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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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    if they’re still out there then the chasm grows
    #1

    how do I learn my dreams to mold, to lay them bare in the morning cold?

    He does not remember much, but he remembers enough.

    All he can remember is that he had tried to follow his parents—but they had been too fast for him. Castile in the sky and Sochi loping forward in her feline form. He was so young (so young) and he had no gifts with which to make the trip faster so by the time that he had reached Tephra, the war had already been in the thick of it. He had stumbled into the darkness and felt his vision disappear. He had felt the way that the ground moved underneath him, the bodies colliding, and felt the moment that his legs had given out.

    She had found him and his slender chest had exploded with hope at the feeling of being set aflame.

    His bones had begun to stitch together, his flesh curling toward each other, but the war had not stopped.

    Not for him, not for her, not for them.

    Before she could finish healing him, the volcano was opening and the ground was shaking and he could barely get to his feet before he was swept through the portal. He looked up to see her fall and the magma begin to rush forward and he screamed until his young throat was raw—even as the portals snapped close.

    He screamed at the image that failed to leave him.

    The sight of her graceful body falling, falling, falling.

    He screamed until the pain of a leg still broken eclipsed it all and the rest became darkness.

    When he wakes, he is cold and bruised and he groans as he struggles to find his feet. He curses and feels the tears touch the corner of his silver eyes when he realizes that his leg is still wounded and he falls back to the earth. All around him, the world is ice and endless white and he curls into himself.

    This is not home.

    She is dead.

    He shivers as he drops his chin to his chest and tries to fight the emotions that threaten to swallow him.

    nikolaus

    if they’re still out there then the chasm grows
    ( for all you know, for all you’ve known )




    feel free to reply if you want but this is mostly just for my own plotting purposes. <3
    Reply
    #2

    Aodhán
    ice and fire
    All that is gold does not glitter; not all who wander are lost
    One would assume that living on a permanently wintery island would be unbearable when the season was actually here. But to Aodhán… well, the truth is, he doesn’t really notice the differences right now.

    Icicle Isle has been his home for about half his life, which admittedly might not have been the longest life ever yet. Still, he can’t help but feel like he should look out for his family just a bit more - with his parents gone, one being some sort of runaway and one desperately trying to retrieve what was lost, as far as he was concerned - with them gone, there was only the new leader of the Isle to look out for Ilan. Eurwen had not visited, Oisín had been mostly absent when even he himself was younger, and the spotted stallion can’t quite say that he had been around much with the little one, either.

    But even when the gold-spotted seal turns into a white swan, the last droplets falling off feathers instead of oily skin, he doesn’t quite know who still lives here and who doesn’t. Honestly, he won’t mind who comes to greet him. He could spare these islanders a few days, instead of just the one. Jesper might want to know about his lingering feelings of home, his little brother - and whoever is out here, still.

    But as quickly as the swan takes to the sky, helands once more; golden feet approaching the form of a boy in the snow, stopping just near where he assumes the head should be. Coloured like a killer whale (something he has experienced just recently), but horse shaped and marked blue somewhat similar to himself (if he were in equine form). Flapping his wings a few times, Aodhán redirects the snowdrifts, curious green eyes staring from his long neck and feathered head at the other creature.

    Surely this isn’t everyday life on the Isle nowadays?


    I was gonna make an open thread but then there was a @[laura] post
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