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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


    Not all who wander are lost - any
    #1

    Aodhán
    little fire
    All that is gold does not glitter; not all who wander are lost
    As far as forests go, this is a queer and quiet one. Mist hangs here more often than not, though today, late summer and halfway through the day’s light, it is warm enough for most of the fog to have cleared now. One might pass through right now and not even know how humid this forest can be in the colder months - months that will come, soon.

    In this gathering of trees, this time of year, birdsong is rare. Wolves pick off some of the smaller prey, cats and bears are plenty enough for critters to be hiding right now. The trees, who in the fall may sway and creak, complaining about the storms, are quiet right now, so long as no body (no horse, no other animal) moves between their leaves and stretched out branch fingers.

    Don’t be mistaken - it’s not really quiet. But the wood is pretty empty right here, as no-one makes a single move.

    In this place, a rather sunny spot though not yet a clearing, a particularly normal though slightly large rock lies quietly among the trees. White stone, not really in place here but also large enough to probably not be moved here, sits and waits until something happens, or someone passes. This rock could be called sentient, yet as it is a rock it hardly notices the changes in the wind, the differences in temperature or humidity, and having no eyes nor ears it might only know that today the sun shines on its surface, and nobody is leaning against it.

    Now that is quite extensive knowledge for a white rock, but compared to any other animal, if this rock had a mind he would surely be bored. The white rock would probably appreciate if someone could wake him.

    That’s to say, if the rock had a mind and thoughts, that is, and that is something no passerby could possibly know from the outside, looking at it in passing.

    Nevertheless, he would definitely not mind being something else right about now.
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    #2
    When his mother had told him to meet them in the Taiga, Pteron had not hesitated. The young soldier is accustomed to following orders, and while of late he has taken them from the Loessian military, the pegasus is young and loyal enough that he had not hesitated. Well, he’d hesitated a bit. There’d been a finned filly lingering at the edge of the river and a honey-haired boy that he’d needed to admire from afar. But then, without much hesitation he had done as ordered.

    The redwood forest is an unfamiliar place to the tobiano pegasus, and as he flies across the border he angles his feathered wings so that he soars upward and into a low bank of clouds. When he emerges it is impossible to tell; it seems as though he’s vanished into the cloud itself. In truth, he soars invisibly across the coniferous canopy, his olive eyes flickering curiously over the land below. Pteron is not sure where his family might be in this strange wood, but the trees are numerous enough that he knows he is unlikely to find them on wing. The winged stallion passes several clearings, but something about this one catches his eye, and he lands.

    There is no one about – just quiet woods and heavy fog. Heavy fog to Pteron, anyway, a boy of deserts and dry lands where fog of any density is a rarity. Calling out and shaking his wings for a moment, Pteron’s curious gaze darts about. On the opposite side of the clearing is a pale white stone. That might have been what caught his eye about this clearing, but Pteron gives it no second thought. Just a rock, he thinks, unfamiliar with the geologic makeup of this northern land and how out of place the white stone truly is.

    Time passes, bit Pteron is content to wait. He has been raised better than to wander about a strange kingdom, even when invisible. There are powers greater than sight, the young horse knows, and just because he cannot be seen does not mean he cannot be found. Still, he continues to don his invisibility as he slowly meanders through the small meadow, pausing now and again to nose at unfamiliar plants and scents. If someone was to appear, he’d release his illusion, but until then he is content to remain unseen.
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    #3
    Lethy was relatively new to Taiga and had spent days meandering around the thick woods placing objects to memory so that coming and going would not be so hard every time.

    It was a maze of trees, doubling back on itself ever other turn. This morning the fog had been thick, almost hindering any sort of navigating she was capable of. The other prey and predators were in full force with preparations for the on coming Autum and then Winter season.

    Lethy breathed a sigh of relief as her golden and chocolate dipped hide, muted slightly by the cover of the thick ceiling above, created a camo for her amongst the large brown trunks.

    When the fog had thinned out she traveled some more, exploring dens, fallen trees, and clear openings. She had met a couple others who resided here in Taiga, there weren't many like Aten had told her.

    Lethy's ears swiveled as she walked diligently over a large root protruding harshly from the grown. For what had seemed forever she had not heard the voice or hoof falls of another horse. Her large, amethyst eyes searched the path ahead of her and was pleased when she spotted an opening leading to a small meadow, many of which where scattered throughout Taiga.

    As she exited the cover of the large, towering wood she made her way towards the waterfall of sunlight. She raised her face towards the sky and marveled in the warm summers touch, resting beside the rather large, white washed stone that hogged the spilling rays.

    As she opened her eyes and scanned the small "clearing" her purple, jem eyes spotted a spackling of gold amongst the fog. The gold began to take shape as her eyes adjusted over the sun, shadows, and fog taking in the shape of a young boy, she assumes. Hello she said her voice soft, but more confident than normal. I'm Izora Lethia, are you from around here?
    forget me not; but never remember
    Lethy

    @[Aodhan]
    @[Pteron]
    IMG-20190524-092123-677
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    #4

    Aodhán
    little fire
    All that is gold does not glitter; not all who wander are lost
    For some time, the arrival of the invisible stallion of his own age does nothing to the now-rock. In fact, the lack of eyes, ears, and pretty much lack of an active conscious mind, prevents him from seeing or hearing anything at all, from noticing so much as the shift in aerial directions, or pressure on the ground. His dormant state noticed barely a thing, and if someone had called the ice-coloured young stallion away, the rock would have been none the wiser.

    Only after the arrival of a second presence, something shifts in the near-conscious rock. The presence barely touches him, but for a rock he is pretty sensitive. It is not her shadow blocking the sunlight - such a small difference could not be noticed by the skin of a rock - but the buckskin mare’s golden-like hide (not that he would know the colour right now) emits the warmth of living flesh, and something stirs within the whitewashed stone.

    The stirring could well have been a tiny tremor in the earth, if nothing else had happened afterwards. But like with the stretching of a bear’s muscle after a long winter’s hibernation, after some time, the change begins. Cold stone seems to shift, and a sound as if the rock is crumbling to dust would reach the ear of anyone near, except the rock’s ears since his are not yet working.

    The tiny pebbles of the former white rock dance, shift and relocate for a moment, and then they take a new shape. Firstly, it seems to resemble a white stony version of the mare herself, almost exactly so. Secondly, the pebbles melt together, and a white horse blinks and twists their ears as if confused, or rather, woken from a very deep, dreamless sleep. A shake of the head loosens the dust that has gathered on the rock over time, and the young horse-shape looks to his legs, makes a disapproving sound, and changes shape and colour once more. White as snow, speckled with metallic gold and snowflakes alike, Aodhán stares at his surroundings, only half-able to grasp what is happening - in fact, searching for someone familiar who doesn’t seem to be around any longer.

    She was right though. He is not sick any longer.

    After all, the last thing he remembers is drinking some kind of Cure, as she’d called it.
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    #5
    The sound of a moving body draws the stallion’s attention, and Pteron raises his invisible head toward the noise, his ears swiveling and nostrils flaring wide. It’s a mare, small and golden, and for the briefest moment he thinks it might be his mother. But no, this mare’s points are black instead of navy and her sides are bare and wingless. She has not seen him – of course she hasn’t – and she pauses beside the pale white stone just as Pteron drops most his cloak of invisibility.

    He keeps some of it, a trick he had perfected with Ori, and the blue and gold wings along his side are hidden entirely. He looks like a normal horse save his unique coloring, and he smiles at the stranger without hesitation. Its a bright and handsome smile (or so he’s been told), and fitting for a strapping young warrior who has been training in the art of diplomacy. The mare comes closer, and Pteron’s nose tells him she lives here in these woods, or at least has been here some time, for she smells of the coniferous forest and the sea-swept fog that surrounds the sunny meadow.

    “I’m Pteron,” he replies, “I’m...”

    But then he trails off, and the reason is obvious.

    The stone she stands beside has become suddenly not a stone. It has collapsed into a pile of pebbles, one that Pteron takes a curious step closer to investigate, and then a hurried step back when the pebbles begin to shift. The young man’s olive eyes widen as the bits of rock begin to take shape before his eyes, shaping themselves in the figure of a horse. The horse is alive, it seems, more alive than the stone had been at least. It shakes its head and then spots appear on its pale hide, and Pteron tear his eyes away for just a moment to look at Izora Lethia.

    “Did you do that?” Pteron asks the mare beside him, his tone both awed and wary. “Can you turn stone into flesh?” The dun pegasus has heard of many sorts of magics, but this is not one he knows of, and certainly not one that he has seen before.

    @[Izora Lethia] @[Aodhan]
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    #6
    The younger boy made his way over and began to introduce himself as Pteron, but before he could finish the white stone that she had nestled beside began to crumble. Lethy staggered back in surprise as it fell in a pile to the ground.

    Her eyes widened in confusion and fear as the pebbles began to reform into a likeness of herself. It did not stay that way long however, as Lethy backed up closer to Pteron. It soon formed itself into a living, breathing white horse. He was leopard spotted with gold and snowflakes clung to him in spite of the summers heat.

    Lethy glanced at Pteron as he spoke almost forgetting that he was still there. he asked curiously as if what they just witnessed was something that happened every day.

    Lethy had never been privy to such intense gifts. She knew Beqanna was different. That there were horses that looked unique and held unique gifts, such as immortality, within their beings but this?

    Nnnno. I didn't do this. This was not my doing. she stuttered as she watched the newly formed horse in front of them, the confusion plastered to his face. Hello, I'm Izora Lethia. Who are you? And how did you just... her words trailed off in equal confusion.
    forget me not; but never remember
    Lethy

    @[Aodhan] @[Pteron]
    IMG-20190524-092123-677
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    #7

    Aodhán
    little fire
    All that is gold does not glitter; not all who wander are lost
    He is relatively slow to catch up with what just happened, and then with what must have happened - and all this a pretty long time ago, since the last season he saw had neither been summer nor spring.

    There’s voices, in the background. They sound surprised, curious and slightly scared. Having been some form of mindless not that long ago, their emotions come with names slowly, then with understanding what they are, and only after that does his brain translate the voices into words.

    Blinking at the mare who seems to address him, the young adult shows her a lazy grin. ”Thanks for waking me. Being a rock is…” He doesn’t know the word for slow, dumb, and ethereal all in one, and he shakes his head realizing she would not understand his description either way. ”Let’s just say being myself again is much better. I’m Aodhán, by the way. I shifted, I think.” He says it all casually - shifting might be the best word, easy enough to understand for most who are familiar with Beqanna’s magic. In any other place he would be seen as some kind of freak, but here his ability is just very uncommon.

    The knabstrup hybrid looks from one to the other, sensing the air. ”Summer?” he concludes, tilting his head at the trees a moment. But not for long he thinks; autumn is near. The air is still hot but already seems to lose it’s summery touch after the heat of midday. ”Who are you? Do you live in Taiga? Do you know an Aten? Pappa used to say he ruled it, last time...” But what is last? Has it been several months or several years? He remembers the story of his disappeared grandsire, and does not fancy the idea of having outlived his family - if that is a proper word for temporarily being a rock.

    A small smirk follows; it doesn’t really matter. ”Sorry for scaring you.” It came as an afterthought, only now realizing the emotions behind the earlier words. Shock and confusion still rule them, even if he finally has a brain again.
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    #8
    He was a peculiar thing, the stallion made from rock. He said he had shifted and Lethy wondered how long he must of been sitting here as a white washed rock. How long had he been a white washed rock?

    He asked about Aten and Lethy nodded as her ears perked with curiosity. Why did he want to know about Aten? In there time together Lethy had grown to care about Aten not only as her leader but as a friend, and maybe more? She didn't have time to think about that right now.

    Yes, Aten still rules this land. she said confident in this one fact. Though. As the words left her mouth a shadow circled above the small clearing. She glanced up towards the darkening sky, Turul.

    Lethy had no knowledge that Wolfbane and Lepis had slinked their way into Taiga, or how long ago they had come here. Her eyes darted around the skirting forest, eyes searching for the familiar golden coat of Aten. Surely if he had seen her here talking to others that were not residence he would step in to see how she was doing in conversation with outsiders.

    But no matter how hard her eyes focused, she did not see him. Odd that Turul would be here at this hour with out Aten.

    Turul swooped into the clearing landing on Lethy's shoulder. He must of been searching for a while, for the bird looked exhausted with continuous flight. His eyes searched hers and he gave a series of small squawks. Lethy shook her head slightly, she did not have the understanding of what he was trying to say, or maybe warn her of? Like Aten did.

    However, she knew that if Turul was looking for her with out Aten it did not mean anything good.It seems like something is amiss here in Taiga. she looked at the white and gold, frosty boy. Do not quite me on my previous statement.It seems that Aten may be in trouble. I am sorry I must go. she said dipping her head and giving Turul a tender nudge in hope that he would understand that she knew something was not right.

    She bid her goodbyes to the pair of boys and headed north east towards the peninsula of Nerine, as Turul took to the sky once more. She had a gut feeling, an uneasy sort of thing, that they were going to need all the help they could get.
    forget me not; but never remember
    Lethy

    @[Pteron] I apologize for breaking line in thread but Lethy needs to take her leave.
    @[Aodhan] Not sure why you are looking for Aten, but there's been some developments and he is more than welcome to come with Lethy.
    @[Aten] tagging you because of Turul. Sorry if I Pp him to much. I will edit and adjust accordingly.
    IMG-20190524-092123-677
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    #9
    The buckskin mare seems fearful of the shifting stone, and when she backs up closer to Pteron, the young stallion stretches out the wing nearest her, an invisible shield between Izora Lethia and the stone horse. He is more curious than afraid, but he is also nearly immune to harm while the buckskin mare is more likely to suffer from mortality. His own gifts have given him a healthy dose of curiosuty and a rather small amount of caution. He is watching the stone horse with fascination, especially as his female companion denies being responsible for it.

    So it is a horse all on its own, Pteron realizes, one that can turn into stone.

    One that might have been stuck as a stone, if his words are anything to go by, and Pteron snorts at the novelty of coming across yet another strange shifter in such a short amount of time. He smiles though, as the stone horse introduces himself as Aodhan, and nods his head in a polite greeting. The appaloosa asks about Taiga and Aten, and Pteron suddenly puts two-and-two together. He does so just as Izora Lethia reacts to the odd bird that comes down from the sky, and realizes that he knows exactly what is amiss in Taiga and with Aten.

    But how does one say: “Oh yes, that would be my parents, here to takeover. Probably best to leave them be.”? He can’t think of a way, and before he can decide if he even should, the buckskin mare is headed north – toward Nerine and presumably Grandmere. There is an uncomfortable feeling in Pteron’s belly - he knows Aten and had liked him. The champagne stallion has been unfortunate enough to be settled in an area where Pteron’s family had set their sights. Lepis and Wolfbane are no dragons, but they are as stubborn (perhaps even more so). Rather than dwell on this, the pegasus instead turns back from where he had been watching Izora disappear in to the trees.

    He looks instead at Aodhan, who is now very much a horse and not a stone. Curiosity replaces concern quickly, and Pteron realizes he’s not introduced himself.

    “I’m Pteron. I’m sure Aten is fine.” Mother would surely find him a healer if he’d attempted to resist “But...a rock. Have you always been a rock? Or able to turn into one, I mean?”

    @[Aodhan]
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    #10

    Aodhán
    little fire
    All that is gold does not glitter; not all who wander are lost
    The young stallion knows he had been impolite to question the other two so much, but he gets confirmation from the mare that Aten still rules here. Visibly relaxing, relieved that not too much time has passed and that also, this meant that Taiga would not consider him a trespasser, as he was of Nerine (technically) and this was a land free to pass through; thus he hardly noticed the falcon nearing them or the silent tension in the other young man for a while.
    When the falcon drags the mare’s attention away, the spotted stallion studies the animal. He’s way too involved with the buckskin, but doesn’t speak like an avian shifter would. While he focuses on the bird, an involuntary change appears on the white-and-gold stud as his skin portrays a few feathers, and then sharp-shaped wings appear; wings built for speed like a falcon’s. But Turul leaves with Izora Lethia, and Aodhán doesn’t have the time to think of the beak and talons to shift any further.

    In fact, he doesn’t even have time to think much at all. The mare has left quickly, which leaves the two young men to inspect one another.

    The cremello-dun catches the knabstrup hybrid’s attention, and the spotted one nods at him at the question. ”He was an acquaintance of my father, I believe. This is good though. I haven’t been a stone for ages, I think.” he offers, indication that he’d merely asked to know if it was safe to dwell here and if not too much time had passed. Which seemed to be the case.

    Curiously, Aodhán now inspects his new wings, and then shakes his head at Pteron. ”No. My sister is a rock manipulator, and she brought me a Cure for the Plague to try… I don’t think I have quite mastered the magic which was in it, yet.” Evident by the constant changes of his body, too.

    With a frown and closed eyes, the feathers on him disappear, save for the wings, which he then moves, stretching them and waving them up and down a bit. ”I suppose I should try it out, don’t you think?” he cocks his head at Pteron. But then he remembers that the other stallion has no wings to show for, and folds the new ones back to his sides. Maybe later. He wonders if he could change his colour too - but perhaps it would be rude to shift into the image of Pteron himself, so he doesn’t.


    @[Pteron]
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