"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
05-28-2020, 11:17 AM (This post was last modified: 05-28-2020, 11:24 AM by Beryl.)
Spring brings with it a drive to explore and though there is much to discover still in in the place she has claimed as her home, Beryl finds her steps pulling her southward - beyond the awesome black-rock cliffs of the Nerine, through the giant trees of the redwood forest that she curls and winds between with cat-like steps. Her eyes remain steadfast on the broken peak that rivals The Mountain for its height and foreboding and even when the forest breaks and the grey shores of the northern country spread besides her, she refuses to look at them, refuses to even wonder what damage may have been done to the Isle – and surely it is not nearly so bad as she imagines, but her imagination isrunning wild with her heart, leaping into her throat until she chokes on it, until she frowns and snorts and shakes her head at nothing. She cannot bear to have the burn scars and the blackened ice full of soot and char and bone that she imagines confirmed as truth.
Instead, she avoids the northwest view and turns her feet to Tephra, the unfettered spring breeze of Nerine becomes a gentle hug of fog in the woodland territory, then gives way slowly to the heavy weight of the humid jungle. The paths here are strange; flat, black, and hard as rock. Her hooves ring bright as she follows one at random, dark eyes peering through the large ferns and broad-leafed foliage. When she cannot see she reaches out softly to the yellow-eyed shadows and draws them closer to her, brightening the jungle depths as she goes.
The closer she comes to the foot of the volcano, the thicker the paths run, speaking to another sort of burning, one that happened long enough ago that the sulfur smell of it has rotted away and in its place is dark and fertile soil that gives birth to the marvelous growth around her. The thought that such a thing could lead to this sort of healing stirs hope in her breast, and the trees growing here stir wonder. They are wide and tall, and though they cannot rival the redwoods for that prize, they are magnificent in their own way, their thin bark a rainbow of dripping color, and she pauses a moment in awe of them. Of the way their colors run, blue and orange and grey and green and red, impossibly bright. She reaches out with her grey muzzle to brush softly against the papery bark, her breath blowing at the edges where it sloughs away to reveal the color beneath.
Perhaps, if she had known about these, she might have chosen Tephra as her home, instead, but the northern ice has been in her blood since the day she nearly drowned in its waters, and so she drifts reluctantly away from the glorious trees, following the crashing sound of a waterfall that sends its mist curling through the jungle vines. The shadows lead the way – as if she could not find it herself, but she smiles a soft thank you to them just the same, still refusing Leilan’s long-ago assertions that they are inanimate manifestations of her magic – and they draw her, smiling, to a place where suddenly all the tall trees fall away in the shadow of the Volcano and the Waterfall, their twins streams fall together wild, raucous, boiling, mist and steam and smoke rising equally into the sky and the golden mare is left silent and stunned.
05-29-2020, 12:11 PM (This post was last modified: 05-29-2020, 12:11 PM by may.)
The smell of lavender and a strange tickle on her nose awakens her. A curl of red hair heavy with sprigs of the purple flower have stuck to her face in the humid heat and that is what is tickling her and putting a halt to the dreams that make her sigh and stir fitfully in her sleep. Dreams she doesn’t want to remember but flashes of them will mark the hours of the day with subtle reminders of cream fur and the flash of teeth and a full moon.
May climbs to her feet, the bed of ferns and rich loam forgotten as she shakes the nighttime debris from her skin, or tries to. Much of it remains, held fast by sweat and dew to her painted skin. This is what makes her think of rinsing off, cooling off, in one of the many rivers but the loud thunder of the waterfall reminds her of a different place to bathe. One that holds a bounty of beauty, and May smiles, sparing one glance around to see that she is, of course, not alone.
Flint and his mate lay nearby, curled together and never far from where she sleeps. It is rare that she lays down for such but she was pulled by the familiarity of home, and trusting her wolf companions to look after her in the dark as she knew they would. It would be cruel to wake them, but she doesn’t have to - they’ll stir the moment she goes far enough from them and they’ll track her down, counting her as a pack-member if not the outright leader of their now small pack.
May began to creep away from the two wolves anyway, even if it only garnered her a few minutes without being followed. She could have made them stay but knew that was reckless and mean, they’d enjoy the waterfalls too as she had not yet shown them the entirety of her birthplace. Still, she is glad to suck the air deep into her lungs and set off through the jungle, admiring the verdant look of it from vine to leaf and the bright spurts of color that pop out as flowers. She has no idea why she ever left, well… does and doesn’t but pushes those thoughts far from her mind.
Before she knows it, the paint is standing before the waterfalls and to the left of her is another mare. “Beautiful isn’t it?” she breathes, breaking the moment with her soft breathy question. May would never tire of this sight as an ear bends back to hear the faint rustle of foliage behind her, she doesn’t have to look to know that the pair of wolves flank her. “The falls are even better from up close,” she adds, remembering playing in the cavern behind them and feeling them splash down over her head as she grew tall enough to swim out to them.
05-30-2020, 08:55 PM (This post was last modified: 05-30-2020, 08:56 PM by Beryl.)
She knows of the sabino’s coming before the small mare ever breaks through the thick vegetation smelling of wolves and lavender. It’s the wolves that get her attention, neither a single individual - a bonded companion - nor the inseparable twist of predator and prey like Beryl’s own smell. The other mare smells like a pack. She has met shifters and mimics, and now she thinks, as the other suddenly draws near and speaks, that she has never met anyone that runs with wolves without being one themselves.
“Yes, beautiful.”
Where have the wolves gone? the young mare wonders, her tail flicking idly as she turns to her right to greet the stranger.
they seek
“Your friends are looking for you, I think.”
She speaks, just moments before the pair slink from beneath the fern leaves to flank either side of her companion, and she spares them a glance, her head lowering slightly to meet amber eyes closer to their level, then returning her dark gaze to the waterfall tumbling down the side of the volcano, rainbows glimmering in its fine spray. It reminds her of the lights that play across the sky of the Isle on clear nights, writhing green snakes that shift and twist so high in the sky that there is nothing but star and shadow around them. That is a strange an alien darkness which she has never been able to draw down, that has never heard her call, too distant, too cold. The untouchable darkness makes her shiver to think of and brings her back to the warm and bright present, colorful and wild and full of life.
The heat of late spring here to a body so used to the North makes the idea of cooling off in the water an appealing one, and she does lean closer to the water, but even the way the air seems to stick thickly to her skin does not drive her into it. The corners of her mouth twitch slightly – up? Down? She keeps her face neutral though she thinks most would have to swim to reach them and the idea drums up that familiar old sea sickness.
it is dry behind the falling water. we can show--
No!
The golden girl is not sure she can stand even a dry cavern behind that wall of water, rushing, roaring, the pounding in her ears like waves beating against themselves in open sea. The Shadows had saved her on that day, and perhaps they are right this time, too, but it was tricky thing to trust them too far. They were not always reliable reporters on the safety of things when they themselves knew nothing of what it means to die.
06-10-2020, 08:28 AM (This post was last modified: 06-10-2020, 08:29 AM by may.)
Flint and his mate do not always take care to disquisition their scent or their coming; they are wolves and do not care nor do they scare easily. It is their purpose to guard her among other things but in their minds, that is tantamount to all else. May would disagree but that is the nature of her magic and her own ideas of how it should work that war against each other inside her. The mated pair should have their own pack and not run with her but that is how it goes and she has tried to buck the magic that runs in her veins to no avail.
Not to mention the scent of lavender that precedes her. She could not hide if she tried to. Unless she ripped all the flowers from her mane and tail but that seemed downright cruel and painful they’ve taken root amongst the hair, also magically but she no longer questions this world into which she was born some years ago. Even if she did, there usually are no answers unless one wanted to seem ungrateful for their gifts and be stripped of them and May was rather fond of her flowers and her wolves despite it all.
May laughs, a refreshing sound that she doesn’t make often in the company of horses. She was more at home with the wolves than she realized as she stands there, glancing between the waterfalls and the palomino. “They’ll find me easily enough, they always do. Doesn’t make for a very fun game of hide and seek,” she admits with another laugh, again thinking of how her size and scent gives her away all too easily. Sometimes, she sensed them giving her an advantage she never really had and knew them to be holding back in their games to make it just a tad bit fairer.
There is a considerable amount of quiet that spans the space of minutes between them. She follows the way the golden mare looks at the wolves and lowers her eyes to meet their plain uninquisitive gazes then sweeps out back to the roaring water. May doesn’t bother to decipher the things that pass in the other’s face, it ends up in a show or careful neutrality anyway and she is fine with that. Her own face remains open with a hint of a smile playing about her lips. Then the question comes and for a moment, she’s not sure how to answer.
May is far too honest to a fault; “I did, once. Born here actually then I left and I’ve just now come back. I don’t know if I can really claim to live here any more than the birds do that pass through.” The truth stung her just a little, because it felt like home still and was all too familiar and real to her but at the same time, it wasn’t. She didn’t know if that scared her or meant she needed to set foot down a new path and go exploring again despite having just returned. But had she really explored here, not just Tephra but the accompanying lands around her?
She blinks, “I’m guessing you don’t live here so can I ask where you call home?” May hopes she isn’t being too forward but supposed it did no harm to ask. It didn’t seem like the palomino meant harm to this place or herself, not that she would have been worried anyway - the wolves would have seen her off if they sensed an inkling of ill intent. “There is more to see than the twin waterfalls too, if they don’t interest you as much…” she offers lamely, not sure if she should take the mare on a jaunt around the volcano but there were wild natural gardens of flowers lush and blooming to behold, rivers of lava and water that met and crisscrossed like lovers, and the grand old dame of a volcano herself that sometimes still belched cinders and smoke.
