"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
05-01-2020, 12:02 AM (This post was last modified: 05-03-2020, 12:30 PM by Pteron.)
and since you’re the only one that matters,---------------- ----------------tell me: who do i run to?
It hadn’t taken long for Pteron to realize that his exaggerated promise was entirely impossible. He has to take his eyes away from Aegean sometimes, he reasons. He has to blink after all, and to sleep and to watch for danger.
Pteron does that last one now, though his ears and nose do much of the watch; his olive eyes are half-closed. It’s hard to keep them open when he is this tired, but he can tell that Aegean is already fast asleep. Pteron’s head rests on the dip of his lover’s back, and the deep and steady breathing of the antlered stallion as he sleeps is as reassuring as it is soporific. Pteron’s eyes drift all the way shut again, and he dozes off.
He wakes when his head rest stirs beneath him. Pteron shakes his head as if to banish sleep, and pulls away after pressing a brief touch to the other’s shoulder. He’ll not be able to stay awake if he stays like this. They need a better nest than a thicket in the woods, Pteron thinks, and not for the first time. The pegasus shakes his head a second time, and it spreads to a roll of his neck, then shoulders, and a flare of his massive blue and white wings. There’s barely enough room to spread them full, and soon the tall stallion snaps them back to his sides. In another moment they are gone entirely. Still there, of course, but invisible to the naked eye.
As Pteron begins the short patrol route that he has established in this part of the Forest, the sleep slowly falls away. It often does, once he is moving. He makes his way through the patch of beech, across the the ravine gurgling with water from yesterday’s thunderstorm, and up the small hill from whose peak he can just make out the outline of the Mountain. Pteron feels uncomfortably close to the place, and shivers. He tells himself it is the autumn chill though, an easy excuse with how bitter it blows. His invisible wings are good for blocking it at least, but he finds himself longing for warmth.
He begins to move down the hill, ready to complete the last quarter of his patrol. But there is a sound in the shadows of the woods, and he grows still as he searches for the source of it.
He’d like to say that he is venturing through the forest at night because he has chosen to do so. Years ago, that would have been his answer. He never had to have a real reason to do anything, only that it was simply because he wanted to. But it is not years ago, and many things have happened between years ago and the present, and he would no longer be naive - it is the lion that draws him into the sweeping darkness beneath the forest, to peruse through the shadows and allow the gentle blanket of night to kiss his skin. Svedka swears he can feel the purr of contentment from the cat within him, which causes a shudder to trail down his spine.
It is a strange thing, to be wholly separate from the other skin living inside you. Many shifters are one with their other spirit, but for Svedka it is not so. The two cannot control the other - their shifting is messy and completely sporadic, random and ugly. He has spent years as the lion, unbeknownst to himself until somehow the stallion had taken hold again. The thing that perhaps terrifies Svedka the most, besides the fact that the predator could take over at any moment, was that one day he may not ever come back to who he is.
He would simply become who he was.
The gold and ivory stallion snorts unhappily, ears falling into the white and sky blue tangled mess of his mane. A red and brown feather still peeks out from behind the thickness of the long tendrils, a steady reminder of who he is, despite the fear of losing that identity entirely. He needs a distraction desperately, so when the wind brings him the scent of another, he follows it blindly.
Glittering cerulean eyes lead him out of the darkness, followed by the large and starkly white patterns that adorn the champagne gold of his body. He wears a lazy smile as the moonlight reveals himself to the stranger, tossing his head casually. Indigo and ivory fall across the bold white of his face, settling haphazardly and veiling one of his curious eyes. “It’s late,” he begins plainly, though spoken softly as if to not disturb the sleeping world around them. “We should be asleep, shouldn’t we?” His lazy smile cracks into a cunning grin, halting directly in front of the other. “It’s dangerous to be wandering around at night alone, I’ve heard.” There is laughter in his voice and a sparkle in his eyes as he thinks of his twin sister, who had always taken it upon herself to remind him of the dangers of the world. For a moment he wonders if he is the danger now, but the thought barely settles itself in his mind before speaking again.
“Svedka.” He offers his name with a gentle bob of his head, revealing the eye that had been shielded by his thick forelock.
and since you’re the only one that matters,---------------- ----------------tell me: who do i run to?
Pteron remains still, one hoof raised to step forward. His olive eyes (lacking any trace of weariness now) are bright beneath his blue forelock, and his blue-tipped ears turn toward the horse that emerges from the woods.
For the briefest moment the other looks familiar to Pteron, but then his head turns and the resemblance is gone. It was too quick for him to recognize, and instead leaves him with the sense that this horse – who he has never seen before – is someone that he knows. Svedka adds to this with the casual way he speaks, as though picking up the threads of an earlier exchange. By the time he introduces himself as Svedka, Pteron is smiling.
He takes in Svedka out of habit, tracing the pattern of white and gold on the coat and the tint of blue in his mane and tail. Those are colors that Pteron thinks of as the colors of his family, and he wonders if perhaps this Svedka is a relative.
“I’m Pteron,” says the dun stallion, shifting his weight a bit so he no longer stands half-frozen and heading downhill. Charmed as eased as he is by the friendly company of the other horse, Pteron finds himself nodding along to darker thoughts at the reminder that there are dangers lurking in the night. “I’m looking out for danger,” he admits, gesturing ahead to where the obvious sign of the route that he frequently walks is visible in the light of the moon. Its odd behavior in a horse living in the common lands, but it feels right, making a permanent home for himself and Aegean. The thought of still being there when the children arrives makes him anxious, but there are months still to broach this. So he tells himself.
“My…” He remembers in an instant how quickly titles had changed things between himself and Aquaria, how solidly he’d found himself bound to Reia, and finishes without the slightest hesitation: “companion rests not far from here. I take the evening watch for us. I’m Pteron. Do you live around here?” The question is asked with genuine curiosity; it would be nice to have more permanent neighbors than the vagabonds of the Forest.
Svedka’s eyes never seem to lose their hint of playfulness, as if adventure or excitement is just around the corner. It’s a trait that he clings to now, though once before it wasn’t something he even thought about. But he has found the more that he remains who he’s always been, the predator had a harder time making an appearance. So the goldenrod and ivory stallion leans into the most prominent of his personality traits - his boldness, spontaneity, confidence - in hopes of keeping his other side at bay. It has worked, for the time being. He cannot remember the last time he woke up in a cold sweat, his face and forelegs covered in dried blood, with no memories of his blacking out. Not knowing his whereabouts, along with the lion’s meat in his stomach, always left him nauseous for days.
Svedka inhales deeply, exhaling with a slow breath as his eyes break away from Pteron to glance upwards at the gentle moonbeams that filter through the canopy of the forest, dappling their skin with silver light. His gaze is unfocused for only a moment before the crystal blue irises fall to meet the other once again, the corners of his pinkish lips twitching into a lopsided smile. “Good,” he murmurs, tipping his chin towards him slightly, questioningly. “I don’t look dangerous, do I?” A bit flirtatious, sure, but there is something deep within him that begs to know - can anyone see the predator lingering beneath the surface of his handsome face and charming demeanor?
A companion. Svedka’s brows rise interestedly, his gaze fluttering into the depths of the forest beyond. “Sleeping peacefully then, I’m sure.” His eyes flick back to Pteron, meeting him with a warm smile. “I think so,” he replies mildly, almost sleepily, though he isn’t sure how to answer the question. “Hyaline used to be my home, until - ”
He pauses suddenly, finding no breath to continue. Svedka licks his lips and tries to swallow his uncertainty, mustering up another languid smile though it does not quite reach his eyes like it had before. “ - until the war displaced me.” He lies, knowing that he was displaced far before any war broke out. The lion had made sure of that. “I’ve yet to return there. I’ve found the forest to be much more...peaceful.” Solitary, he means.
and since you’re the only one that matters,---------------- ----------------tell me: who do i run to?
Pteron decides that he likes this stranger with his laughing eyes and crooked smile. Svedka exudes the same sort of happiness that Pteron is capable of, but it doesn’t feel smothering like his own often does. (Pteron does not use that gift frequently, and his control of it is poor). It brightens his smile, and he glances down in an answer, visibly charmed by the flirtation.
He looks back up quickly, though. It is less that he is distrustful of Svedka and more that he is primed to watch for danger. While the other man talks, some part of Pteron remains ever elsewhere, his attention never quite settling fully on the smiling stallion in front of him. He’s not look at him closely enough to question the changes in the other’s face as he lies. Not that he would have noticed with complete attention though, Pteron has never been very good at the niceties of diplomacy.
Svedka mentions Hyaline, summoning thoughts of Aegean sleeping peacefully in the distance. Pteron’s dark mouth almost turns up into a smile, until the other mentions the war. How long has he been displaced, Pteron wonders? Years, or even decades? Having been wandering little over a year, Pteron cannot image what it might be like to be so long with an anchor. The thought makes him a little sad, and he’s shaking his head even before Svedka clarifies that he means the Forest.
“I don’t like it,” the dun admits, letting the blue strands of his mane resettle against his pied shoulder. “I don’t have much preference in where I rest my head, but I like it to be with more permanent faces around, you know?” That someone might prefer to be alone than with others is something that Pteron knows about. He does not understand it, but he knows about it. “We’ve talked of going West,” his tenor voice is warm as he speaks, gesturing in that general direction. “Somewhere warm year round sounds nice. Have you ever been that way before?” In his time wandering, perhaps Svedka has seen Island Resort or Tephra, and knows something about their seasons. Pteron knows Ischia would be wonderful, but he owes a most sincere apology – for leaving his friends without saying goodbye – and he’s not quite sure he is ready to do that quite yet.
“I don’t mean to keep you,” Pteron tells him after a moment, “not if you’ve a soft place ahead calling your name.” Svedka had said that they should be asleep, he thinks, but what has brought him out here. “But if you have a while, perhaps you’d join me on a walk? I would appreciate the extra pair of eyes.” He smiles, the expression charming and sincere.
Pteron is sure not to be distracted by anything, truly looking out for any signs of danger like he had told Svedka previously. Svedka enjoys being a distraction (a habit of his that he simply cannot help himself from doing), but finds it admirable that despite his attempts, Pteron still remembers that danger can lurk around every corner or show up at a moment’s notice. Svedka muses silently, wondering if it is because of the lion lurking inside him that he finds himself not wary in the midst of darkness, shrugging off the natural instinct that equines have to be on edge.
There is a hint of solemnity in his new friend’s eyes and if Svedka could read minds, he would have reassured Pteron that being a wanderer is something that he’s always been, never truly belonging, never settling down. This long venture away from Beqanna had not been his first one and at least this time, he had been with his sister and her wife. All he offers the winged-stallion is a gentle smile, bobbing his chin absentmindedly.
He speaks of the west and a knowing smile finds the pink of Svedka’s lips. West, of course. He wonders if he had his mother’s precognition, if he would have seen this coming. It was symbolic in the very least, that speaking of permanent residences and homes that a warm place in the west comes to Pteron’s mind. Tephra had been Svedka’s birthplace; the sweltering heat, leaves dripping with the humidity, the smell of smoke and ash on the warm wind and the salt of the sea all flood his senses in memory. Solace and Kagerus are probably already there now or only just arriving in Tephra. Perhaps this was a sign that it was time for him to return to the very first home he had ever known.
There is a gentle rumble of a chuckle within his chest, his eyes closing momentarily to toss his head. When the thick of his forelock cascades across his bald face, his bright eyes open and focus again on Pteron. “I have,” he begins, “Tephra was where I was born.” Svedka pauses, pressing his lips together thoughtfully. “I’ve been meaning to return there actually, just lacking the gall to actually do it.” The stallion laughs, his smile crinkling into a full grin.
With a soft nod, Svedka agrees to a moonlit walk through the familiar forest. He falls into step beside the blue and cream stallion, comfortable as they begin to stroll in whatever direction Pteron guides him. He is nowhere near tired and would like to put off returning home as much as possible - not that Tephra was a bad place, only that it would mean that there would be an anchor again, and the thought of that unsettles him. A populated place filled with those he loved while a beast ravages his insides - what could go wrong?
“If you and your companion decide to journey west to Tephra, you will most likely find a familiar face.” Svedka smiles charmingly, the soft skin of his nose wrinkling with the gesture. He then shrugs, thinking about bumping his shoulder against Pteron’s, but decides against it. Instead he turns his eyes forward, inhaling the damp, cold air of the forest and exhaling with a soft snort. “Your companion,” he begins casually, “what’s he like?” An assumption on gender, sure, but Svedka had a way of reading others and could sense a likeness between himself and Pteron. His gaze remains on the forest, but the soft curling of his lips reveal a reassuring smile if the winged stallion looked at his face.
and since you’re the only one that matters,---------------- ----------------tell me: who do i run to?
Something he’s asked has amused the other stallion, and rather than feel flustered, he instead feel a little warm glow of pride. Svedka was born in Tephra, he says, and tells Pteron that he’s been meaning to return there with a grin that the dun cannot help but return. They set off down the trail of his patrol, Pteron finds himself thinking that perhaps this night watch will not be so dreary as the others often are. Though there are sometimes flashes of excitement in the form of marauders or predators, Pteron finds them dull overall. Not like in a real land, a territory or a herd, where no night is ever the same with all the comings and goings.
“Another thing to add to the ‘pros’ list,” Pteron teases with a half-distracted smile, looking away at the last moment as his flicking ears catch a sound. It’s just a pair of does in the woods though, and he soon turns back. The playfulness simmers more quietly in his olive eyes now, and his smile has faded to something closer to pensive.
Though he has tucked his heart safely beside a sleeping Aegean, Pteron still finds himself drawn toward Svedka. The other stallion’s charming smile pulls him in like a moth toward moonlight, and Pteron takes the step that Svedka had not, brushing his shoulder against the other’s companionably. He pulls away without lingering, noting only that Svedka’s skin is exceptionally warm on this cool night. Maybe that is what happens when one is from the tropics, Pteron thinks. Svedka’ss reassuring smile when he asks after Pteron’s companion does exactly as intended. They will talk of Aegean, and there will be no secrets. Secrets are ruinous, Pteron has found, and he has no stomach for them anymore.
So Pteron tells Svedka: “Aegean is wonderful. Better than I deserve.”
Far better, Pteron reminds himself as he quashes the desire to push away a lock of blue-white hair that has fallen across the Svedka’s face. He looks away, out at the shadows.
“He is like the moon,” he continues, but that seems fanciful even as he says it aloud. “He lived in Hyaline once too. Maybe you knew him? His mothers are Kagerus and Solace.”
The brilliant cerulean of Svedka’s gaze flickers to the darkness of the forest, just as Pteron’s has. He watches the doe as they continue walking, the playful smile that trickles onto his pink lips lingering even when the conversation falls silent between them. The touch of Pteron’s creamy shoulder against his own brings Svedka’s focus from the forest and onto the winged stallion, his smile changing ever-so-slightly to where the blue of his eyes sparkle gently. The touch is nearly electrifying and he follows as Pteron pulls away, returning the gesture by gently tugging one of his blue tendrils with his lips. A chuckle hums in his throat as Svedka straightens, a single ear still trained on Pteron as they continue their moonlit stroll.
Aegean. The sound of the name causes a curious snort to flutter from Svedka’s nostrils, his brows rising inquisitively. Solace and Kagerus? He swallows the realization that his years spent in the Hyaline mountains means that he has missed more of his family being born into the world, his eyes lifting upwards momentarily to view the moonlight filtering through the canopy.
After a moment he turns towards Pteron once again, meeting him with a knowing grin as he describes his nephew. Like the moon. Svedka isn’t sure if he’s ever been in love (his heart is too large for a solitary lover, no room for commitment to only one or even jealousy of other lovers, he believes), but he loves to love all the same, and wistfully listens to anyone who is comfortable enough to share their feelings, whether for another or for himself.
“Ah,” he begins with a burst of soft laughter to his voice that rumbles deep in his chest, touching his mouth just behind Pteron’s jawline. Like always, he is unable to keep to himself. “Does that make you the sun, then?”
Svedka smiles into Pteron’s skin before straightening once again, his sideways glance playful from beneath the ivory and sky blue of his forelock. “I must meet this Aegean of yours,” he continues, his voice almost secretive. “Solace is my twin sister.” His grin widens at the irony, flicking his tail against his ankles with a good-natured nip to Pteron’s shoulder.
and since you’re the only one that matters,---------------- ----------------tell me: who do i run to?
Speaking of Aegean has unknotted the tangle of discomfort in his chest, his name and the verbalization of Pteron’s feelings for him clearing away any chance of secrets. That is good, Pteron tells himself. He had not spoken of Aegean soon enough to Reia, or quickly enough of his marriage with Reia to Aquaria. Hesitation has given him nothing but hurt in the past, and he feels better for having done so. Pteron thinks of his sleeping lover, safe beneath the moonlight, and smiles as Svedka tugs playfully at a blue strand of his hair.
The name seems to give pause to his companion, and Pteron tilts his head curiously even as he describes the other.
But Svedka only laughs, a quiet sound like distant thunder, and asks if that makes Pteron the sun.
“So he has said,” Pteron replies, the words softened by Svedka’s touch. Something feels strange (though surely it is not the way his skin quivers where Svedka touches him or the way he reaches back, his blue mouth pressing briefly against the other’s jaw). “Though I find it hard to believe.” He will ask Aeagean about it in the morning, Pteron decides, he seems the sort to be good at solving puzzles. For now though, he brushes it aside to listen to Svedka’s answer, only to discover that the other stallion already has the answer.
“You are family!” Pteron exclaims with a laugh. Perhaps a little too loud, for a resting dove shifts suspiciously on her perch as the pair of stallions pass beneath her. “That explains your good looks,” He tells the other, have quieted his voice without losing any of the amusement that sparkles in his olive eyes. “Aegean will be thrilled,” Pteron tells him, chivvying Svedka with soft nips to his shoulder. This easy affection feels good, and knowing that Svedka is more than a stranger makes it all the better.
“If you stay till the morning, I’ll introduce you.” The dun stallion promises as he reaches the gully. He’s over it with a quick flap of his wings, but turns to look back at Svedka. “Then you can both compare me to the sun and see how apt the description.” How wrong the description is, he does not say, unaware of the brightness of his smile and the mischief that dances in his eyes even in the darkness. If Svedka means to stay that long, there are a good many ways Pteron can think of to break up the monotony of patrol. One of those ways had resulted in a surprising swell of his lover’s belly though, and Pteron makes a note to avoid that particular amusement.
There are other things to do with a handsome not-so-stranger, after all, even when he must also keep an eye out for danger.
“I don’t,” Svedka replies without hesitation, a smug smile finding the pearl pink of his lips, as if challenging Pteron to disagree. He’s already silently decided that he would reference him as the sun from here forward, despite whatever the winged stallion may truly think. Svedka had a feeling he was like the sun anyway; how could he not, with the warmth that he brings him already?
Pteron’s exclamation brings hearty laughter to Svedka’s lips, the sound reverberating in his chest and making him feel wild beneath the moonlight. He curves his neck to press his chin to his golden chest and high steps with his forelegs, as if showing off his features for him. Svedka’s laughter-filled eyes sparkle when the other stallion litters him with playful nips, wrinkling his nose and snorting sharply, giving him a dramatic head toss before lifting his chin high into the air. “You have good taste,” he comments heavily, brows rising suggestively before another peal of laughter spills from his throat, flicking his white and blue tail against Pteron’s smooth haunch as well as his own ankles.
Svedka has always been comfortable with physical affection, from strangers and family alike. He’s drawn to it; he’s able to verbalize his thoughts and feelings exceptionally well, but always tends to lean to physicality when expressing himself. It suits him and his wild spirit, but he reminds himself to be cautious - not everyone he meets falls so easily into the comfort of his bold gestures.
Pteron, however, seems to have much more in common with him than family ties. This becomes all the more clearer with the invitation to stay, along with the likelihood of Svedka accepting the offer.
There is a soft hum in Svedka’s throat - one of happiness and contentment - when Pteron gracefully crosses the gully. He halts at the edge, his glittering cerulean gaze mischievous. “How can I refuse meeting my own nephew?” Svedka begins his way into the gully, unrushed and casual, as he continues, “I doubt many can refuse you, though.” He glances up at Pteron from beneath a haphazard array of his forelock, a charming smile playing on his lips.
He begins his way back up the gully, grunting softly as he pulls himself up the edge. With a huff, he tosses his head so that his forelock now falls to one side of his face. “What do you have in mind to pass the time?” An innocent enough question, though suggestive, but with no expectation in it. “I’m too restless to even begin to think about sleeping.”
