"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
She has avoided this land for as long as she can remember.
She wouldn’t call herself afraid; perhaps just superstitious. She’d heard the history of the land time and time again: Carnage had raised it multiple times — a spit in the face to the fairies, who seemed all-powerful to her. Even when her parents ruled the kingdom, she was hesitant to visit, but these are extenuating circumstances.
So, Isilme finds herself flying to Pangea. The hell-hole, she thinks to herself as she lands at the border between her territory and the wasteland. The golden girl did not bring her loyal friend Spot with her, though she is sure he is not far behind — the Cove is small and a short ways away from Pangea.
She has heard almost nothing about the new queen — only that she may not be as peaceful as Dawn, though really, few are — so she stands firmly at the border, wings tucked, out of respect. She wonders for a moment if she should have planned something to say on her flight over, but shrugs the thought away, waiting patiently. She knows it won’t be long before she’s approached.
Stave never finds himself bored while wandering through Pangea.
He knows that the land does not hold the same allure for his sister, but he is enraptured by it. He loves the canyons and the valleys. He loves the way that the sound of his hooves sound when they ring out through the kingdom, when they bounce off the canyon walls and then reverberate back to him.
Still, despite his fascination, he knows that the kingdom is a quiet one.
He knows that there is not much for him to explore and so when he sees the newcomer land at the border, it grabs his attention. He is older now, approaching his two-year-old year and filling out, growing taller. He is no longer the lanky boy that he had been when he first met Ana, although so much is the same.
Slowly (he is not in a hurry after all), he makes his way toward her. There are no clattering bones at his feet for once although it is difficult to mask the smell of death that has long ago seeped into his bones.
He smiles, but it is a cold and empty thing.
“Welcome to Pangea,” he offers, his black eyes flat and depthless. “I’m Stave.”
11-20-2019, 12:01 AM (This post was last modified: 11-20-2019, 12:01 AM by Anaxarete.
Edit Reason: tag
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YOU CAN HEAR WHEN THE HEART STOPS.
She had been expecting this visit.
The shadowmare knew that Dawn, the deposed queen, would return to her homelands - to her daughter. Anaxarete was beginning to think that she was going to need to journey to the Cove herself to determine the intentions of those remaining in the territory. But in the end, her patience had been rewarded.
The shadow queen is pleased to see Stave has already come to greet their visitor. She is not at all deterred by the smell of death that surrounds the boy - knowing of the beautiful gift that he holds. She brushes her nose against his neck - a gesture of affection rarely seen from the shadowmare. However she feels great affinity for the young necromancer - she wants nothing more than to see him thrive.
But her cool gaze settles upon the winged woman - standing dutifly at the border.
“Welcome, I am Anaxarete,” the shadowmare says, simply, dipping her dappled head in greeting. “I take it your mother made it safely back to the Cove?” she asks, though the girl’s presence in Pangea is answer enough.
“I know you must have questions. Concerns. Please know I wish you to speak freely of such things.” The shadowmare’s tone remains cold, but the words are genuine. If the Cove were to remain a territory - a loyal territory - it was long past time to have this conversation.
Anaxarete had questions of her own, of course, but it was only polite to let the girl speak her part first.
She’s right. It doesn’t take long.
She smells him before she sees him approaching — the stench of death, though she doesn’t recognize it as such. She holds herself as a tough girl: head held high, smug, but at her core she is an innocent child. Her childhood had been so pleasant: a loving mother, a twin and a companion to always play with, free reign of her home, a best friend in another land to always talk with. What would she know about struggle, about death?
He speaks to her, smiles, but his dead eyes are unnerving. She shifts her wings; a nervous tic.
“Stave,” she repeats as another mare joins them, nuzzling the boy’s neck. “Isilme.”
She assumes this gray mare is the one who had taken over after her parents. She’s rather plain looking, she thinks, though battle-scarred. There must be more to her than appears.
“Yes, she did,” she says shortly, pausing, thinking. “I don’t care that you took Pangea from my parents. I just want to know who you are.”
”Isilme,” the shadowmare repeats the girl’s name. It is evident that girl is uncomfortable, but her presence alone speaks volumes. Anaxarete has no intention of taking the Cove from her, not with Pangea consuming the majority of her time and energy at present.
“Understandable.” she says simply, in response, though she doubts that Isilme will ever know her. So few do. But at least now there was a face with the name - Anaxarete cannot imagine that Dawn had many kind words to share with her daughter regarding the situation. The girl’s straightforward approach, however, is refreshing.
“You’re free to do as you wish in the Cove, all I ask is your loyalty to Pangea. As long as you remain loyal - you may call upon me and Pangea as a whole if you are ever in need.” This much is true.
“I’ll be watching,” she adds, and the vague threat in the simple statement is obvious. “Perhaps I’ll send Stave along to check on things periodically,” she muses, aloud, looking to the little necromancer with a smile.
Stave has never been one for many words. he has never fancied himself anything of a diplomat or the sort so he feels no pressure to carry the conversation. When the shadow Queen approaches, his lips quirk just slightly in the corner and he leans into the touch, closing his eyes briefly as he feels that sensation of cold run across his star-lit flesh; a strange feeling when closeness usually brought warmth, but he preferred it.
His depthless eyes then flick back to the newcomer and he studies her.
He doesn’t acknowledge her name or react when she states her intentions, although he appreciates that she is blunt and straightforward. He cannot imagine anything more dull than watching her attempt to lie to Anaxarete. It would have been such a pointless endeavor, although amusing in its own right.
Still, the best diplomatic meetings were ones that ended quickly.
Or violently, he thinks with a shiver of pleasure, but the thought never rises to his features.
It is only when his name is said that he perks again, brightening at the thought of it. His lips spread into the semblance of a smile, although it is more of a caricature than anything, bleeding and cold.
“I would love to visit,” he says just as he pulls the bones of a recently deceased snake from the ground. It breaks the top of the soil and winds around his leg, coming to rest near his shoulder.
