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  • Beqanna

    version 22: awakening

    COTY

    LILLIANA -- Year 206

    QOTY

    "There is still something of himself - something of the Wolfbane who would always love her - that rallies against the slime. It says, 'lie in the bed you’ve made'. So he gathers the covers and tucks himself in." -- Wolfbane, written by Calcifer


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    #1

    It’s been a while since Isilya has ventured into the common areas of Beqanna and the arrival of spring beckons her to the more temperate regions. As much as she loves Tephra and the surrounding tropical lands for their lush greenery all year round, spring has always been her favourite season. The first flowers, the blossoms on the trees, the soft bleats of baby animals, the return of birds that had left for the snowy season. She supposes she is now one of those birds, spending most of her time in warmer climates.

    For the occasion, the vines that run down her spine are decorated with cherry and apple blossoms of white and the softest of pinks. It’s early in the morning and there’s sunshine - though some clouds suggest a spring rain may be coming. Not that grey clouds are enough to dampen this shimmering gold girl’s spirits.

    She’s looking for someone to meet, a new friend to make, but in the meantime she weaves together some of her favourite flower birds from the wildflowers of the meadow and they swoop along beside and around her as she walks through the spring-lush grass.

    The presence of the flower-birds makes her think of the last friend she had made with them, and she cannot help but hope she'll be just as lucky today.
    isilya
    image from flickr


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    #2
    Symba is taking in the sights and smells of the new spring. He reaches down for another mouthful of fresh, dew-touched grass. He can feel his whole body relax as the birds chirp their melodies. He smiles as he watches the newborn foals, struggle to get up with their lanky legs. He chuckles softly as some of the foals have fallen and some have gotten up with help of their mother. He slowly makes his way to where the herds are. He stops as some of the younglings prance circles around him before getting wobbly and falling over. He smiles softly as he nudges the bay colt up and over towards his mother, who is watching her colt prance around Symba. She chuckles and nods in approval as the colt goes back for a meal.

    Symba notices the porcelain mare, who has some gold spots around her body. He perks his ears up and swishes his tail. He slowly makes his way to the mare, not wanting to scare her or interrupt her in any way.

    Isilya
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    #3
    per aspera ad astra

    She had not meant to wander far.
    She had only meant to test her legs.
    Born early, before the snow had melted (and perhaps because her mother’s womb could not longer steel itself against how brightly she burned), the legs had been thin and wobbly. Her mother had tried to steady her, to help, but her nose had come away singed and the child had to learn on her own.

    She had started with two or three shaky steps, the snow melting around her when she collapsed in it. But she was a fierce, determined thing and had finally graduated to being able to race across that great swath of meadow.

    She had not meant to wander far.
    But she had learned to hop and to skip and the unfettered joy that blossomed in her baby ribcage was intoxicating. So, she leapt and she shrieked and she lost sight of her mother. But she caught sight of something else. The eyes – pinprick stars in a sea of constellations themselves – alighted on a bird. But it was no ordinary bird! No, this bird had leaves and petals and they drew a soft gasp of wonder out of her as she scurried after it.

    She saw the two of them – the white mare and the buckskin stallion – but did not register their presence. She leapt, hoping to touch the bird. There were several others, but she had her sights set on the one that had initially caught her eye. And when she leapt, the bird (small and practically weightless) slid into the pull of her gravity, and she skimmed her nose along its flowered wing. The bird faltered then, the wing catching fire, and then plummeted to the freshly-thawed ground below.

    Oh no!” she cried, the eyes wide and doleful. “I killed it,” she mumbled, her glow dimming with her sorrow. “I didn’t mean to,” she added, staring down at it.

    L E O N O R A
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    #4

    Isilya is about to call out a greeting to the stallion approaching, but she feels the effect of someone else’s magic on hers and turns to see one of the flower birds catch fire and fall to the ground. “Oh!” The cries and regret of the girl who had done so quickly cuts to Isilya’s heart that she moves over towards the girl, murmuring soft assurances. She can feel a tug towards the filly like a physical thing, but does not think anything of it.

    Instead she smiles - her gaze warm and soft. “Have you ever heard of a phoenix before? They rise out of their own ashes.” With a nod towards the burnt remains of the bird, Isilya uses her magic to reverse the damage. And now, the birds all shimmer with a dusting of gold as well - purely aesthetic but it has the impression of making the little creatures seem more resilient. And they are - infused with a touch more of Isilya’s magic they can now withstand fire and heat.

    It’s not the first time she’s had to do this little trick, and she wonders whether this girl and Brinly are related at all. “There you go, you won’t burn them now. I promise.” The same shimmering bird that had once been nothing but ash now swoops over to the filly and goes to land gently on her head to emphasize this point.

    “See? No hard feelings at all! I’m Isilya, what’s your name?”
    image from flickr


    Symba leonora
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