"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
With gritty eyes I'm trying to focus, to think past the constant aching in my chest. To catch my breath. For a handful of suffocated moments I am caught in terror, the dark pressing in from every side and holding me frozen in place. Death is better than the depths of hell I know, and hell is the crushing dark.
(Are you afraid of the dark now? Coward)
My heart gives a painful lurch at the voice slipping past my ear. There's nothing, no one, and yet I know what I heard. A shiver borne only partially of the cold slides my back, the touch of ice and fear. I could still be trapped miles beneath the sky, surrounded by the weight of the earth and dwindling air and my own ragged thoughts and I don't know how to escape! No way out, no way out nowayoutnowayout...
The miserable swaying of my bruised body halts as a foreign sound registers. High pitched. Fluting. My ears lay flat against my skull until the memory returns. That's a bird I'm hearing. A thrush, I think.
It's a surprise when the sob breaks out.
There are no birds below. No cold breezes that smell of snow and pine. Hot tears have begun to stream down my face, and I couldn't stop them if I tried. Either this is some new trick, or I am finally, finally back. The sobs are ugly, wracking things that shake me from head to tail, but I feel nothing but relief. When at last I blink away the murk from my eyes, a cry of wonder parts my bloodied lips. There, barely there, the horizon is taking on its predawn light, thickly laying clouds glowing from the inside. The weak light is just right for my deprived sight, and the tears flow again when I make out the shape of a winter-bare tree, the outline of a familiar landscape.
Even with wounds so fresh that they're still weeping, with a rod of smooth wood piercing my breast so that I am intimately, constantly aware of my heart's every pulse. Even with the gnawing voices that have not stopped murmuring since I opened my eyes. I am alive. I am here. There is a thrush singing, and the sun is rising.
I wanna be Immortal, like a God in the sky
I wanna be a silk flower, like I'm never gonna die
At first, the near-emptiness of the New Isle is fine with the ice dragon: after all, it means people leave him be. Neverwhere hadn’t bothered to come scowl at his taking over, which suggests the bald-faced mare isn’t very interested nor invested in the island to her north. She is, of course, very much playing favourites, but not with him.
His stomach wins it, in the end. The once frozen place has been turned to a less-frozen version of itself, and the transformation turned ‘little food’ into ‘hardly any scraps at all’. Animals that had died had also been turned to dust, and even Leilan, or perhaps just Leilan as a dragon, decides that he is not stubborn enough to live out his days in hunger -not just to claim a territory that nobody else wanted.
His wings carry him to the Field, but his dragon shape does not attract any visitors; what animals he sees all leave the scene. He wonders if Castile is still around; if he made Beqanna into a fearful bunch of horses and lands; with the exception perhaps of the magicians, who mostly would be enjoying the show.
He turns back, to see if the Meadow or Forest perhaps hold a deer for him - and then he spies the familiar form down below. Sabra.
She hadn’t been in Hyaline when he last visited; the ice had been broken from the inside out, so he knew she hadn’t been eaten or taken away, but woken by herself. Part of him had been sorry he hadn’t been around when she woke, part of him had been very, very glad he wasn’t there to be the subject of her anger.
He lands in the grass, and his wings retreat to his back and his body sits in a cat-like manner. Whatever the type of bird had been singing, unfortunately falls dead-silent. As if such a bird would be any type of useful meal - in fact he would welcome one if they’d like to rid his scales if littler insects. ”Sabra.” he names her, his tail swishing in the grass until it meets his front paws. ”You finally made it back, I see.” Part of the reason that he hadn’t been there when she woke, was that waiting was the one thing that bored him the most.
His eyes squint at her and the javelin piercing her. ”Not unharmed though? Did you walk into a tree?” he tilts his head at her, blinking fake-innocently.
and I don’t want you to think that I care I never would, I never could again
Leilan
no. 7 | ice forged in fire
@[Sabra] she knows her way around dragons I’m sure
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
03-06-2020, 02:01 PM (This post was last modified: 03-06-2020, 02:02 PM by Sabra.)
Sabra
My reverie is interrupted, and when I see by whom, the tears freeze to my face. I had never seen him in this form before, but the similarities in color and pattern, in arrogant mannerisms were hard to miss.
Leilan.
I do not move as he nears. The subtle reverberations of his weighty steps through the earth travel up my legs and inside my bones. It's taking everything I have not to shake with them. He's perched himself ever so daintily on the meadow sward, glinting dully in the early morning sun while he speaks. The smile that touches my pale pink lips is a dangerous one, if you'd known me long enough.
"Oh Leilan, always with the jokes! Well you know what's not a joke?" I asked, stepping closer to the scaled figure with every word until my nose was aligned with his and the spear in my breast tapped lightly on his scales.
"Killing horses! That are Clearly! Not in their! Right! Minds!" Any banshee would have given me full marks on the howling shriek I loosed just then. It peeled from my throat with a vengeance, and my wings and hooves and teeth took over the conversation. Thunder rolled through the air with every battering stroke as I sought to beat some sense into the grinning stallion, teeth and hooves seeking some purchase on the slick scaled hide, to draw just some of the blood in return for that which he'd so kindly spilled forme. I waa seeking any exposed skin, eyes, delicate wing membrane. Whatever I could reach that would cause the most pain.
"And then you locked me in a CAVE! You self righteous BASTARD," I paused the biting to berate him further. There was a lot to berate, I felt. But my burst of furious energy was coming to an end, and I could feel the weight of my wings complaining about the sudden activity. Gusting breath and chest heaving with the throbbing ache I'd earned by disturbing the spear, I fell back, eyes still livid.
I wanna be Immortal, like a God in the sky
I wanna be a silk flower, like I'm never gonna die
As the scaled figure sits there, the woman - including the spear - whom he addresses doesn’t seem too grateful. In fact she seems rather cross with him, a fact that he initially can’t get quite behind, but to be honest he had already expected it; she would be one of those to ask for one thing and mean another, then get upset as his misinterpretation. Still he’d hoped to catch her a little more off-guard with the little joke, as usually, upset horses couldn’t help but crack a miniature smile when he distracted them that way.
Not Sabra: she doesn’t get easily distracted, which would have been admirable in literally any situation where he was not the subject of her anger. She’s furious. Thunder rolls and the mare attacks him, and the male is super glad that his shifting is enough out of control, that his body is still draconic - his scales protect most of him, though when she tries (hindered by the spear, thank goodness) for his wings he shifts them away uneasily. She also yells about killing horses who are clearly not in their right mind, and though he looks very uneasy, his mind dares to wander to perhaps doing exactly that once more, if only to break free of her - but he knows it’s only a temporary solution, and he can’t run away forever.
So, he restrains himself from that idea, but he does answer her coolly while she feasts her hooves upon his unfeeling scales. ”I know you’re immortal, Sab. And if I may say so, you look a lot better now,” he says. Arguably that is, as she looks physically hurting, which may or may not be the only reason she hadn’t flown up to take an eye out, or something; so far, she’s leaving him relatively unscathed. ”Much more like your old self.” he finishes the thought hopefully before she gets into another fit, but can’t help to smile. Yes. Definitely like she should be. Completely normalled-out. Taking on dragons and all that.
When she finally notices her teeth not hurting him, or perhaps she just wants to out more of her frustrations because she has more to say - she continues with the cave. Perplexed, he bows his head to stare directly at her - thankfully her energy is dying down. ”You’d rather have the vermin eat you, and I should just leave your body to rot away?” Seriously? Was all that dragging her to a safe place and not eating her and even preventing her from being eaten by other things - all that he did to preserve her and have her return as healthily as one could - that got her extra ANGRY with him?
Really?
”That’s the last time I’m granting a request from you, for sure.” Were he still a horse, he would have snorted - now, it’s a similar sound but she gets sprinkled with tiny snowflakes. His tone is again, or still (what’s the difference in his case) not entirely serious: it’s likely that he would actually do something else for her if she asked, as a way of making it up to her.
and I don’t want you to think that I care I never would, I never could again
Leilan
no. 7 | ice forged in fire
@[Sabra]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
03-12-2020, 08:45 PM (This post was last modified: 03-12-2020, 08:45 PM by Sabra.)
Sabra
I've stalked off a few paces, head low and snaking. I haven't let the serpentine beast out of my sight, even with my compulsive motion. He's looking at me, and I swear if dragon faces were capable of it, I'd say he looked baffled. The very nerve! My ears haven't lifted more than halfway to their erect position since I'd first sighted him, and the words that drum out from him do nothing to change that.
My hind feet strike at the air impotently, more than a little frustrated that I seem to have accomplished next to nothing in my fit of temper. If looks could kill, Leilan should have been stone dead the second he finished his thought. "That's no excuse and you know it!" I snap, glaring him down. "Killing horses does not cure them, that's what healers are for! But you didn't think of that, did you? No! You jumped straight to the thoat ripping!" I huff, stomping into the already churned-up earth beneath me.
The burning flag of my tail thrashes the air violently as he tries to shrug off my protests about the nature of my body's keeping. I found myself wishing for fangs or talons or poisonous spines. Some way to express the boiling anger that's melting the pit of my stomach away. "If you're looking for gratitude, you're going to be long disappointed. If I weren't dead in the first place, the vermin would never have even been a concern, would they," my voice has evened out somewhat, a bit raspy from the stress of screaming as hard as I had. It's still dripping with disdain and mistrust, however, something I could manage to do even mute.
The eternal wit, never taking a miserable thing seriously, his droll oath only had the effect of making my eyes roll far back. "Gods save me from the promises of dragons," I grumble, jaw tight. Those gods know I've had my fair share of them. My rose pink nostrils flare at the smattering of icy crystals that he blows across me, skin twitching where they land. I'm in the mood to be irritated by every little thing the roan lizard does today, and snotting snowflakes all over me certainly makes the list.
I wanna be Immortal, like a God in the sky
I wanna be a silk flower, like I'm never gonna die
a dragon who couldn't be hurt on the outside could have so many ragged holes inside
So. Well. This meeting could’ve been better.
And so much worse. Much, much worse, he thinks.
Maybe she’s not actually as angry (deep down) as she wants to appear - though he’d really rather not ask her. No, not at all.
As she continues her rampage about how killing is no solution, as he continues to be relatively unfazed - what's done is done, just like he hadn’t regretted Klau - oh, what fun he had a part in both of their deaths now - he knows he had not chosen differently back then than he might now. At least not with the same circumstances - she on the brink of death and looking so tired, his own mind tumultuous as it has been, only trying to do some recovering on his own.
He knew she needed the rest, and all he could think of was how long it would take her to resurface. Like it was some game to see who got back quickest.
-He wins, by the way. When he got drowned the same way he was back much quicker, though perhaps whoever ruled the Afterlife simply couldn’t stand him.-
When he quips about not giving her what she asks again, she gives him more sour comments, but this time he sees the endless loop he is stuck in, and doesn’t comment on anything else she says for a while. ”Well, I can’t make any more promises then. You’ll have to make do with me being not so sorry, what with my knowledge of your not being dead, and I’ll make do with you being absolutely not happy with the pause you got from the life that was eating you.” It seems to him, they’ve reached an impasse.
Actually managing a warm(ish) smile, he adds. ”I’m glad you do look a lot better now, though.”
Man, she looks like she would burn his snowflakes right out of the sky.
@[Sabra]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
I won't be making him regret things, I can see that now. Stubbornness ripples from born our hides almost tangibly, and I'm tempted to see exactly how much it would take to get his attention properly. It's a fools errand, though, one I've attempted before with a different lizard and it didn't end well for me then either.
That's when the cold seeps into my bones, the weight of the lance in my chest suddenly heavy and very real. It's not worth it. Not worth trying to reason and rationalize with someone I know listen and that I Havre no purpose to try with anyway. It won't get me anywhere.
My lips press into a hard line as he speaks, my eyes as far away as the sky. "Fine," the simple, single word is spat out with little feeling or force. I regard him coolly, a long moment where I try to find the stallion in the beast and fail. What else could I expect though? I have known them long enough, have see enough to no longer be surprised with the selfish nature of dragons. And perhaps it's worn off on me a bit. Or perhaps I've always been selfish, and that's what drew me to them in the first place. Either way, I know there's no winning between us.
My head dips in an exaggerated bow, the too-slim curve of my crest arching gracefully even as I mock everything about this meeting. The assurance that he's glad i look better feels like a slap in the face, like a lie meant only to placate my wrath. My smile is icy when I lift my head again, unyielding to the little voice that whispers that I am the unreasonable one. It doesn't matter, not really. I don't plan on interacting with him beyond this moment.
"If that will be all?" I asked thinly, brow arched. "Then I'll be off. I'm sure you've got a busy day of looking for mares to murder ahead of you. Don't let me hold you up." Despite everything, despite my own physical weakness, despite the sharp teeth and rigid claws staring me down, I can't hold back the need to be derisive. Its one tiny act of defiance that says I'm not beat yet. Not yet.
a dragon who couldn't be hurt on the outside could have so many ragged holes inside
The ice dragon holds the mare’s stubborn gaze, willing himself not to smile at her. To smile would detonate something akin to an atomic bomb, and his pride might not be able to take it. Not that he wouldn’t give her a fair fight… but it seems better to stay at this impasse.
”No thanks, that’s a one-time thing. It’s been incredibly boring waiting for you to come back. I like you better alive.” He smiles a bit at the mare as she prepares to leave. Then, he follows up with a frown, seeing another drop of blood ooze it’s way down the javelin. ”Would it help if I bit off a bit of your stick? Or would you fly off the handle if I got close to you?” he asks her.
@[Sabra]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
04-01-2020, 04:29 PM (This post was last modified: 04-01-2020, 04:30 PM by Sabra.)
Sabra
I don't turn back when he speaks again, my tail thrashing the only response he gets. Liked me better alive? As if he'd been sitting around waiting for me to return. Somehow I found that idea incredibly doubtful. I made it another three steps before he spoke again.
My hooves froze to the ground. Speaking to the air in front of me, I clipped my words off one by one. "And let you drive it deeper? No, thank you." There was no real malice in my voice, but an oblique pain that wouldn't be eased. My last memory of life was his teeth in my throat, his glee at my demise. There was no trust between us, even without the lance's influence.
My wings lift in guarded reaction, hoping to deflect the weight of his gaze on my back. It's a vain hope, but that's all I'm made of. Vanity, stubbornness and pride. A monument of sins with nothing to redeem myself by.
I wanna be Immortal, like a God in the sky
I wanna be a silk flower, like I'm never gonna die
The dragon’s gaze follows the pretty pearlescent mare in thought, mulling over her appearance. She was being very distrustful, and he could almost think he earned it - but also that she was laying it on a bit thick. That was her choice though, he decided. He didn’t need to have anything more to do with her than that they’d mutually agree to separate their ways - or rather, that she didn’t go after him for something as stupid as revenge.
”Maybe you have a point.” he agrees on the spear. Still, it looks hurtful. What ever did she do to earn that one? But he’s not gonna get the answer out of her anytime soon.
She’s already leaving - again, perhaps - and this time he stands up, too, spreading his wings in a stretch. ”Goodbye Sab. See you around, maybe.” He says goodbye as if he’s parting with an old friend for an unknown time, and this time, his smile does reach his eyes. However, he doesn’t think she appreciates anything he ever does, so he doesn’t linger. Not this time. He’s bothered her long enough.
and I don’t want you to think that I care I never would, I never could again
Leilan
no. 7 | ice forged in fire
@[Sabra]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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