"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
Droplets of wet kiss her skin, weigh down her hair and leave it a wavy, matted mess. If she could see herself, glimpse her own reflection in the puddles below, Jenger might have sought shelter more often. As it stands, one might believe that the young woman was just comfortable in her own skin, unconcerned with appearances.
What is shelter to a daughter who’s never known protection, what is comfort to a child that was never consoled?
Overhead the thunder sounds, booming claps to signal the racing streaks of burning light to follow, and as they do- they race across her skin as well. A mirror to the heavens painted against her curves, reflections of the heavy steel-grey clouds, burdened with moisture until they burst. A mimicry of a master’s whip when the sky fires have had enough, biting white hot against their stormy base, it must be both fearful and wonderful to behold.
A mocking bird.
If she could see herself, would she just disappear into the backdrop of the sky, what if she wanted to?
For now, it’s an impossible feat, and she laughs as the skies cry against her freely- if there is one thing to be said, she is no stranger to tears. As a girl she was sad often, confused and hurt regularly. It’s hard for a child to understand a mother so unloving, so careless, cold and distant- but Bly is Bly. That sort of upbringing leaves a mark, scars unseen on the inside, it’s difficult to trust when your world harbors no conviction.
no better version of me i could pretend to be tonight
Perhaps as a yearling the tiger-shifter would have felt comfort in remaining within the safe confines of Ischia, roaming the same dunes and exploring the same coves. He still loves them, of course, loves the familiarity and comfort that comes with being home ─ but the time he had spent away from the island kingdom between his first and second birthday, on his family's extended visit to Loess, had ingrained in Halcyon the desire to see more of Beqanna.
It's been a number of weeks now since he had traversed the watery channel between the mainland and Ischia. The crystalline water, despite being a bit too crisp in the early turn of spring, had felt refreshing against his sleek tiger pelt. It would seem that he has not escaped the heavy feel of a wet coat; the sky splits wide with an aggressive springtime thunderstorm just as soon as he ventures forth into the Meadow.
Halcyon looks into the steel skies, watches as lightning cracks overhead and feels it reflect in his verdant tiger eyes. His body flickers invisible, involuntarily, each time thunder rumbles; the young boy has yet to secure his powers of invisibility, instead finding that they will take hold of him when surrounded by beings and things that emanate power.
He solidifies just as his green eyes fall on the mare. Halcyon freezes, watching the way her body paints itself with the sky. Clouds roil against her skin and lightning runs across sinew and curves. Halcyon's tiger form, doused in water, slowly loosens its muscles after he takes a few moments to observe her existence, and then finally he approaches amidst the downpour.
"You are..." he pauses. Is there truly a word to describe the way her coat becomes the powerful thunderstorm? To describe the way he is so suddenly taken with her?
It takes a few moments, a few too silent moments, but then finally ─ "... without equal." If his trio-colored face could bloom into a blush, it would, but instead, he clears his throat and turns his eyes sheepishly away, seemingly unaffected by the violent precipitation. Sorry, he says quietly, before finding the confidence to look back at her, "I'm Halcyon. I hope I didn't ─"
Weeks alone, months now, though the young woman has felt solitary for the entirety of her existence. From the moment of her birth she has wondered what it’s like to have a family, what’s it like not to be forsaken- how many breaths would she give to trade him places.
Suffocate.
There are times that it takes her days to remember that she wasn’t, that she did not live and breathe by pure happenstance; there is nothing spontaneous about life. Your name is Jenger, she whispers to herself, she must, how else is she to know? The word is spoken so little, if ever at all, but it had to be- even just the once.
There must be a purpose to all this.
The skies rain down on the lonely dove, drowning out her words as the droplets race to soak the earth; fat dollops of wet to make puddles at her feet.
-splash-
Shifting her weight causes a satisfying melody to grace her ears, they flick in response to the sound- she smiles to herself.
It’s a fleeting expression, short lived by a sudden unfamiliarity, a voice she does not know- not yet. A quiver takes her, uncertainty painting itself against her muscles as easily as the storm. When she faces him, turning towards the sound of his compliments and apologies, she meets him with a foggy, unseeing gaze.
The form he takes, though she can not see it, still causes panic to flood her system. A predatory scent saturates the air, inhaling danger with every rapid breath, if she could manage to move she would. He might lose his words, but she can’t find her feet.
“Who are you?” The words come with haste, fighting off the urge to waver and break.
no better version of me i could pretend to be tonight
"I'm sorry," he repeats, swiftly, at the woman's frantic and urgent question. Who are you?, "I'm sorry, um, I'm Halcyon. I'm from Ischia, I didn't mean to ─" He remembers, then, that he is a tiger and he wills himself to make the uncomfortable transition back to equine. His striped feline body gives way to a sleek gold, with just a hint of his tiger stripes, and a light blue sheen that is hardly apparent in this downpour. But as he shifts, Halcyon registers the milkiness of the woman's eyes and the abject discomfort in her stance, and then another moment later he recognizes her blindness.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he says just loud enough to be heard over the din of the falling rain and the rumble of the thunder, all the while shifting his weight uncomfortably to and fro, unused to the feel of hooves and horse. He hopes, though, that her fluttering nostrils will register him now not as predator, but as kin. He watches her, at a loss for words in the silence after he has startled her, and simply stands for a time to keep her company.
When finally he feels less awkward ─ and more thoroughly soaked ─ Halcyon tests his voice again as he peers at the sky-painted woman. "Are you lost? Or... are you from Beqanna?" He asks the second as an afterthought, suddenly remembering that not everyone he has encountered was born here.
Fear leaking, seeping from her pores, surely he could smell the way she balked- she can smell herself.
Pins and needles find the base of her neck before racing down her spine, peppering her skin with gooseflesh. It happened in much the same fashion as the rain did, and it was only now that the chill of the Spring downpour caused her to shiver. Worry is a heavy sensation, when faced with the severity of the situation, J is unsure of what to do. Her brain knows what it should do, but convincing her body to act was another problem entirely.
The girl is rigid, feigning bravery, until the circumstances take a turn.
It left so suddenly, that smell of danger, only to be replaced with the familiarity of horse- she is still confused. Wide nostrils flare, inhaling the scent of the other until her ears unpin and the way her mind races, comes to an abrupt halt.
“What are you?” These words find their way passed her lips just as easily, if not as equally rushed as before. Questions for questions, her bottom lip quivers as she speaks, appearing to be on the verge of tears that she dare not cry.
“I’m not lost,” her head moves, side to side, the generic gesture for no. Oh but she is so very lost, the sweet thing, but not in the conventional sort of way.
“My name is Jenger,” another whisper, because as much as she has recited the word to herself, it still felt alien to say in front of a stranger. It holds a quality of uncertainty, as though she is not only telling him, but telling herself- and simultaneously trying to believe it.
“Of course I’m from here, where else is there?” Sheltered, one might say, naive another might dare deem her.
no better version of me i could pretend to be tonight
The scent of her fear is not as strong now that he does not have use of his predator's nose, but Halcyon does not doubt that it is still there, not when her muscles remain tense and her voice still wavers. He feels for her, discomforted by the ache of his own heart that he cannot remove the terror of their meeting or whatever else there is that haunts her behind those unseeing eyes. It's only when her ears decide to reveal themselves from the dripping wet bed of mane at her poll and her nostrils begin to quiver more intensely that Halcyon sees something other than outright fear wash over her sky-painted face.
What are you?
He balks before answering, distracted by the depth of the question (but does she truly wish to know how he struggles between horse and beast?) and, in equal measure, by the quiver of her lower lip. The boy decides to provide her an answer that, above all other possibilities, would hopefully give her some level of comfort.
Oh, if only she could see the awkward and meek boy before her.
"Well, I suppose I'm a horse," Halcyon says, but it feels awkward, and he offers the woman a sheepish grin despite her inability to see it, "But I can shift into a tiger. That's how I'm most comfortable, really, but ─ but I'm not dangerous." He shifts again, uncomfortably, his brain registering again the unrelenting torrent of rain upon them. Clouds sweep across the woman's coat, broken again by lightning.
"It's nice to meet you, Jenger," he says, relief flooding into his tone that she has not simply run away from him post confession. Her last inquiry could, perhaps, be interpreted as rhetorical, but her tone brings laughter to his lips. "My Ma has a friend that wasn't born here, but I don't think I've met anyone younger who was born somewhere else..." He trails off, but is suddenly spooked by a particularly loud bout of thunder; his body flickers, his powers of invisibility taking over briefly. "Hey, maybe we should find some cover from the rain?"
It could have been a knife she wielded, the way her questions seemed to cut as they flew from her mouth in haste. Tossed off a cliff, they just plummeted to the ground, she could anticipate the devastation of their crash.
J didn’t consider the way in which one might receive her inquiries, the way they might dig and burn when they connected.
She doesn’t mean to wound.
Now the eyes paint the picture, sure, they create the concept to all stories but the sounds make up for what the eyes cannot see. Aside from the persistent rain, she finds his words uncomfortable, if she had hands to touch them with- she isn’t sure the texture would be to her liking, she isn’t sure she could bear their weight.
Jenger can almost feel the way she has caught him off guard, sense the awkward tone his words take, and it causes her muscles to soften. I’m not dangerous, that one returns the blow, she winces away from the statement, and though she isn’t wholly sure if he is unsafe or not.
Unlike her mother, empathy doesn’t escape the sky-painted mare.
“I’ve never met anyone not from here,” it tells just how secluded she has been, it might reveal to another that she doesn’t approach her own. There is a deep rooted fear that clings to her mind, wraps coils of rope so tightly that they become bars of iron, she is caged within herself.
“Just me and Mother,” J hangs her head, even just for a moment, before straightening back up, not even conscious of the movement. She knows all too well that, if he was dangerous, she wouldn’t be missed, no one would be looking for her.
“Yes, forgive me, you must be cold,” head nods, and she wonders if tigers are creatures capable of catching a chill. “There was a tree…” already turning to the East, silently counting steps, she had touched the uneven bark on her way here.
Nice to meet you..
It is apparent that she does not know how to respond, she’s never received a compliment before, even one that is more common courteousy than anything else. “You say strange things,” it’s not the first time he’s been kind, and yet she lacks the proper socializing to thank him.
no better version of me i could pretend to be tonight
His mouth stumbles over the words, pledging to this blind woman that his presence does not mean danger and, for some reason that has not yet revealed itself to Halcyon, this makes him think briefly of Titanya. He had not thought himself a predator until his meeting with her; until then, he had been but a docile housecat.
Despite this thought, though, his statement rings true: he is not dangerous. The young boy wouldn't know the first thing about harming someone ─ Aquaria had not taught him how to be predatory. This, of course, does not absolve him of the DNA he has inherited from Reia, though he knows naught of her.
Just me and Mother, Jenger says, and the involuntarily lowering of her head tugs painfully at the tiger's heart. For a moment, he nearly reaches out to the sky-painted woman but Halcyon stops himself just as quickly as he had been struck with the notion. Frozen there, Halcyon inhales the rain-soaked scent of her, and then draws his attention back to her face as she speaks of a tree she'd passed on the way in.
Jenger turns towards the East, and Halcyon falls in step beside her. He keeps a comfortable distance between them, hoping to further comfort her in his presence. He remembers, then, the supernatural warmth that he had exuded unintentionally that day he'd stood with his mom on the shore of Ischia. He decides to try again ─ thinking thoughts of adventure, of familial love, of warmth ─ and soon he is permeating Happiness once more.
And, perhaps, if she is open to it, Jenger will feel it, too.
"How are you feeling now?" he asks quietly after nickering in acknowledgement of her last statement. "Hopefully not... Bad Strange," he adds as an afterthought, his feline eyes flicking apprehensively to Jenger. "Where do you and your mom live?"
Amidst the storm that adorns her coat, in spite of the steely billows traced so diligently across her back, she becomes unusually warm- a great pressure rises from her shoulders. J feels significantly lighter, the burden of her devils lifted, sent away and it is an unexpected feeling that overcomes her.
Happiness.
Enough to make her stop, enough to lift the corners of her lips into the beginnings of a smile, and she doesn’t know what’s suddenly come over her. “Not a bad strange,” the girl answers, tilting her face towards his voice, twisting her ears to seek the source.
Jenger decides it is okay to resume their walk, falling into an easier stride.
“I feel,” it doesn’t register immediately, the stress dissipates slowly and becomes replaced with a feather-light, tingling sensation. Beginning from her brow, sparking a domino effect, roiling until her nervous system is flooded with dopamine
“I feel nice,” she finally decides, the tightness from her body is gone and each step is more fluid than the one before. “Like when I hear others laughing, I feel like that...I think.”
When they near the tree, she finds herself touching it, pressing her velvet mouth against the rough bark, as if it is a friend.
“Sometimes we stay by a River,” sometimes, because they never stay in one place, they do not linger. Rather, each season brings them migrating to the next unclaimed lot. A change in the weather, meant a change of scenery, and though she says ‘We’- there is only ‘She’.
“Other times we live by Woods,” and it’s obvious that the forest isn’t her favorite. It was difficult to traverse, the stormy girl has been tripped up by roots more than she is willing to admit, but the trees are warm- they hold the brunt of the snows.
“This is our best one though,” the Meadow, J likes it best, the warmth of the Sun on her skin. “We’ll, when it’s not raining of course,” she laughs, small and quiet, but genuine.
no better version of me i could pretend to be tonight
Not a bad strange.
He smiles, sheepish, and lets his eyes fall on her lips. He's surprised to see that she is adorned with her own smile, that he could will Happiness into someone else, but finds that being the source of her smile warms his insides pleasantly.
He slows to a stop, but only briefly, until Jenger begins to walk again. It's easy enough to fall in step with her, though it's more difficult to maintain a respectable distance between them while fighting with this new, unfamiliar desire to be close. Halcyon steals another glance at her sky-painted face, though he dares not to linger too long in case she can feel his eyes on her.
He doesn't respond when she concedes to his inquiry and finds words for her emotions, but instead hums appreciatively ─ he knows the feeling well. Happiness, when someone else is laughing. He thinks to himself that he'd like to hear Jenger laugh, someday.
They arrive at the tree and are protected by the umbrella of its massive wingspan. All around them, the rain continues to fall, but they are shielded from the vast majority of the precipitation, and Halcyon concentrates more easily on his new acquaintance now that his attention is not being drawn to the rhythmic beat of drops across his pelt.
The tiger boy listens to her story, intrigued by the nomadic cycle Jenger describes ─ River, Forest, Meadow... She is dedicated, he thinks, to remain by her mother's side even though she, herself, is grown and independent. He doesn't attribute it to her blindness, though perhaps he should.
His ears fly forward when she laughs, and Halcyon can't help but mirror the sound with his own. It's a beautiful sound, just as he thought it would be. "The Meadow is peaceful," he tells her, fond of the land if only because it is not pulled into the politics of the kingdoms, "but a bit too cold for me, in the winter. Have you heard of Ischia?" Halcyon asks, a bit of hopefulness weaving into his words, "That's where I live. It's a tropical island, with lots of warm sand and a jungle ─"
He pauses, his feline eyes finding Jenger's unseeing ones once more, "When the tide is low, it's easy enough to cross to Ischia from the mainland. Maybe... maybe you would like to visit it, sometime? I could help you cross and... if your Mother wanted to come, too, I could help you both cross safely."
