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    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


    castile/family/any
    #1
    She bursts into life like a blast of pure white light, and there is something about her that is angelic in appearance, but it can’t be the fact that a tiny white-and-gold dragon has just appeared in the forests of Loess as if dropped from the heavens themselves. If only she knew what her soulmate’s own birth was like, the polar opposite in the freezing snows of Pangea, but she is too young and too innocent to comprehend the bloody manner in which he has come forth. She cannot even understand the meaning of the word soulmate, for it is not a word she has ever heard uttered.

    The young dragoness recalls the sounds of her mother’s voice, and the sweet whispers from within the confines of her womb. She doesn’t understand why her mother isn’t here now, or why the only thing keeping her warm is the flames crackling inside of her. It’s so cold here, nothing like the safety of her dam, and being here all alone is so frightening. This world is too big and too cold and too bright, and she curls up tighter under the tree she was left beneath, too shy to try and go explore this new world.

    Eventually her strength runs low and the dragon fades away, leaving a small blue foal upon the snow instead. She is colder in this form, she immediately discovers, though the fire is still there. Squeaking pitifully, she wonders if anyone will find her here – specifically, her mother. She doesn’t want to be alone anymore but she doesn’t know how to not be alone and it frightens her. Every moment until now, she had been safe and warm and comfortable, and now she is somewhere else entirely.

    Bleating again, she struggles to pull herself to her tiny hooves, balancing precariously for a moment on her knees before her feet are beneath her and she is standing. She stands proudly and refuses to fall, and calls again, louder this time.
    #2
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    Their family expands. Each season, almost. Day after day, a new discovery, a new relative, a new child.

    Tiphon said in passing of recent children he has sired, but there is not enough of an emotional tether to plant a drive within him to play the role. He is away now, dissipated with the seasons since there’s not since been a use for him. There is no plague to reverse, no souls to heal from the crawling shadows. With a feeble goodbye, Tiphon skirted away for now. It will not be permanent – it never is.

    But it leaves a child at their doorstep, bleating as the snow descends upon her. Curious, and reliant on the strength of family, Castile mirrors the drifting flight of the snowfall from his mountainous peak toward the child bleating into the cold. Concern furrows his brow when his hooves settle onto the rocky earth, slipping once from the slick precipitation.

    He had seen her as she was, before this, before her body shrunk to a foal. Her coat, her eyes, her every fiber, inclines him to accept what she is and to press his lips reassuringly to her poll. ”Hello,” he murmurs as his warm voice clouds around them just as another wintry gust nips their skin. The girl trembles in her solitude and although he cannot pull her to her feet, he tries to encourage her, to join him. ”I will warm you, but you need to get up,” his head turns and his eyes preen their surroundings, searching for someone that could be her mother, but he’s met by a white curtain and abandonment.

    A plume of black smoke coils from his nostrils as he drops his head to touch her. ”Come, you are with family now,” one by one, he hoards them within his grasp. A fleeting glance is spared toward the rocky ledge above but it falls back to the porcelain girl – a beautiful light in the blizzard. ”Were you named?” He almost includes her abandonment, almost lets his tongue slip to remind her she is alone, but a quick notion suppresses the words before they ever reach his tongue. With a sweet nudge, he quietly adds, ”I’m Castile,” a relative, but perhaps a near enough replica of a father now.


    castile



    @[clarissa]
    #3
    your breath frozen in the air, newborn droplets of ice
    you were the one thing i got right
    It’s curious to think that the tiny girl was born from an angel and the devil himself – it is an unusual pairing, but perhaps not the strangest to ever occur. What will she be like as a child, as a teen, as an adult? It’s not something she yet knows, nor any of them; will the devil and god rage a war inside of her that can only be quelled by violence, or will she be angelic yet terrible to behold? Is there anyone who can predict that?

    She should be terrified at the winged shadow making its way towards her, but she only feels a calm bravery as Castile’s hooves crunch into the snow in front of her. He is in his horse form, but she feels a kinship with him, her inner dragon pulling itself towards the stallion and embracing his touch to her poll as if nothing else matters. He is family, something tells her, and his breath is warm against her face as he encourages her to stand. Shivering, she gathers her tiny hooves under her and struggles to her feet, leaning into the piebald stallion.

    “Family,” she echoes quietly, voice sweet as she meets his eyes with a shy smile. He asks her if she has a name and she stops, not sure of how to respond. A name? So far, her entire existence has been here in the snow; she doesn’t even know her mother’s name. “No,” she tells him with a shake of her head, pressing herself into his warmth. “No name,” she repeats, the thought heavy on the tiny girl’s mind. Should she have a name? Should someone have named her? Why was she left all alone in the snow?
    clarissa


    @[Castile]
    #4
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    Castile observes every intricate detail of her face and coat as she rises to her feet to unsteadily lean against him. A smile lifts the corners of his mouth, mirroring the warmth that blossoms in his chest. Slowly, he reaches down, his baroque neck arching, and presses his muzzle gingerly against the child’s head. A deliberate breath is drawn in, memorizing her immediately when she echoes him. Yes family, he doesn’t say, but nods in quiet agreement when her gaze lifts to his own.

    Such a delicate girl, but there is strength in her bones and in her blood. What thrives within her is shared among them all, but he doesn’t force this onto her, not yet.

    The wind chill is biting and though it distracts him from feeding her much more information, it’s an invitation for closeness. Like a father, he caresses her then plays with her short, mohawk. ”No name, huh?” This has never been a forte of his. Much of the naming has fallen into the hands of mothers, but he doesn’t bring it up to her. It’s a wound he wants to heal, a pain that he wants to mend while there is time. Rolling his muscular shoulders, he considers how beautiful she is, even in her youthful innocence. He notes her golden points, how similar they are to Tiphon’s. And her bright eyes, meddling with the soft lines of her face.

    ”Okay,” a sigh passes through his lungs, acquiescing and making a decision. ”Clarissa. Your name now is Clarissa. Does that sound okay?” A smile broadens with an underlying touch of pride to have devised it himself, to have helped in forming another generation of his family. ”I will take care of you,” he pauses to nudge her again, still clutching her to his warm side, ”You’re safe here, with me.”


    castile



    @[clarissa]
    #5
    your breath frozen in the air, newborn droplets of ice
    you were the one thing i got right
    As she leans into her surrogate father, she feels safe for the first time, and so pleasantly warm. She doesn’t know if it is because of her tender age or the drake inside of her, but she feels sluggish in the snows, and the warmth radiating from the dragon-stallion soothes the ache in her tiny limbs. When his muzzle presses to her face once more and he breathes in her scent, she whickers happily, her golden eyes gleaming when their gazes cross. He is right – there is strength and fire holding the girl together, and perhaps one day she will burn brightly for all the world to see.

    For now, she is content in his warm embrace, and she giggles as he plays with her short mane. He considers her lack of a name and she watches him curiously as he contemplates his options, wondering what he’s going to deem her. Will it be something pretty, like his name? She can’t even think of any options herself – what kind of words make a name? How does someone name something, or someone else? Are there others who name themselves? All of the questions threaten to spill off of her tongue but she holds herself back, eager to know the thoughts rolling through his head.

    Finally he makes a decision, and she stands taller as he names her: Clarissa. She prances a little in the snow and squeals happily, pressing her nose into his shoulder. “Clah-rissa,” she repeats, whispering the name into his leg while her tiny tail beats excitedly back and forth. “Clarissa.” She pulls her face away and looks at the pinto stallion, pure joy radiating from the tiny thing. “It’s me,” she whispers, awed. She is Clarissa, now and forever, and she is safe here, with him.
    clarissa


    @[Castile] if it's okay i'm gonna end this here because foals are IMPOSSIBLE but they can thread again soon for sure <3




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