"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
To come back from the dead is a strange thing, made stranger still by what she has come back as. It is as if she is neither living nor dead. Perhaps that is the feeling of immortality, something she perhaps could have had through her magic before but never sought. She does not seek it now either, not truly. Yet she has become immortal, if through nothing but the ever-burning pine tree.
Yet it had never been for her glory or power that she’d done anything, but for the Chamber. It had been ripped away so easily, lost to time and forgotten by most that call Beqanna home now. Certainly it’s greatness was long forgotten, even if the name can occasionally be remembered.
The Silver Cove is a beautiful place, but it is not her Chamber. Still, it is dotted with small patches of trees that remind her of the pine forests of the Chamber, and unbidden, the memory of being a child playing with her squirrel friends comes back to how. How strange a thought; how far she has come.
Today she wanders the forests. She can simply disappear, can simply cease to exist, and the tree will burn without her and give out it’s boons as it was designed to do. It does not need her, though they are one in the same. More than immortality, perhaps, but a small taste of godhood. Time passes differently for her. She does not languish in boredom, but simply decides to live or not to live. There was something far sweeter to true mortality, though she cannot say she minds this either.
I feel like posting; someone come bother her
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
I've been traveling the lands of Beqanna since first landing here. Though the first time I had set hoof in Silver Cove was when the pain of labor had flowed through my body. Hours passed and a delicate looking son soon followed. Betrayal was the beginning to a healing she had not expected or - in all honesty - wanted. Though as soon as he was there, his little silver eyes peering up into my pretty blues, I couldn't help but embrace the start to something new.
For the first few weeks after my son's birth, I spent the time in Silver Cove watching over and protecting him. Teaching him the basics of life and watching as he grew stronger each day. Soon he was playing, chasing rabbits in the tall grasses and butterflies through the meadows. It was hard not to smile and laugh along with him.
One of his favorite places to haunt was around the burning tree. Sometimes he'd stand there staring at the flames as though in awe and I'd watch him, truly fascinated with his curious nature. Had I ever been that curious? Was there a time where pain and war hadn't filled my young life? If so, I could not remember.
With slow steps, I follow the young golden butterfly as he trots elegantly through the tall grasses. My focus is hardly deterred yet when the Bay Tobiano comes into view my ears twist in thought. It's not my intention to approach, but almost as soon as I had seen her, so had Betrayal. With an eagerness the young colt turns towards her, his small frame bouncing through the grasses as his wings flutter excitedly.
His high pitched whinny of greeting has me at his side within moments and with careful hesitation I approach the mare with him. "Hello!," the small colt says in greeting to the mare. "I'm Bert and this is my momma," blinking softly I turn my eye towards the mare and come to a stop, watching as Betrayal steps closer to the other. "Who are you?" I smile somewhat apologetically as my son continues to speak. It's his first time meeting someone other than myself.
Tiny steps are taken as the colt steps up close to the mare, his neck stretching upwards. With small huffs and widened eyes he reaches his muzzle towards her own. "Bert," I huff slightly in embarrassment. "Personal space," I chide to the boy as I take a step forward.
It's too good to be true, I ain't got nothin' to do with you
There was a time when she’d been so curious. A time when she’d been nothing but a small child, left to roam the forests of the Chamber by herself. She’d explored daily, watching from the sidelines as her father let their kingdom rot. Straia had always been a patient creature, even then, waiting until the time was right. A patient creature, yes, but a terrible daughter. Her father had not deserved the crown he’d worn, and when the time was finally right, she took it.
That had been the beginning of everything, really.
She recognizes the boy that comes up to her today, and it is the child that interests her far more than the protective and polite dam. Children are far more moldable, and this particular child rather seems to like her tree. To be perfectly frank, the mare doesn’t even actually say hello but busies herself being embarrassed by a child for being a child.
Straia’s glances in the mare’s direction, clearly appraising. ”He is fine,” she says cooly, for though she is many terrible things, Straia has still been a mother. Not a very good one (at least, not in the traditional sense), but she’d loved her children. Her attention turns back to the boy and she drops her muzzle to greet him, closing the space between them.
She withdraws after a moment, something of a smile on her face. ”I am the burning pine tree that you are so fond of,” she says, her voice silky and smooth. It is absolutely a dangerous sound, though she has no ill intentions. Well, she would not consider them ill, though she will influence young minds if they are the right ones. ”My name is Straia.”
@[evarae]
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
