction as the water reaches his shoulders, he cries out in agony, his last attempt to free himself from his fate, but he will not be able to do so.
    The stallion falls into a panic, his body destroying itself as he tries to move, almost ripping apart his own body in order to escape, he didn't want to die, not yet, he didn't come here just to fall.
    It does not take long for the frigid water to reach his neck, his eyes blanked out as he struggled, still unable to free himself from his stuck position, he cries out again, the water reaching above him, filling his lungs quickly. He attempts to hold his breath, but he is still stuck. He screams below the water, insignificant bubbles drifting rapidly to the top of the water. Rouhi finally frees himself, nature allowing him to live a little longer, but it is too late, the scene darkens as his eyes shut, his body drifting to the bottom of the covered wasteland, darkness sweeping over him as he takes his last breath.

    The stallion wakes from the dream with a shudder, his breath long and heavy as he stands up, searching the land to see what was going on, just a dream, thankfully. He shakes himself as he tries to steady his breath, his mind still shaky as he walks around clumsily, regaining himself. Now that all of that was over he would be able to focus on the task at hand, and hopefully not fall asleep again.

    Rouhi

    #3
    The ground beneath Nocturne shook, jarring him awake from his drugged sleep. His eyes jerked open wide, and he scrambled to still-stone feet, looking around frantically for the cause of danger. But it was hard to run when danger was everywhere, echoing around him like thunder, making the world itself tremble and crack.

    Maybe it was for the best he’d left Ember behind.

    The earth thrust open beside him, a gaping scar of brown slicing through the vibrant green and flower-studded landscape, and he let out a startled scream and hopped sideways away from the fracturing fault in the ground as lava bubbled up, splashing violently and starting to spread. Ahhh! Fuck! A stray glob struck his shoulder as he stared at the molten rock in horror, and the pain jolted him into action.

    So he ran. Away from the slowly spreading pool of liquid death that seared the earth and devoured it, away from the rumbling and shaking and quaking as the ground was consumed by fire. But a little voice in the back of his head reminded him of his purpose, the childlike voice of the fairy that had summoned him to the Mountain for the third time.

    And so, even in the midst of fleeing disaster, he snatched up flowers, one red, white, fuck, what were the colors? Red, white, yellow, something something….hell! Okay. Green? No, no green flowers, just grass, and no blue ones either, bu there was pink! Sure! He nabbed that one in passing, and then paused just long enough to look around and see what other colors of flowers he could find.

    Orange. Oh right. But naturally, the only orange flowers he could find were right in the path of the spreading lava. Fuck. He really was becoming fond of that word. Ember had taught him well. He took a deep breath to steady himself - fate of the world and all, got a fuckin’ job to do, not gonna let one little lava flow stop him - and charged back into the burning and the shaking and the dying earth to snag an orange goddamn flower.

    He almost made it, too. Almost captured one last bloom by the stem, one last thing before he could race away back to the Mountain and deliver his prize to help save the world from the plague that was slowly overtaking it. But in opening his mouth to snag that orange flower, he dropped the other ones, and scrambling to pick them back up cost him precious time. A much larger spray of lava struck his side, sending him falling to the earth, writhing and screaming in pain.

    His ice tried to save him, cooling the lava and making it fall to the earth as nothing but hardened stone once more. But the burns were immediate and far too deep, and as he struggled to get back to his feet the lava spread inexorably on, devouring him bit by bit as it devoured the shaking earth.

    He woke with a scream, his body shaking and quaking from shock as the earth had been, and scrambled to his feet in a panic.
    #4
    the ancient heavenly connection to the
    starry dynamo in the machinery of night
    Godbear



    He does not know exactly why he has decided to do this. Perhapsmaybe it is because his father and mother have done so wrong. Perhaps it is because for so long he has been adrift in the cosmos - a constellation frozen in time. Now (still?) he is frozen again - this time in slumber, eyes sealed shut by the brightbright red of the flora. He is heavy; no longer weightless like the stars he was once thrust out with. He cannot move, there is no desire riddled through him (save to sleepsleepsleep). Why had he come here? This strange land rithe with life - this was not his home. He had no home. He had no ties. Why was he here - what had called to him? He cannot remember.
    Wake up. he hears the magician, his voice striking through the brilliant red void of flowers. You came here to do something, Godbear. Not to sleep like a child. Godbear’s eyes open- free from that pull downdowndown. You came to adhere to the Fairy. And oh! Yes! Now Godbear remembers - the slumber sand brushed from his mind. He was here to help - to fight that evil sickness that swept across the land. No, Beqanna was not quite his home yet. But it would be. He would live here - in a land of sweet and honey. He would fight this drowning disease.
    Eight’s dark figure comes closer - angry built across his features, growing more clear with each blink of Godbear’s (one good) eye. Pathetic. Another of my blood falling in line with the fairies. There was no pride in his voice - no satisfaction that Godbear was moving towards making his name - making a mark on Beqanna. No, Eight cared for the chaotic mix of life - neither good, nor bad. I let you free of the cosmos - and this is how you repay me. And it was true - Eight had released that magic hold that bound Godbear so tightly to the stars. Eight had been gracious, and kind. Eight had come home, and had allowed Godbear as well. Back to where you belong, you wretch.
    And then - they fall, as the magician disappears.
    The sky alights with shining orbs, and Godbear is (for a moment) mesmerized. A world of constellations falling through the sky. (It feels like home. The galaxy, the cosmos - the place he only really knows). The moment is short, abreathin and abreathout; before Godbear realizes this is not home. He is not in the stars this time - and these molten rock formations screaming down from the sky, this time he is not one of them, he is not protected by magic, he is not a star - he is a target.
    The first asteroid hits the field of red flowers with a ferocity unheard of (Godbear had forgotten just how angry the skies could be). Red petals fallfallfall again, this time they are burning - this time the red is not beautiful - it is a warning. Godbear side steps, his motions stuttering (he could not see - he cannot see - he is blind on that side, unhearing on that side, vulnerable on that side). His heads turns to take in what the magician is doing (destroying). He is trying to take Godbear home again - burn him up and encase him in these rocky bodies of the galaxy. He is trying to take him away.
    “Father - no!” The first time that word has ushered from his mouth (fatherfatherfather). Another crater, coring down the earth, ruined lands, ashes floating, fire tilting the flowers flat. And Godbear runs (so clumsy, so unsure of this thing called gravity). He cannot go back to that vast empty world - this will be home now, thishastobe. His path is stopped - a crater created that is far too large to cross - hot earth in front of him, a gap where redred flower should be - but there is only destruction, a land of destructuction.
    The air is thick with the rain of the galaxy - hardened rock hurtling down - Eight’s anger evident in it all, ruining the flowers that Godbear was here to fin (the plague would win. Beqanna would die). Godbear cannot breathe, there is no where to go - the land around him riddled with bullet holes of the magician thesky thegalaxy. Godbear looks to the sky - his good eye fixed on the shadow above - a swirling color of black and hot blue and white white fire (movemove Godbear - it is coming for you.)
    “It is time to leave, Godbear. It is time to go home.
    And the largest crater of them all is created - a crush of force (a magicians aim never misses) a hole in the universe where Godbear once was. There is nothing.
    “Father - No!” Godbear’s rasping (so unused when you are among the stars) voice tears across the field of flowers. Chest heaving (fear will do that), heart crushing against his rib (caged, that’s what he was). But there is no father (no magician of the sky), there are no asteroids (absolving any ability to find those plague-freeing flowers, there is still a Godbear (yes, he has made it).
    It was a dream, is all (a hallucination? A curse of the magician?) There is still time to fight this sickness.

    #5

    i'm told that to be human i must stand still
    you can try your hardest, but i never will

    As the induced sleep carries her under, she fitfully begins to dream, succumbing to the wild effects of the flowers.

    ---

    When she awakens, she first knows confusion. Groggily, she lifts her head from the crushed stalks of flower and grass, peering around her with a hazy gaze. The first thing she notices is that she is alone, the others who had come with her nowhere to be seen. She finds that curious, even in her foggy, half-asleep state. Wrong somehow, as though she had woken in a world not her own.

    After a moment, she pulls herself to her feet. With a stretch and a wide yawn, she shakes her shaggy frame roughly before padding forward a few steps. She is warily curious as she attempts to discern what might have happened. What might have come to steal away her compatriots.

    She smells smoke, but at first this does not alarm her. It is familiar, carrying with it the weight and warmth of her father and brother, reminding her of them (just as the sea reminds her of mother). But as the smoke grows thicker and the sound of crackling louder, she recognizes danger. Recognizes that this is not her family. That there is no safety and security here.

    Perhaps this is why everyone had fled, but why would they leave a young wolf pup to sleep in the blaze? Perhaps they had not seen her?

    Or perhaps there is something terribly wrong here.

    Her instincts tell her this is not right. Horses do not simply disappear. Perhaps she dreams, her body slumped in a flower strewn meadow. Or perhaps she had been abandoned before an inferno.

    Whatever her instincts might scream at her, she knows only that this feels far too real, the heat growing much to intense. And so, she does what any clever young wolf would do: she turns and flees.

    But she is too late. She had dallied too long in her indecisiveness and the hungry flames had eaten their way around the edges of the meadow. The edges of consciousness turn ragged and dark as fear begins to settle, a nameless dread curling in her gut. Her body begins to feel leaden, her mind sluggish. The terrible curse of a nightmare that feels too much like reality. The terror that eats at one until limbs become useless and slow.

    The fire licks at her, and with a yelp, she snaps out of it. Turning, she runs again, flollowing the ragged edges of the blaze. As her prison grows ever smaller, she realizes she is entirely surrounded.

    She retreats to the center of her prison, slumping in defeat. Tilting her head back, she releases a forlorn, melancholy howl into the sky, but she knows it will not be heard. In the way of dreams, she knows no one will come.

    Perhaps it would not be so bad to be consumed by flames. Perhaps it would not hurt as she feared. But as the smoke begins to overcome her, bringing a ragged, hacking cough to her lungs, she wonders if the fire will even have the opportunity.

    Then, just as she has nearly lost hope, she sees a break in the flame. A thin tendril of hope is all she needs, and she grasps it. She does not pause to reconsider, instinct driving her forward, commanding her to survive. She leaps, flame singing the heavy fur protecting her skin. The charcoaled earth burns her paws when she lands on the other side, but she stumbles heedlessly forward. Her breath comes raggedly and her lungs burn, but she pushes onwards. Away from the flame. Towards life.

    Until she comes to a small stream, a haven in the midst of such a nightmarish hell. The water stings her blistered feet, but she splashes in anyway before collapsing into the cool, life giving liquid.

    The flames could not reach her here. Eventually, when they had greedily consumed all they could, they would starve. Perhaps by then she would know what to do.

    ferran

    #6

    Ilma
    And there's a lesson waiting to be learned
    the firestarters always get the burns
    and the good guys never get the girl

    She drifts on a drug-induced sleep, like everybody else. Around her, multiple horses have landed, gathered, and met. One male in particular might have caught her eye for a moment, but she doesn’t keep standing long enough to notice. Instead, she dreams so weirdly, it takes up all her attention.

    The dream is vague like every other dream, with the edges of vision blurred. But it is at the moment, lucid too. It’s just as if she didn’t just drop to the earth like a baby giraffe, but has been lying down here all the time, and peacefully so. The white mare wonders briefly if this is what Kagerus experiences when she dreams, but soon enough, whatever she thinks doesn’t matter to Ilma any more.

    There is an all-encompassing heat surrounding her, and it takes her a moment to realize what exactly happened. But now she sees: perhaps it had been an unfortunate wind, or the volcano finally did burst. The sky is white with ashes, the flowers surrounding her are red-hot and violently bright yellow and orange - and it’s coming her way.

    She scrambles to her feet, feeling the flames approaching much more rapidly with each passing, quickened heartbeat. She forgets she isn’t fully awake; her amber eyes roll wide inside her head and they match the colour of the heated wall approaching her.

    Wilder than even this wildfire, she moves. There’s no way to know where one goes. She wants to scream, but when she opens her mouth the heat and ash nearly suffocates her on it’s own. This is really, really bad! The white mare runs in circles, her head filled with a panic she tries to overcome. Every time she turns there is yet another flaming wall - like a maze, she feels surrounded.

    Where did everybody go? She was pretty sure that she had not come here alone. She remembers flowers, lots of flowers, and Kagerus somewhere nearby, and someone looking at her maybe? Where’s he run off to then?

    But her mind doesn’t work. Her voice doesn’t work. And soon enough, her legs don’t seem to work either. What can she do? Looking around, the circle closes, more slowly as if her dream is giving her mind time to think about a solution.

    There is, in the end, one solution indeed. The ground won’t budge, but the sky might! Gathering what’s left of the sunlight shining between ashy white particles, she rises from the ground. Her legs feel hot, her tail and fur might end up slightly greyer than they should be, her hooves feel the heat licking at her feet as if she’s not allowed to cheat, to fly, to flee.

    But fleeing is what she does, eventually. The fire beneath her roars angrily at her, but she goes the only way she can, and that’s up.

    Soon enough, somehow the fire gets forgotten, and the world is white with clouds instead of ashes. It is only when she goes even higher, and finds the light, that she awakens. The sunlight kisses her face, and she lifts her head, frowning at her surroundings.

    That had not seemed normal to her in any way. At all.

    and shooting stars cannot fix the world


    529
    Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
    Robert Jordan, Wheel of Time
    #7
    Her eyes open with a snap to a world of tall grass and swaying red flowers. For a beat everything seems normal - the meadow soaked in color, the sound of the whispering wind - even the sting of flies where they bite her dark roan skin. But when she lifts her gaze to the sky from where she still lays cheek-down in the grass, she finds not the aching blue of a springtime sky, but something dark and choked with grey. She blinks, tilts her delicate head, confused.

    The grey is thick and billowing, multilayered and with so many shades it reminds her of how dark water swirls in the churning rivers, strange and ominous. Something lands on her face - a fly for the way it bites and stings, but then the stench of burnt hair reaches her nostrils. Dazed still, it takes a moment to understand whats happening, takes too long to realize that the sky is buried beneath smoke, that the bite on her skin is burning pieces of ash and fire as they rain down on her in the wind.

    She is on her feet in an instant, awkward and stumbling from her flower-induced lethargy. But from this new height she can see a horror unfolding, a world once beautiful now turned burning inferno. How could it be though, how was there no one in sight, no screams, no fleeing bodies. No sign of magic to force it back.

    She turns, instinctively headed back towards home to be with her children, but.. there is no home. Nothing but an endless dark that falls away at the edge of a cliff, a waterfall of dirt and plant sliding over the ridge in slow motion as the Pampas erode away without anything to hold it in place.

    It’s just an island now, a floating heap of burning land crumbling away at the outer edges.

    But that’s impossible, where had everything else gone? Her children and her family, her friends. Even the inhabitants of the Pampas were nowhere to be found as she raced along near the edge of the island for any sign of life, of reason. It didn’t make any sense, and oh god, what if they were gone? What if something had happened to them.

    She is frantic at once, her heart beating itself to death in her chest like a bird caught in brambles. Her sides heave, sweat damp across her neck and her haunches, nostrils flared wide and scalded red with irritation as the fire drifted closer across the Pampas and smoke began to settle.

    “This is a nightmare.” She whispers, ragged and broken, meaning it not in the literal sense until her eyes fall once more on the red field of flowers not entirely burned up yet.

    The flowers.

    She blinks, suddenly confused, feeling muddled like there is something she should be remembering, something vastly important hiding somewhere just out of reach. She stares harder at the flowers, taking a step closer to smell one even as the inferno blazes closer to this last corner of safety, the last corner yet to burn. Ash falls like rain, still bright and burning, biting her skin until there are tears in her eyes, wet streaks drawn through the soot of her face.

    The flowers.

    With a gasp she remembers, though it comes so slowly, a reluctant thought meandering back to nestle in her mind. The plague, the fairy, the flowers. “A nightmare.” She says again, so soft, feeling the burn of the inferno like a wall of heat against her aching skin. But she feels less certain, less sure that a dream could feel like this.

    Less sure when death stares at her like a beast frothing at the mouth.

    Fire licks at her nose, turns her dark and charred until she is backed up to the edge of the nothingness. Then with a wordless tightening of her jaw, she turns and leaps off the edge of the crumbling Pampas island and falls away into the endless black nothingness.

    She wakes suddenly, the breath stolen out of her lungs as she scrambles to her feet to find a world untouched by fire.
    #8
    Ring of red roses; pocketful of posies.
    We all fall down!

    Wander sang in her sleep; the sleepy-time draught of powerful flower-magic was just that powerful! She didn’t even know she was sleeping at first; not until the dream began to take shape and it involved the brilliantly golden Pampas. Oh - and her singing, of course. 

    High and melodic, childish in nature as Wander moved her legs and found no strange possession of them. Which also made her think this was no dream but so very, very real. Because she thought she was actually skipping along instead of having her head pillowed on a fat red narcotic bloom that plunged her into a very real-feeling dream of the best kind.

    She’ll regret that best kind later.
    The kind of later that starts to happen now —

    So, the scene is set with the apricot sprite skipping along on exuberant heels that flash at the sky in bucks and hops. Nothing is disrespectful - only playful, as she giggles and sings and it all seems so very innocent. But innocence sometimes has a way of turning sinister. 

    Wander plays and so does nature; both doing what they do best. Mother Nature (beqanna Nature, magic gone rampant and mad!) decides to play a game of its own: how fast can the little pony-girl run? The sky darkens as a storm builds and the wind begins to howl something awful loud. It sounds monstrous and ominous and Wander merely halts to throw a challenging grin at it. She loves storms, let it come!

    The girl shrills her challenge in a small but mighty whinny before plunging forward at a dead run. Just as she does so, the wind starts to coalesce and spin - oh no, a tornado! Her eyes widen in surprise at the very real danger that makes her very real heart beat in pure terror. Papa warned her about twisters! They’ll pick a horse up, spin it round and round then slam it to the ground.

    That usually meant miles away and very much dead. 
    Wander didn’t want to be dead; she had an aversion to it. A particular and strong aversion, knowing that death should be avoided at all costs. She then realized that she’d been standing there this entire time, staring at the tornado as it gained in size and swirled angrily in its charge across the Pampas. “Oh no!” she cried aloud as it bowled and sang its intent to her.

    Panic subsumed her; she began to run but the dust and debris field that rotated outward around the funnel was already not far from her. It had moved faster than she had ever thought possible for a force of frustrated nature! The wind caught and whipped her hair about her into a frenzy, and this time she whinnied in absolute fear as she snorted and reared. Wander began to run but somehow, she already knew it was futile as the first of the powerful whirling winds from the backlit wedge found her.

    Next thing she knew, she was sucked upward like she weighed nothing - like a bundle of sticks! The twister spun her around and around so much, that she had to shut her eyes as tears leaked freely out. Wander just knew she was going to die. There was no getting around it as each spin became more nauseating and high. Debris hit her within the vortex and her painful frightened cries were swallowed up by the incessant wall of the wind as it raged around her.

    Then —
    The tornado lost momentum and Wander slammed to the ground. Hard enough to break her neck and stop her heart. Hard enough to jolt her upright and right out of that horrible horrible dream! She found herself braces on splayed legs like a first-time foal; sides heaving from terror and a very real-feeling demise that had spiked adrenaline in her. 

    Wander was sweat-slick and shaking as one potent red bloom caught her eye and she politely but angrily whispered, “Naughty flower! Giving me a fright like that…” but her anger spent itself just as quickly as the remnants of her dream-death clung to her, threatening her precious purpose of flower-fetching for the fairies.
    #9
    Ruan

    it's not by bone but yet by blade
    can break the magic that the devil made

    What was once a vibrant green land, lush with flowers and life, was suddenly dark with a storm. The clouds rolled in swiftly as he pulled himself up, gazing skyward in stoic concern as the cover blanketed the Pampas. How long had he been under the spell of those red flowers? The last he remembered was the woman's face and the mournful howl of a wolf nearby, calling deep inside him to the other part of him he could no longer reach. He could not reply.

    Thunder cracked suddenly and he startled, rising swiftly to his feet and looking around. Everyone he'd seen before was now gone and he wondered if he'd already failed. Perhaps this was the punishment for failing. He would not be surprised if he'd slept through the entire thing with how little rest he's gotten lately. He was also known to be a failure.

    He really sucked at quitting though.

    His brilliant blue eyes snapped to the range of flowers, the ones he was certain they were instructed to fetch. The flash of violent lightning that struck down on them immediately set them ablaze as if anticipating what he'd been intending. His dark face set in determination and he raced towards the danger, heedless of the threat it could pose him.

    His daughter had attempted one of these quests, now it was his turn to do what he can for their home and the people of Beqanna as a whole.

    Each meter of ground he gained, more lightning bolted down to burn the flowers, all of them. Foolish as always, he could only hope there would be some salvageable enough to take back to the fairy. It was a blessing the others were gone already or he'd be too distracted trying to keep them safe. So self-sacrificing.

    Fire now roared on each side of him as he surged forward, the storm outraged that he dared to still attempt this quest. He clenched his teeth, his eyes hard, and reluctantly let his ice sweep over him. A thin sheet covered his vitals and his sides and he instantly wondered if that was why he was alone. Was this quest tailored to each individual? Fire would be thrown at him so he had to use his magic? The fairies were once again cruel. He'd always kept his magic at bay to the point that his people hadn't even been aware that he'd had any at all. His scowl turned sharper and he flung his ice from his body, bottled the magic back in as tight as he could.

    He would not be manipulated yet again.
    He did this by choice and they couldn't make him do a damn thing.

    The fire seared his legs. The smell of burning flesh and fur slowly permeated the area and his blood dropped to the earth with each powerful beat. Close, he was so close now. He could do this. In pain and furious, he doubled his efforts, pushed himself to his limits even as he was met with a wall of flames, the lightning crashing on each side and thunder raging its wrath. As if that would stop him. As if anything could. He wasn't fighting for himself, for his own life. He had an entire land of people to protect, family and friends both inside and outside of it. He had Beqanna as a whole wrapped up and tucked away safely in his heart.

    He lunged into the air as if he still had his wings, soaring over the burning wall with a sharp hiss as his belly singed. Ash and smoke filled his nose, his melting skin sloughing off his legs in pieces as he landed.

    And still, he did not call forth his ice.
    He would not be manipulated.
    He'd do this just as any other horse could.

    Tears clung to his eyes, drawing in more smoke and blurring his vision. He coughed deep enough that his body shook with it, pain like knives piercing him from the inside out. Still, he ripped a number of flowers from their stems, gathering as many as he could find in desperate, furtive movements. He had already been made aware that he was a fool. A fool to trust and a fool to continue this. Any other would've used their magic without hesitation. But he was a fool, and he did not.

    Success is limited to perception. Did he complete his task? He knew the obvious answer might be no. He would not get these flowers to the fairy himself. Some might argue that he did, though. They may say that even as he burned alive, what was left of this meadow of flowers was guarded, plucked carefully from a dried, bleeding mouth and entombed in the most solid, small fortress of ice he could form. He covered it with his body, curled protectively around it as if it were his daughter, his son, or the world of Beqanna in a single entity. With the last vestiges of his power, he froze himself too for further protection of what he clutched tightly to his chest. The fairy would get what she asked for, delivered in a dead man's grasp.

    He died for Beqanna.
    No fire could ever melt this ice that was strengthened by his love, the man once known as The Heart of Taiga, powered by the sacrifice of his own life.

    But they would be safe now. They were safe.


    What should've been his dying breath was a gasp of life as he sat up abruptly, chest heaving and eyes wide. Moisture glimmered openly on his cheeks. His heart raced wildly and he searched around for those he would need to protect. 

    Those he would die for.

    and it's not by fire but what's forged in flame
    can drown the sorrows of a huntsman's pain



    958



    #10
    Repost because I'm an idiot. Ok'd per Devin

    i'm told that to be human i must stand still
    you can try your hardest, but i never will

    As the induced sleep carries her under, she fitfully begins to dream, succumbing to the wild effects of the flowers.

    ---

    When she awakens, she first knows confusion. Groggily, she lifts her head from the crushed stalks of flower and grass, peering around her with a hazy gaze. The first thing she notices is that she is alone, the others who had come with her nowhere to be seen. She finds that curious, even in her foggy, half-asleep state. Wrong somehow, as though she had woken in a world not her own.

    After a moment, she pulls herself to her feet. With a stretch and a wide yawn, she shakes her shaggy frame roughly before padding forward a few steps. She is warily curious as she attempts to discern what might have happened. What might have come to steal away her compatriots.

    She smells smoke, but at first this does not alarm her. It is familiar, carrying with it the weight and warmth of her father and brother, reminding her of them (just as the sea reminds her of mother). But as the smoke grows thicker and the sound of crackling louder, she recognizes danger. Recognizes that this is not her family. That there is no safety and security here.

    Perhaps this is why everyone had fled, but why would they leave a young wolf pup to sleep in the blaze? Perhaps they had not seen her?

    Or perhaps there is something terribly wrong here.

    Her instincts tell her this is not right. Horses do not simply disappear. Perhaps she dreams, her body slumped in a flower strewn meadow. Or perhaps she had been abandoned before an inferno.

    Whatever her instincts might scream at her, she knows only that this feels far too real, the heat growing much to intense. And so, she does what any clever young wolf would do: she turns and flees.

    But she is too late. She had dallied too long in her indecisiveness and the hungry flames had eaten their way around the edges of the meadow. The edges of consciousness turn ragged and dark as fear begins to settle, a nameless dread curling in her gut. Her body begins to feel leaden, her mind sluggish. The terrible curse of a nightmare that feels too much like reality. The terror that eats at one until limbs become useless and slow.

    The fire licks at her, and with a yelp, she snaps out of it. Turning, she runs again, flollowing the ragged edges of the blaze. As her prison grows ever smaller, she realizes she is entirely surrounded.

    She retreats to the center of her prison, slumping in defeat. Tilting her head back, she releases a forlorn, melancholy howl into the sky, but she knows it will not be heard. In the way of dreams, she knows no one will come.

    Perhaps it would not be so bad to be consumed by flames. Perhaps it would not hurt as she feared. But as the smoke begins to overcome her, bringing a ragged, hacking cough to her lungs, she wonders if the fire will even have the opportunity.

    Then, just as she has nearly lost hope, she sees a break in the flame. A thin tendril of hope is all she needs, and she grasps it. She does not pause to reconsider, instinct driving her forward, commanding her to survive. She leaps, flame singing the heavy fur protecting her skin. The charcoaled earth burns her paws when she lands on the other side, but she stumbles heedlessly forward. Her breath comes raggedly and her lungs burn, but she pushes onwards. Away from the flame. Towards life.

    Until she comes to a small stream, a haven in the midst of such a nightmarish hell. The water stings her blistered feet, but she splashes in anyway before collapsing into the cool, life giving liquid.

    The flames could not reach her here. Eventually, when they had greedily consumed all they could, they would starve. Perhaps by then she would know what to do.

    ---

    It takes her a moment to realize she is awake. That she had slipped into sleep in that dream and awoken here in this meadow. The one age had first fallen asleep in, surrounded by all the others.

    ferran





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