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  • Beqanna

    version 22: awakening


    GHAUL -- Year 209


    "(souls are not meant to live more than once — death was not meant to be temporary, and she is so sure that every time her heart starts to beat again that irreversible damage is further inflicted)" -- Anonya, written by Colby

    [private]  hold back the river; altissima

    He spent his last days in Liridon with his uncle, his father’s brother. Tarian has never been a creature who lusted for adventure, has never been a soul who longed for enterprise. An heir to a forgotten kingdom - a kingdom they had both known - it had seemed fitting that he spent his last days with someone in Liridon who remembered it. 

    They hadn’t lamented as they reminisced. They didn’t yearn as they remembered. 
    They walked - to and toward.

    Tarian listened as Jay told him about prophecies that could be found in the tidal patterns left behind the ocean as the tides receded. Tarian listened as he was told about how the stars - a compass, a guide, something that pegasi knew instinctually to measure their hearts and wing strokes by - reflected similar patterns; futures and destinies could be found there, too. In the Winds, in the change of seasons. (Tarian had his doubts about some of these things but there is a reason why he is a warrior and his Uncle a Shaman.)

    The silver stallion had listened, so intently, that on his last night, he had been taken by surprise to hear whalesong echoing in his Uncle’s cove. A parting hymn, a song he had carried with him from the ocean to the sky.

    The wind here sounds, similar. If he listens closely, there is a loneliness in it as it blows through the branches and rattles the bones of the forest. It keeps Tarian company as he walks through the trails, as he winds around the trunks and weaves towards what he thinks is a clearing. The early morning sun gilts him as he emerges through the treeline, coming to the Meadow that he knew he'd eventually find. With the sun rising to the east, it blinds him and makes the stallion scowl as he comes to a halt.


    It etches across his otherwise pale features and Tarian turns his head sharply to the left, trying to escape the blinding effect of the sunrise.


    Image by Daughter of East

    Altissima have a starter
    [Image: FloVvj.png]
    It’s been years since Altissima has been home, years since she’s walked the familiar trails of this place. She’s not really sure why she’s come back - it’s been a few days now and she just isn’t too sure what’s tying her here anymore. There are family members, of course, but she isn’t sure she would know her siblings from any other stranger that she passes.

    One thing she think Beqanna does best than anyone else are sunrises, though, and the clear day dawning around her almost feels worth it on its own.

    Her owl companion is off napping away the break of day and the pale mare is on her own. She stands still, wings retracted so that more of her pale blue skin is exposed. Altissima isn’t sure if that really makes a difference as far as absorbing the sunlight goes, but it’s a habit now. A ritual.

    Her eyes are a deep indigo, enriched with her happiness and peace, as they focus on the rising sun. The light plays around her and makes her glow just a little as she saves it, stores it, quite literally for a rainy day.

    Indigo mingles with purple as someone moves nearby, interrupting her peace, and then they are a burning pink when he suddenly turns away from the light. She shouts something wordless in annoyance and surprise as she hurries to move out of his way, managing to avoid contact. The glow around her drops and there’s only a slight shimmering in her silver hair as she flicks her tail in aggravation, turning to face the winged stranger with a bite in her voice.

    “What, did the sun surprise you? It shows up every day you know.”


    [Image: willowsticker_by_space1993_ddeo27s_small.png]

    He's never taken much notice of sunrises or sunsets so Tarian can honestly say that this day is starting like any other; the only difference is that he's lost and the silver stallion has never been the ambling sort. There has always been a purpose in his stride and a reason in his direction. Tarian is glad that the dawn has come - it certainly makes it easier to see where he's going - but the knowledge that he isn't familiar with the destination irritates him.

    It bristles beneath his lightly dappled skin.

    He can usually hide it beneath a mask of stoicism. (He's quite good at that - taking that lovely pale luster of his and turning himself something carved out of marble.)

    Tarian had known that he was facing east. He wasn't so much of a fledgling flyer to not know what direction he faced. The sun would be breaking over some vantage point and he had been preparing himself for that. This clearing, though, is unfamiliar and exposed how little he knew of the land that found himself wandering. (Wandering! Him! The warrior prince without a kingdom or a cause. Ironic.) Though the rising sun took command of his vision and made everything a dark flash of red, there is a brief moment that the color changes. A trick of the light? He isn't sure.

    Uncertain and annoyed, his scowl deepens. Tarian hides it as he drops his proud head, a partially flared left-wing used as a shield between him and the blinding sun. The buffer works well enough and reveals a blue-tinted mare when he looks up. His glacier-blue eyes flick up to the spots on her forehead and Tarian uses the silence to realize that they aren't a lingering effect of the assault on his vision.

    She sports those spots just as he claims his wings. What a shame that she didn't have any of her own.

    The silver pegasus stallion looks almost thoughtful until he speaks and the edges of his gray mouth purse into a firm line. "Oh?" he retorts, "thank you for that illuminating ray of information."

    Snorting softly (he has some decorum) as he lifts his head, he asks: "do you show up here every morning as well or was today just my luck?"


    Image by Daughter of East

    Altissima bare with me, i'm still figuring him out
    [Image: FloVvj.png]
    Those pink eyes roll at his illuminating jest, though just the smallest hint of a smile causes them to shift to a wary, warm purple as most of her initial anger fades into a steady thrum of simple annoyance. Her gaze shifts to the sun, to the source of life and her power, and she wonders if maybe she should have just not said anything. She’s out of practice with interacting with others and is currently wondering if maybe her years of isolation were for the better.

    She’s distracted by these thoughts and her attention gets pulled back to the silver pegasus when he asks a question. Altissima frowns slightly, trying to figure out whether or not he is making fun of her or… well she can’t figure out what motive might behind that question.

    So she answers it honestly.

    “Just the last couple of mornings, so I guess you’re just lucky.” She smiles, though it’s hardly sweet. “I, however, can’t say the same.” There’s a frost to it that matches her colouration and she moves a little to the side, wondering if she can excuse herself from this conversation now - she doesn’t enjoy the feeling of being lost. Not when someone else is there to witness it, and her footing feels loose in the world of conversations.

    [Image: willowsticker_by_space1993_ddeo27s_small.png]

    Though much is taken, much abides; and though we are not now that strength
    which in old days moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are.

    Her coat isn’t just simply white. As his eyes adjust better to the daylight (and to her), Tarian can find himself studying her. It isn’t a trick of the eye. She shimmers a kind of blue-haloed light that becomes more apparent when she shifts her gaze. He’s so intent on watching the way that the breaking day changes her few-spotted pelt that he almost misses the way her eyes shift from pink to indigo.


    Tarian decides against remarking on it. For now. The frost has just left her voice and he has no (deliberate) intention of inviting it back again.

    He can find merit in her answer and hears it for what it is: honest. Just the last couple of mornings, she says. The smile she gives him full of ice and it sets him a little on edge. "I’m very rarely lucky,” Tarian says, not quite clipping the words but he struggles to keep them away from the ledge he stands on. It's a struggle for him not to exacerbate their conversation. Lack of sleep, an unknown land, foolishly blinding himself; like this hours-old dawn, Tarian's temper is short.

    The stallion feels his jaw tense and then he sighs, deciding not to let his temper get the better of him (again) when he addresses her again.

    "If you don’t feel like calling me Lucky, you could try Tarian.”


    [Image: FloVvj.png]

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