"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
08-18-2019, 07:27 PM (This post was last modified: 08-18-2019, 07:28 PM by Catcher.)
It was a wonderful day to be lazy. No clouds in the sky, no blustering winds, and an unseasonably warm day for the Autumn, she basked in the heat of the sun until the dampness of her legs and underbelly began to prickle dry. The small stream of water where she had been previously lounging, continued to make its garbling sound and merrily went along to wherever it was running to. Rolling to her side, she exhaled, causing a puff of dust to rise and scatter about her horned head. Catcher’s grey eyes stared at nothing in particular through the haze, noticing by happenstance the way the brown edged grass swayed to and fro with each breath she took.
Something tickled her ear that rested upon the ground. Shifting her legs back beneath her and craning her head backwards, she looked to catch a glance at whatever had brushed against her, hoping a bit ridiculously that it hadn’t been a spider. She liked to look at them and their fancy tapestries, but she didn’t appreciate them hitching a free ride on her with their eight crazy legs and all. When she moved, it disturbed a leaping, fluttery thing to take off and land a few paces away. Certainly not a spider, or at least she hoped they hadn’t learned how to grow wings and fly. Curious, she right herself to a stance and took a hesitant step closer with her nose lowered toward the ground.
The creature leaped again, suddenly this time, causing the young mare to fumble backwards a few steps in unexpected surprise. At least this time she got a good look at it this time and could recognize the bouncing nuisance as a grasshopper. It leapt back towards her then, making the painted girl feel as though he were taunting her now. Well then. Bristling a bit and accepting his terms of a challenge, she squared herself to her fullest fifteen hand height before dropping her head to the ground again, this time knowing exactly what she was looking for. Occasionally he would sing to her, and she would turn and stomp the ground as if to try to catch him. Of course there were no intentions, but it was a matter of pride now. Her honor had to be restored.
At last the chirping ceased and she stopped moving too, knowing that she was close to where he had perched. ”I know you’re there you twiggy, um...n- not-a-butterfly-but-kinda-close...thing,” she mocked, or tried to anyway, scrunching her face in thought as she attempted to taunt him back. His silence spoke volumes; clearly he was unphased by her prodding. With a huff, she reared and brought all of her weight crashing back down to the ground with a loud thud, right next to where she was sure he stood laughing at her.
The running river of my life has slowed to a stream-fed lake in the wake of my reunion with Solace. Though a haze still insists on veiling my perception of reality, at least the reality is not altered by my inability to control the magic instilled in me by powers untold that day in the mountain, when I had died. Said pseudo-magic yet evades my mastery. Training reveals the depth of the power - but more importantly, it gives me something to focus on besides the endless internal monologue of fear and doubt which plays on repeat in my mind. When I am not engaging with Solace and our grandson, Clegane, born of our late daughter Warlight, I am honing in on that which, only weeks before, had seemed to be hellbent on destroying me.
Luckily, my older, cruder magic has remembered how to obey me. When I dream, I can take deep breaths again. The assurance that everything will be okay is written on each surface of the sleepy world. There is a place for me here.
Sometimes, though, I still sleepwalk. Not in the traditional way (though sometimes in that way, too); no, how it goes is this: where I fall asleep, I can never trust to be where I wake up. The distances between subconscious teleportations and original bed are growing smaller with each instance, a testament to the gradual recentering of my energies... Solace knows now not to panic when it happens, trusting that I will return to her before day's end each time it happens.
And today, it happens.
What universal forces dictate the laws of coincidence and fate are unknown to us mortals, the subjects of the universe's every whim. When I awaken in a new location again today, something tugs at the strings which feebly hold my character upright. Habit takes over momentarily, sending my hind end pivoting such that I might make my way back to wife and child; but the sound of rigorous stomping distracts me from my route, drawing me intrinsically toward the narrow branch of the river. The foliage underhoof creaks and whines at the weight of me. The trees seem to bend away as I weave my way through them.
From a slightly elevated position, I watch (invisible to the eye, the fibers of my hairs having been manipulated to match my surroundings) as my granddaughter attacks her seemingly nonexistent assailant. A smile ghosts across my lips. Memories of my firstborn daughter come unbidden, images of Warlight playing battle with her brothers, feelings of pride as she came home victorious from challenges. Not my daughter's daughter, though (though if Clegane weren't currently attached to Solace's side some miles away, I might have considered it) - but my son's. My illegitimate child's. My bastard son's.
Abysm's.
The dreamer in me senses her ability immediately, senses the flow of her bloodline which extends eventually back to me. An appraisal of her overo colouring and the obsidian of her horn (mimicking the obsidian of my hooves) only further solidifies my knowledge. I wonder to myself at the birth of this feisty; wonder briefly on the comings and goings of the son I abandoned, severely neglected, and loved. Loved as only a mother can. And I love him still.
But he is not here - so I step forward, shedding my cloak, revealing myself in my full grandeur to the girl.
"I hope for my sake that that is not how you greet every stranger you stumble upon."
A quip, quietly and knowingly delivered. Atop my head, a black horn identical to hers grows, one reminiscent of the one I traded in for my antlers some time ago. When it stills, long and thin and grooved, I nod to the child. Deeply, until our eyes find that they occupy the same level.
He’s gone silent for too long now. What if she’d squashed him? What if she killed him?! That’s not what she had wanted to do at all!
Panic starts to rise in her heaving chest as she straightens her awkwardly positioned legs. “Oh no, no, no, no,” she cried, scouring the crisp grass blades to try to find him. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I was only playing!”
There’s not much time for her to look before Catcher notices an almost palpable change in the air. The feeling of someone or something watching her had finally started to seep in, settling across her like an itchy cloak. The back of her neck prickled in response, and she turned in a tight circle, shuffling her slight frame haphazardly, kicking up a new cloud of dust in the process. She was certain that no one had been standing there a moment ago. “Who...who,” she started quietly, squinting through the haze and strange sunlight to make out the blurry shape approaching. Realizing she sounded like a strangled owl, her gaping mouth snapped shut before she could make the same pathetic sound again. Instead, she waited patiently, cautiously trying to make out the person before they were directly on top of her. Running wasn’t an option either - that would be rude.
"I hope for my sake that that is not how you greet every stranger you stumble upon."
“Depends on if the stranger is friendly or not,” the patched unicorn said warily, watching through narrowed eyes as a pretty woman came to fruition in front of her. A horn, not unlike her own seemed to grow out of nowhere on the woman’s brow, narrow and dark just like hers. Catcher’s head tilts curiously, a single brow raised daintily in an unspoken question. The lady asked her name, and its enough to snap her from her momentary fixation on the other’s appearance.
“My name is Catcher, who are you and how did you do that with your horn? Is this a dream?”
04-28-2020, 04:53 PM (This post was last modified: 04-28-2020, 04:55 PM by Kagerus.)
K
oh me oh my, i thought it was a dream...
Depends on if the stranger is friendly or not, comes my granddaughter's reply. I make no attempt to hide the coy grin that spreads across my lips as I make out the young mare's narrowed eyes and tilted head; such curiosity... A reminder of my first lover, of Rapt, who placed worship in the same reverent category as love making. Though softened and refined a great deal now two generations later, the quality does bring back memories of the young, foolish mare I had been and all her misadventures... But alas, my descendant's reverie ends and her voice brings me back to the present, too.
My name is Catcher. A beautiful name, I muse. Who are you and how did you do that with your horn? Is this a dream?
"I think you would know if it were a dream," I chuckle, the swing of my tail at the summer flies providing an accompaniment to the river's flow. "But, it's a good guess. Anyhow, I am Kagerus." I pause a moment, eager to notice any recognition in Catcher's expression before I go on. "Your grandmother."
With a swallow, I concentrate my efforts on the particles of air beside us and shift them in such a way that they reflect light just-so. Half a minute later, a decent resemblance of Abysm stands alongside us, shimmering golden and white in the light of the sun and even breathing. The illusion falls short of brilliant by any means but it gets my point across. "Unless this isn't your father, of course," I jibe, more chuckles rolling from my chest.
"Alas," I murmur. The illusion fades away and I return my gaze to Catcher. "Your father may not have spoken of me, and only with distaste if he did." Memories of how I abandoned him and his literal birth father cause my mouth to taste of ash. If I could go back, I would. But the youthfulness and innocence of the mare before me stays my tongue as it yearns to overshare; I move on, knowing that I will have time to lick my wounds later.
"But no matter! Tell me of yourself, Catcher. We much to catch up on." With the pun comes a wink -- hey! If abandoning politics, growing vineyards, and having grandchildren doesn't give you a bit of a pun allowance, then what even is the point? "Ah-hah-ha..."
The elder woman is right - Catcher is confident that she would know if it were a dream.
“I am Kagerus. Your grandmother.” A glimmer of recognition sparks in the turbid gray of her wide eyes. The name feels like a distant memory, buried beneath early childhood memories and the passing of time. Yet it is a name still potent enough to stir up that hidden memory of when her father had first introduced her to cognisant dreaming when she had first heard the name of the dreamer’s matriarch.
But still, she can’t help but question again if this weren’t all a dream as she watched her grandmother alter the fabric of reality, spinning a replica of her wandering father into a perfect, shimmering existence. Perhaps this wasn’t exactly a nighttime revelrie, but instead a fully aware daydream? In the end, the young mare realized it didn’t matter much - not when she could steal away an afternoon with someone like her - someone who she might be able to learn a thing or two from.
“I know of you,” she replied softly, taking a step nearer as the illusion of her father dissolved into the breeze and sunshine. “He never spoke poorly of you - just plainly.” There had been nothing of distaste, just the simple facts of her ancestry and how she and her gifts had come to be. “However, he did fail to mention how pretty you were and for that I will never be able to forgive him. It’s a relief to know how well I ought to age now. I was very worried about that.”
Her laughter melds with the tone of her grandmother’s, taking a turn in intensity at the dreadful pun with her name at the butt of the joke. “Well, there’s not much to say really. Mom and dad raised me well and I miss them, but I’m off on my own now. I’ve met some interesting people along the way…” she tapers off a bit, thinking about the names and faces she’d had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with thus far, lingering on one with a wistful smirk longer than the rest. “I don’t really have a home either. I just sort wander and see what I can get into.”
“What about you? I’m sure you’ve got lots of stories and wisdom to share with a roving dreamer.”
As the shimmer of my eldest son dissipates, Catcher steps closer. The scent of her reminds me so much of my estranged family that I struggle not to run my nose through her copper mane... I want to remember it for a long time to come. And yet something tells me that I needn’t worry about losing out on this side of my family — that despite my failures with Abysm, I might yet make amends with his daughter. She whose eyes twinkle, whose pelt gleams beneath the summer sun; I see so much of myself in this young dreamer. So much so that to stand in her presence feels almost compulsory.
I know of you, comes the young woman’s soft voice. When she explains Abysm’s neutrality towards the subject of his mother, something lodges in my throat. The desperate part of me who longs to make amends finds herself breathless, confused, and hopeful. Trigger happy. As though she could fall into a dream right now just to go to her first born. But I stay that part of me, swallowing against the invisible knot that blocks my airway; I have a duty to my present self and to Catcher, one which I shall not forego on the whim of a woman who failed me so many years ago. Catcher’s words make this easier, a genuine and laughter-filled grin befalling my expression as she compliments my appearance.
”You are generous in your assessment,” I reply, tilting my head. The scar that runs along it from my left ear to my right nostril, years old now, mars what may once have been a beautiful face; not that its presence concerns me any. The day I earned its mark in exchange for Solace’s immortality was one of the happiest of my life thus far; to never have to say goodbye to the one I love meant and still means far more to me than any imperfection. ”But thank you, anyhow. You are beautiful yourself.” At this, I lean forward and, with care, brush a strand of Catcher’s mane out from the tangle of her long black lashes. ”And no matter how your body changes or ages, that will remain true... even if you think otherwise.”
Catcher continues on to tell me of her upraising, one which sounds fair but light-handed. So often is that the case in Beqanna that I find myself unsurprised at the allowance; but still, I smile to know that I may yet have an influence in shaping the young mare before me.
”May I ask your mother’s name?” I say, ears perked for the answer. ”And do you have any siblings? I’m sorry to say that I know very little of Abysm’s family, hence the questions.”
At her final query, my weight sinks back into my haunches, my eyes drifting skyward with an upturn or my lips. ”The contents of my life extend far beyond a simple sentence or two,” I laugh, images of my last aflurry in my mind’s eye. ”And of course, it would be easier to show you in the dreamscape, but I’m sure we can find much better uses of our time there.” I smirk at my own implication, pausing a moment longer with my eyes sent up before allowing them to fall back to Catcher. ”Alas, what I can tell you is that I am married to a beautiful mare called Solace, that we are expecting twins this spring, and that we once ruled the Eastern quadrant together for years... Now, we live a simple in Tephra.” I smile to think of Solace asleep amidst her grapes, grown by yours truly. ”Both of our parents and many of our children live there. You would be welcome to come and visit us, whenever it pleases you.”
”Wisdom, though...” My grin turns rascally. ”I can’t claim to have been born with much, so my only advice is to live long, live well, and not to take any shit from others. And if you feel called to a life in politics, that last tidbit goes double.” I can almost feel a headache coming on at the memories of my time on a throne. ”Oh, and last but not least, those who ask are most likely to receive...”
”You are generous in your assessment” the elder mare replies, and to this Catcher smiles a tad impishly, turning her head in such a way to make the chaotic knot of her forelock fall to cover an eye. “I think you meant truthful in my assessment,” she remarks with youthful confidence and a shallow decisive nod of her head. The scarring of her grandmother’s face had gone largely unnoticed initially, only garnering attention when the perfect imperfection caught a faint strand of the filtered sunshine as Kagerus moved to brush the girl’s tangled locks away. There was a story behind it - she could tell - and it was one she’d love to learn someday.
“Kerrigan,” she said quietly in answer to the inquiry of her mother’s identity, still reveling in the warm compliments and touch of her grandmother. “I don’t know if I have any siblings,” she murmured with downcast eyes. Thinking of her mother and father dampened the lightness of her expression, reminding her of how long it had been since she had made contact with either of them. But it was okay, she’d see them again eventually. And she had plenty to remind her of them! “Actually, I got a little bit of both my parents,”she said proudly. Taking a step away from the bay washed mare, the young mare shifts, narrowing into the sinewy shape of an anaconda. “My mother is a shifter too and of course, I got the dream weaving gift from dad. Well...really I got that from you I suppose.” She smiles toothily and as well as a serpent can manage before warping back. It was doubtful the snake had scared her grandmother, but she didn’t like keeping that form for too long, as it did seem to make people more nervous than not.
Cather lapses into silence as Kagerus segues into the last of her inquiries, rendering her eager ears into chaos as they drank in what the mare had to offer. “Your family sounds lovely! Congratulations on the expected little ones or... my future aunts and uncles….I guess?” her face scrunched into a look of mild confusion, feeling the weight of how strange that sort of sounded once she had said it aloud. But nonetheless, it was still something to be excited about - the fact that a part of her family was well and thriving made her throat clench tightly with foreign emotion. She didn’t know them yet, but she wanted to, and some part of her already loved them.
And then she clutches at the last snippet of wisdom, thinking back to what Kagerus had mentioned of the dreamscape, “Will you show me what you know?”
{ and in my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times }
Kerrigan, my granddaughter answers. The unfamiliarity of her dam's name accompanies a curious hesitancy in Catcher's voice as she enunciates it, one which I take careful note of. Though I only speculate at its meaning, my guesses (involving my son's avoidant attachment style which I take full responsibility for) bring a tight heaviness to my chest. A pressure. An inhale marks the beginning of my further inquiries about this downcast association of hers but the youthful mare beats me to the punch, speaking with a more jovial tone as she explains her heritage to me.
The shift of the beautiful mare into an enormous, predatorial snake causes my withers to flinch and my horned head to toss with a snort. Though the whites of my eyes show for a moment out of instinct, the smile on my face grows. "I am impressed," I allow, stepping forward to extend my face towards the jaded snake. The softness of my muzzle brushes from the side of her head down the length of her upright body until I reach the forest floor. The strange, smooth-scaled sensation of her sends pleasant chills through my body and I step back, hoping to have imbued a sense of confidence and trustworthiness in the mare who shifts back into her equine shape all too soon.
I can empathize with a fear of one's own power, I think to her, though I know she cannot hear me.
"Thank you," I laugh at her following words. "I suspect that we would raise them as cousins to their older nieces and nephews. In practice, anyhow. Labels can be hard to shake. But I do hope that you come to visit us, Catcher," I say, lowering my head to indicate the genuity of my hope. "My wife, our children, and so many other family members would be there to greet you with open hearts."
The mare's last request brings a devilish tone to the curve of my smiling lips. "I was afraid you'd never ask." Pivoting such that I align with the young woman from shoulders to hips, I reach to shut her eyes with the velvet of my muzzle. "I'll see you on the other side."
And, as we stand like that, two almost mirror-images (red hue, spotted bodies, onyx horns, and Arabian physiques), we fall asleep.
The drop into the dreamscape feels tantalizing with another dreamer by my side. The usual sensation of gravity increasing and pressure turning one's insides out which accompanies the beginning of my dreams transforms to accommodate Catcher's version, one which I cannot begin to describe but which leaves me breathless and thrilled.
We awaken on the other side with a sharp inhale. My first time in a dream with another dreamer, I think to myself. So far, most of our surroundings remain nondescript blossoms of muted colours; I leave them as such for now and maintain an equine form as I turn to face my granddaughter.
"I would like for you to show me what you already know... Do you dream often?"
![[Image: kag]](https://78.media.tumblr.com/2e8039018ce4dff6112c167ec23e886a/tumblr_p72zjit7wC1s5a0qvo1_100.png)
