"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
It’s morning. The sun is beginning to peak over the treeline, the frost tipped branches and fallen leaves soon to be sopping wet from the warmth. Birds are beginning to wake and chirp, squirrels beginning to move and store.
She twitches, her exhales getting more shallow. Her mind is flicking through scene after scene.
Don’t leave me, she whispers, the fear casting over her like a black shadow on a sunny day. An instant coolness surrounds her as she feels her stomach churning harder. She knows it, he is leaving. He, who has been her only stability throughout this entire torturous experience. He, who is the only one she knows. He, who is currently rolling his hindquarters back to retreat into the trees. She calls for him, again and again. Her body is weak, she feels sick. She can’t stop though, not now.
It’s too late, how could he do this to her?
She has done nothing. She has been everything.
She winces. That’s it. This isn’t happening. She isn’t pushing.
She will die, and that’s alright. So will this thing. And this thing won’t have to deal with what she has had to deal with.
More heavy breaths, her heart racing.
It hurts. It hurts more than if she were to push. She can’t do it. She can’t do it to their child. Is it theirs, still? He left. Her child. She can’t raise something on her own.
The pain is agonizing. She can hardly breathe. Maybe this is it, maybe it finally happens. Finally darkness won’t be a temporary shadow but a permanent entity. She will be swallowed by the black hole, left to decay and replenish a world she never wanted to be in to start with.
But she feels it, the passing, the movement, the strength. Come back, she screams in desperation, left in pieces. Left in pieces to raise a mind not yet tarnished or tainted. How is she supposed to mentor and care for something when she has nothing to give herself?
Stop, she begs.
“Mom?” Her voice carries into the air like butter, warm and soft and tender. Brine lifts her eyes open to see the dusted blonde snout peering down to her. Her body is sweaty but cold, her heart pounding.
“I am fine,” her response is short and guarded. Instant guilt swells over. Stop it, stop blaming her for your nightmares. It’s not her fault. It’s yours. You birthed her. You chose life. It’s your fault.
“Sorry, I had a bad dream,” she corrects herself, sheepishly raising from the ground and shaking off the dead leaves clinging to her skin. “Are you alright?”
Doe eyes peer back at her with purity. She nods, but Brine still feels guilt creep along her spine. Breathe, you’re alright. It’s alright. It was a dream. You’re OK.
“Yes, I am fine,” she responds to little Ruth, a beautiful palomino roan casting different hues of gold even without the sun. Brine sometimes stares in awe of what came from her, how did she make such a beautiful creature?
Brine begins to walk, her little golden shadow in tow as they make their way weaving through pine trees and over fallen logs. Ruthless is already in a pleasant mood, which is hit or miss some days. It seems only on sporadic occasions she falls short, hitting some sort of emotional state where tantrums and fits are to be thrown. But today is a good day, Brine can see it in the way little Ruth lifts over logs and chases after birds.
Her obsession for birds is as unexplainable as Brine’s hate for Autumn.
They emerge onto the green landscape that is quickly turning to a dying brown. The meadow is huge, bigger than she remembered, but the action has not slowed. She sees interactions of all sorts. Brine feels the pull of Ruthless as she flaps her wings in anticipation. Brine doesn’t need to hear it, she sees it. She sees Ruth and her eyes, how they light up and how her body tenses. Her social butterfly, her brave little bird. Brine is nothing anymore, but she is something so long as she has Ruth.
Maybe that’s why after all this time, the black hole hasn’t swallowed her yet. Is it fair to say that Ruthless might be the only reason left for her to live?
No, don’t put that on her. She deserves better than to be your saviour. She deserves a past with no baggage to carry, no burden to hold.
“Stay close,” Brine warns, perhaps in the most mother-like tone she can muster, but Ruth doesn’t notice a difference. In the golden girl’s eyes, her mother is nearly perfect. Nearly, but nearly is enough.
It had been a very long time since the grullo had laid eyes upon Beqanna. The spindling mountains and emerald seas stretching beneath her in endless waves of forgotten stories and years-long since past. She had fled these lands the moment she was old enough, no guilt felt for ditching the small family she had left. The only man she truly ever loved (Her darling twin) chose to stay and for that, she could not blame him. Somewhere in the trees beneath the soaring maiden the bay splash still roamed, but that was a tireless search for another day. Now she wished to reacquaint herself with the home she had abandoned in her youth.
Amber eyes peered below her, clouds blocked her view but any native could pick out the meadow from the break of dying trees and curling flowers. A spring chicken would have crashed into the opening on unsteady hoof but Jag had been doing the whole flight thing for a while. Like a feather she floated to the ground, front legs stretching gracefully forward to bring her gently to the dying earth. Dark wings curled into her sides as the bite of the autumn air shook her fully. It had been much warmer where she came from it seemed.
All around the smoky tower equines talked, their voices distant and merry like bells on a sleigh. They all seemed as though they had a place to belong, somewhere to return after their morning chats had settled.
Must be nice
The thought twirled and danced in her brain as she scanned the small crowd. On the edge of the meadow, looking just as lost as she is where the woman found her victims. The mare was very pretty and the lithe winged child beside the stranger reminded Jager of herself a long time ago. Spindly wings not yet used to being used curved across golden sides and wild eyes flashed protectively over the child.
Her poll raised and slowly she made her way towards them. Jag had been around enough mothers to know how... territorial they could be. She let a friendly whicker slip from her lips and she stopped far enough away from the two as to let them get a good look at her.
Peering closely enough they would fid that thick strands of bronze adorned her and fell in twisting curls across her face and neck. The sun glinted across the oddly colored tendrils and sent them sparkling and twinkling like stardust. She had a friendly face, one not unlike the mare who birthed her. If the grullo had grown to known her mom she would know she wasn't much unlike the splashed maiden before she lost her mind. In fact, Jag was a mirror of that same innocence and kindness the diplomat had been known for years prior.
All that to say the soft smile adorning her lips and the lack of tension in her shoulders and spine would hopefully not scare of the wandering pair before her.
"Good Morning Ladies,"
And with that greeting, she awaited a reply.
(Hope this isn't too cruddy this is the first time I have written this Lady, I promise it will get better <3 )
08-31-2019, 12:34 PM (This post was last modified: 08-31-2019, 01:11 PM by lilliana.)
She is starting to find solace in her nights again. It is something that she attributes to her new friend, Kagerus and to the knowledge that Elaina is safe within neighboring Hyaline. There are, however, some nights that are too deep and too long. It’s inky embrace envelops more than Taiga’s redwoods and like a fog, her thoughts come rolling in. Usually they are just the foolish whims that come to most at the end of a day: something left unfinished, perhaps something that was better left unsaid.
But sometimes those thoughts turn and lead her down the condemning path that takes her to Broch.
Lilli tries not to let him into her thoughts. She tries to keep him where he belongs: a closed chapter in her short past. But when has the Warlander stallion ever been content to hang in the shadows? He breaks through the barrier of her memories and his coat is vibrant as ever, the envy of any flame. It shines and glistens copper fire in the light of her mind. In these quiet moments, she can recall him with such vivid clarity: the muscled slope of his shoulders, the width of his chest, the strength of his haunch. Lilli can summon him with only a thought. But even as she braves the remembering, the memories eventually burn and crash.
They leave her only with the taste of ash and loss.
The crimson mare has to shed herself of the ancient forest today. She wants to leave her memories behind her. The River is always a welcome companion and it so often leads her many places, further than she should probably go but Lilli has figured she has much to learn about Beqanna and its realms. Why not experience it for herself? It’s on one of these trips that she passes by the Meadow which has begun the process of change: summer’s vibrant green to autumn’s blazing hues. The leaves above her have started to turn, a reminder that the change of the season was coming.
Another season of life to brace herself for.
There are a few horses out today and Lilli pauses for a moment, an ear flicking casually to the side as she observes them. The young mare decides to move on and return to Taiga when the motion of downy wings flapping almost impatiently catches her eye. They belong to a golden filly and something in Lilli softens at the sight of her. Her gaze moves from the child to her mother, a lovely roan mare who doesn’t seem to be as eager as her young daughter to be here.
The mare is tense. Lilli can see it by the way she holds herself and it makes the chestnut remember her first time in this very place. She remembers how wide and open it felt, how it made her feel so much smaller and so alone in a mass of equines that she didn’t know. It had been an overwhelming, almost suffocating emotion. So the young mare alters her path and starts to move towards mother and daughter when another mare approaches. The crimson girl hangs back a moment, not wanting to overrun the pair with attention.
When the winged grullo mare offers a greeting, Lilliana decides to take a similar approach. She stays a respectful distance away, trying to give Brine space if she wanted it and the chestnut mare nods her greeting to Jager. An amused smile lights up her features as her blue eyes come to rest on the child again: ”You have lovely wings.” The smile broadens and her playful gaze glances from Brine to Jager, letting them both in on a secret. ”It seems such a shame to be stuck on the ground when there are such marvelous things above.”
LILLIANA
i left home on account of snow (buried all the things i know)
09-03-2019, 02:30 PM (This post was last modified: 09-03-2019, 02:32 PM by Brine.)
Brine smells them before she sees them. The daunting fumes of oncoming visitors. Ruthless, however, is fully devoted to finding the leftover insects that haven’t died in the first few cold snaps, her nose diverged in dead grass and dry soil.
“Ruth,” her voice is more threatening as her anxiety begins to build. Ruthless hears the worry in her mother’s tone, an emotion far too familiar for a child of her age. Brine feels it, the stress build in her neck and trickle down her spine. Her sides begin to throb. Her stomach is a churning barrel of anticipation.
Ruthless is unphased.
The storm-hued mare is the first to speak, leaving the air with a lighthearted greeting. Brine notices her hesitation to come closer, and part of her is torn. Is she as emotionally burdened as she believes she is? Or is this mare just being a little extra cautious.
“Good morning,” Brine lets a neutral tone respond, her eyes still heavily guarded on Ruth who has just taken notice to the newly joined visitor.
The little golden child wastes no time on greetings, and instead waltzes her way closer to the grullo female.
“You are a lot darker than I,” she states in a matter of fact way, seeing the dark tones mesh into a storm of blues, browns, and black. Her brown eyes trace every dark shade, her mind spiralling at the thought of nighttime, shadows, and dark caverns.
“Pretty,” she nods in approval, though no one really asked. Brine feels partially mortified, though again, Little Ruth is no where near aware.
Breathe, breathe, breathe
The second visitor approaches. She smells of something strong, something home. Like she resides somewhere, but Brine is unfamiliar as to where that is. She also seems more put together, confident, perhaps experienced.
“Woah, you’re a fire,” is what Ruthless can gather from the new visitor. She is completely engulfed by the red mare, a colour she hasn’t yet seen. Her wings flicker in excitement.
Brine hesitantly takes a step forward towards Little Ruth, fearful of the distance that has grown between them. However, to keep her child out of the spotlight was like keeping an eagle trapped in a cage, impossible and inhumane. Ruthless would rebel, and Brine would lose all she had left.
“Thank you. I have ones like my mom once did. But she lost them. I hope I don’t lose mine.”
The blue roan looks back to her sides, feeling the pain still throb where her wings once were. Apart of her, she never knew they could be taken so easily. And yet here she is, bound to the ground like a dog chained to a tree, never to feel the adrenaline of lift off again.
“Thank you for your honesty,” Brine chokes out in an attempt to laugh it off, a horrible attempt really but an attempt, nonetheless. “Brine, and this is Ruthless”.
Though, the golden bird didn’t need much of an introduction. She already had the world in her grasp.
