"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 had hoped that from the cover of naked branches, their skeleton fingers thin and gripping, that the meadow would be covered in a blanket of flawless white. Flames of orange and red had coated previously the edges of the meadow in rush pigments that celebrated the coming of autumn and the time of copulation. Elk had taken the refuge between gnarled trunks, thickets of thorns coveting her as the precious creature she was, safe and sound.
With the plunge of temperatures too enticing, the rich bay mare crawls her way towards the meadow to seek grass and cold snow waters. Dark limbs pluck cautiously over exposed roots despite the way her hooves sink into the moss choked grounds. Summer had been plentiful with rainfall and bright sunshowers. The grass grew despite the shift in Beqanna that spoke in dead languages to the deceased...urging them to return to their home lands.
Breathes capture in small frosted clouds, translucent and drifting, Elk is almost envious of its freedom. Dark eyes flicker from the thickness of her lashes to watch how horses paired up and others flitted along aimlessly. Colors, wings, horns...all were so mesmerizing as she admires them all from the treeline. Just a plain mare, nothing remarkable, nothing outlandish. She emerges into the layer of early snow, limbs high, her rich coat gleaming like molten chocolate as she whickers a gentle greeting to an equine not far away. With ears rotated forward, she listens for a reply, taking the liberty of a few more steps.
Autumn was one of his most favorite seasons, if not his favorite.
The crisp cool air and promises of long heavy winters brought him exploring through Beqanna at a quickened pace. With each and every face he met, he never could justify the time needed to spend to stop and truly get to know them. The only real interest was their, how do you say it? Differences?
As far as he knew he was nothing like the rest. He was simply colored strangely, and at this point he was convinced that the reason for that was because his mother had given birth to him on the edges of Beqanna before sweeping him off towards another land. But as for his gift from the faeries, it had yet to be discovered. It's curious to think if his favorite season will come to change when it is discovered or will spring and summer continue to be hated, just as much as it is now?
I guess that's one thing we will have to wait to find out.
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His first true time in Beqanna had only been half a year ago, yet he hadn't done much of anything except wander around and stare at the different lands that patched together and made up this unique and wonderful place he now called home. Exploring was exactly what he had been doing today, yet this time he kept from the shadows. In the glowing light of Autumn the stallions hot pink and black ombre coat shone brilliantly in contrast with the colors of autumn spread across the ground and through the trees. His snow colored mane and forelock lay thick and in curls against his neck and forehead and for a moment a pink eye or two pokes through the strands of hair with delicate precision.
He's moving towards the meadow finally, long ombre legs sweeping elegantly as they carried him across the hardened ground. His hooves crunched into the snow beneath him and with soft breaths, plumes of steam wafted gently across his face. It's quiet here, like it is everywhere at this time of year. Yet the silence is different. It brings with it a sort of cozy welcome, beckoning the wandering souls deeper into it's grasp. Even a soul like his, content in the shadows and alone, could and was being persuaded into joining the rest.
The sound of her call carries across the emptiness the moment he crosses the boundaries of the meadow and for a moment he ignores it and comes to a stop. He watches as the groups mingle and press together for warmth. Somewhere deep within a part of him recoils from the thought of socialization and being like them. Yet rather than follow the recoil and turn back into the woods, he steps forward and turns his body towards the call he heard earlier. With stiff and unsure movements the stallion soon catches up with the other. A solid pink eye lands on her plain features and a small bit of envy passes through his mind.
"I wish I were as plain as you," a deep, crackling voice spills through his lips and is followed by a dragged out sigh.
R - E - H - U
THANKS FOR THE HTML PHAETRA !
hi. drunk post and first time posting this boy. please bear with me <3
A cackling lady, the mare had been nothing more than a phantom in the girl’s shallow memories. There for a minute, and gone for nearing two years, Mazeika struggled with each fading day to recall the face of a woman prone to flight. And as for her father? There was nothing. No smudged image to hold onto or a name to pray to.
But was she upset? Hardly. For all she knew, this was simply the norm.
And when the leaves fell with the prying wind, and skittered past as if they had a mind of their own, she would smile. Often times, finding herself carried away with the strides of chase, laughing as the leaves swept up and tickled at her hocks when the breeze suddenly changed direction.
Today the chase is cut short when she inadvertently drops in on a duo as she crests a dainty slope, just in time to hear the bright lad’s innocent wish. But that’s not the way she hears it, and the words fall beyond her star speckled lips before she can think the better of them, “That’s hardly a nice thing to say,” she chides, though she is clearly the youngest of the trio, a fact that she conveniently ignores as she drops the flat line of her mouth for the upswing of a jubilant smile “I think she’s lovely!” . Her face a slate of strict seriousness, the buckskin girl exchanges a glance from the quiet mare to the remarkable gent, “And honestly, you’re pretty too!”
And then With an impish giggle, “Wow, how rude of me to crash your party like that without a proper introduction! My name is Mazeika - Mazy for short. Who might you be?”
Neverwhere has been here before, but the place looks... different. The smells are the same, though, the clean scent of grass and the faintly musty one of damp oak and maple, the menthol scent of conifers. They are a riot of color, red and gold, green, blaze orange, and something bordering inexplicably on magenta. Branches curl behind them, some black, others paler, grey-green, silver, and paper-white, peeling, birches. Acorns crunch underfoot.
She is drifting and out of her depth, but not lost. Never lost. The dappled mare touches her scarred nose to the damp, rough bark of the large oak beside her and knows what it will feel like before her skin presses against it. She feels that twist in her chest again. Magic. If one can see past the clouds in her eyes, they would see a brief flare of wonder suddenly freeze as her ears fall back against the dark earth-brown of her poll. The skin of her nostrils tightens and she bares her teeth viper-fast, raking them against the tree and scarring it's bark.
And then she is still again, ignoring the bitter and tannic taste of the tree's skin caught in her teeth, drying her tongue. It matches the dryness of her throat.
Damn it, Heartfire.
This place has changed her faster than she thought that it would. She is angry at herself, at loyalties she hadn't meant to let take root within her. The dappled mare lingers beneath the glorious cover of autumn leaves, her creams and chocolate browns blending seamlessly into the warm afternoon light filtering through, avoiding the open areas until she catches the bay mare's soft greeting in her frostbitten ears. It often happens this way, she is in the trees, spotted by someone she hadn't known was there.
She sighs.
But before Neverwhere can even turn to see who has caught her, a stallion approaches, bright as a poisonous amphibian. He wishes to be as plain as the quiet bay? He should. A third mare arrives, young, raw, she scolds him. The bald-faced mare weaves herself out of the thin tree line, drawing closer to the bay than to the flamboyantly colored pair.
"I think it's the most sensible thing I've ever heard anyone say in Beqanna."
Her refuge had been the trees, gnarled and bending to the wind, and yet never breaking. She had used their swaying arms like a confessional as she whispered her words and pressed her sins to the bark as it left the weakness of her splintered soul. She dared to leave their overseeing branches...now naked in the autumn cold, twisted wooden bones gripping blindly to keep their coveted child within their grasp.
Her call had surprisingly reached that of fuscia man with slit eyes and scrutinizing lips. Had he meant harm? Elk can only suspect 'no' as he neared with ears forward but cautious and watching. She felt magnified and dissected under his unwavering gaze before seven little word found the faults in her seams and dug into her tender flesh. Dark eyes cast downward as she looked from the damp black legs of her legs to the vivid magenta of the nameless man who cut the silence of a snowy meadow with plain observation.
"I-", personification of herself begins and wavers somewhere in the throng of a soft defense but it abruptly extinguished by contrasting canary and starry girl. Another had joined the pair. Ears flicker like candlelight as the girl breathes her objection with nerve. Elk dares not breath as she can feel a swell of tension rise (though her heart blooms ever so slightly that someone had called her pretty). Chocolate eyes shift from the youth to the stallion, her lips tugging up slightly, a cool autumn wind catching her forelock so it lifts to reveal the only white mark upon her body...a simple small white star.
"I'm Elk..." The warm brown eyes find themselves upon the dappled gold of another mare approaching. Her attention flits to the stallion and the young mare, a smile of bright curiosity flickering across her dark lips, forgetting the tension that had thickened the air. The bay woman straightens herself and attempts to tame the unruly locks of her tangled mane but it is to no avail as she was a forest dweller, savage and uncaring for appearances.
They seemed educated...well versed in ways Elk only dreamt of beneath the dappled night skies, the scent of spring rain and pine clinging to her skin. "I think you're all wonderful." The expression comes less forceful than anticipated but the clearness in her eyes could convey all of her emotional authenticity. "I've never seen such coats like yours." Another simple observation that was nodded towards Mazy and the unknown male. The golden mare...well, her beauty simply exuded from the height of her elegant head to the squareness of her shoulders. Perhaps Elk had been the one to interrupt a gathering with her call but it was certainly too late now to return to the woods...she was here and now and very much present within the gathering of their newly group.
OUR BACKS TELL STORIES NO BOOKS HAVE THE SPINE TO CARRY
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