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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    i've never fallen from quite this high; Aquaria
    #1
    and since you’re the only one that matters,----------------
    ----------------tell me: who do i run to?


    He has done what Aquaria had asked, giving the pale nereid the space she requested. Rather than fret over the Ischian Dame, Pteron had focused instead on the training of his young charges. He has also explored most of the large island and several of the outer islands as well. He has not ventured to those ruled by Beachmasters, preferring to leave such encounters for when he has Aquaria to soften what he has heard are a rather territorial lot. (That this rumor is almost entirely about his own grandsire is something that Pteron remains oblivious of). Pteron has flown over the island in all types of weather, strengthening his wings and flight skills, and teaching his sons to do the same.

    Most nights he falls asleep as soon as he closes his olive-green eyes, and each dawn he awakes as fresh as a spring colt. He feels it too, lacking any sign of ache or age in his body, and suspects he’s inherited immortality from some distant ancestor.

    The same is true today, and the sun is just starting to lighten the edge of the horizon. The late winter air is thick and humid, promising a storm that’ll come with the dawn. These are Pteron’s favorite kind of storm, the kind that come suddenly and are gone just as fast. He dislikes the long days of rain, and has heard that the worst of those occurs at the heart of winter and are behind them now.

    He canters, but his pace is uneven and choppy until he finds his footing, and the perfect distance from the surf at which to run. Once he finds it though, he pushes himself into a gallop. In the semi-darkness his speed is reckless, but he keeps it up until the sky is light enough to see by, and only then does he slow. There is sweat lathered across his pale grey sides, and his breathing is heavy. Looking around, Pteron finds that he has run farther than he’d thought. Farther than he’d meant to, really. This is the strip of beach that curls into Aquaria’s cove around the trees ahead of him. He is still other than his breathing and the rapid flicking of his ears, and after a moment he turns to move into the woods. The river is not far, he knows, and there is no reason that he shouldn’t be drinking from the river.

    @[Aquaria]

    -- pteron --

    Reply
    #2
    aquaria
    - THE TIDE IS HIGH, IT'S SINK OR SWIM -


    "Shhh, baby," Aquaria murmured to her newest addition. 

    Two evenings ago the leathery shell of her egg had split open. A flurry of activity had disturbed the surface of her nursery pool, the surface boiling over its bounds until a slippery little colt had burst forth. She had watched in mute fascination as the process unfolded. 

    When the boy had splashed onto the stoney edge of the pool, she'd laughed. "Aren't you a funny little thing," she said, nosing along the length of him. Her soft muzzle rubbed his skin, from the smooth plane of his head to the long, slick flukes that his tiny body flowed into. "Will this stay, do you think?" The appendage in question flipped merrily in her face in reply. He whickered shrilly as his skinny forelegs scrambled for grip on the wet stone, hindered by the fact that there were only two out them. "Never mind, never mind," she hummed, nuzzling between his flopping ears. "We'll figure it out together." 


    He'd had his first meal in the pool, after which they'd learned that drying him out was the trick to getting all four legs under the boy. Once they got that sorted out, it was easier to get him going than to slow him down. Long legs, made for running and newly freed from their tight shell casing. A boy made for keeping his mother busy. 

    It would have to happen soon, though. The quiet, intimate days of a newborn could never last forever. 

    Just as well that on this early morning, when her boisterous child woke before the sun and thirst drove her from the shelter of her cove, that she spotted the familiar blue and white coat of Pteron heading toward the river. She paused a moment, glancing between the stallion in the gloom, and the milk-sweet colt at her side. 

    The boy blinked at her with guileless purple eyes so like her own. So like... Well. It was easy to sigh. To mope. To hide them away from the world. It couldn't last, though. With a smile that looked braver than she felt, she kissed the middle of the sun that decorated his brow. "Come on, my sea star. There's someone you need to meet." 

    "Pteron," she called out, the patchwork colt leaning hard into her side. The river flowed in its carefree way, oblivious to the tension that hovered above it. The boy looked past the grown ups to the shining water, more interested in its flow than in their talk. He took one cautious step from Aquaria's hip towards it, tail flickering curiously.

    - MY ONLY RIVAL IS WITHIN -

    @[Pteron]
    Reply
    #3
    and since you’re the only one that matters,----------------
    ----------------tell me: who do i run to?

    Though the nereid had compared Cormorant’s earliest days as something like a shark, Pteron had not entirely understood the analogy. He has been picturing bird eggs, something that required constant brooding. The frequency with which he has seen Aquaria – if always at a distance – has thus made him fairly sure that there was no egg, no sibling for Cormorant. He had known another child would only tighten the tangled snarl of connection between himself and the Ischian mare, who has made it clear that she means to dissect what it is that keeps them orbiting the other. Dissect and possibly discard, too.

    He is fretting on this possibility, and taking large gulps of water, when he hears his name.

    Pteron turns his head, peering in the direction of the voice with cautious olive eyes. It is Aquaria, standing nearly at the river’s edge. The pegasus attention does not stay on her for long, though. Instead, it settles on the colt at her side. His tobiano markings are a likeness of Pteron’s, and the stallion has few children that lack the familial dun markings, and this one is no different.

    Nereid eggs must not require sitting on, he thinks, and reminds himself to find out exactly what a shark is.

    The boy is peering curiously at the glittering water, a further indication that he is as aquatic as his mother.

    “Aquaria,” he answers, closing the space between them, but looking after the greeting only at Torrent. Pteron lowers his head so that they’re at eye-level, greeting him like a (very small) equal.

    “What’s up little dude? What’s your name?”

    @[Aquaria]

    -- pteron --

    Reply
    #4
    She let him examine the little one. Nudged the colt forward a few paces, and smiled encouragingly when the boy glanced back at her. On his reed thin legs, the patchy colt met his father in the middle, wuffling curiously as he approached. 

    "He doesn't have one yet," Aquaria answered for the colt, her nose going a little bit pink. It had only been two days, not all that long in the grand scheme of things. Still, she felt silly now trying to introduce him when he didn't have a name. It was something she should have thought of before deciding to make their way over here. 

    While his mother dithered, the dunskin baby took matters into his own grasp. Along with Pteron's forelock, which had been latched onto with toothless gums while it was within reach. Aquaria bumped into the boy's rump with her muzzle, making him drop the hair in surprise. "Whaaa-?" He bleated, huffing indignantly. 

    "That's not nice," she chided, blinking apologetically to the pegasus. So much for first impressions. Yet it was impossible not to crack a smile when she saw the effect of foal saliva on the forelock in question. "Can I fix that?" She asked, almost shyly. It had been seasons since they had touched. Since they had even been close enough to consider it. 

    @[Pteron]
    Reply
    #5
    and since you’re the only one that matters,----------------
    ----------------tell me: who do i run to?

    The little colt seems curious, especially for a child so young. He comes for Pteron’s blue forelock, and though the pegasus tries to toss it behind his ear the effort is in vain. The tobiano’s efforts to free himself gently are aided by Aquaria’s tap at the boy that causes their son to huff indignantly and release Pteron so his head might lift.

    Aquaria offers to fix his mane, but Pteron is eager to sow her that he is a capable father for their child, and gives her a brief smile and a “Nah, I got it,” as  he gives another shake of his head and dislodges the bit that had been hiding his olive eyes. Eager to focus on the colt between them, to see more of this little creature that he and Aquaria had created.

    The boy is not like anything that Pteron has seen before, yet his striking resemblance to Cormorant reminds their father that it has been some time since he’s seen their eldest. He is thinking of that, especially as a few distant seabirds take flight, and then glances back up to meet Aquaria’s eyes.

    “Do all nereids name their children after the water?” he asks curiously. “Or is that just a personal preference?” He’s not entirely sure that he will have a say in the boy’s naming, but he is hopeful. Aquaria does seem disinclined to bolt this time, he thinks. That is promising, and Pteron ventures: “I was going to suggest Moira, but I’m not quite sure that fits him.” Pteron had been imagining a filly with that name, after all, and the curious boy already seems too bold for such an ethereal name.

    @[Aquaria]

    -- pteron --

    Reply
    #6
    The little one is days old, and already his mother can see a strong personality showing through. Another boy full of vigor and thirst for life, and she is happy to see it. To know that her children are strong and independent. It's a blessing, one she hasn't always known she'd needed. Though it was not apparent from her outward appearance, Aquaria knew she was growing into the real adulthood of her life, and that even if age was slow to catch her body, her mind still bore the weight of years. 

    Having children was a comfort to her that way. They kept her loneliness at bay, and her heart full. Vaguely, she wished some days she could truly do it all herself, from conception onward. That wasn't a magic she possessed, however. And so she looked to the stallion before her, and felt drops of gratitude that he was at least willing to give her her sons. 

    She gives him time to inspect the boy. Goodness knows she'd spent plenty of time doing just that. Memorizing the new color in his eyes, the smattering of white patches that flowed across his sandy coat. For now he was dry and entirely equine, no hints to the aquatic capacities she'd glimpsed at his birth. Just baby fluff and milky breath, as new as a sunrise. Perfect, as all her children were. 

    She shrugged at the winged man's question, her scaled shoulders ripping with dappled light. "Personal preference, I suppose. Nothing set in stone, though. Mostly it just has to sound like it belongs to him." She mused aloud. After all, two of her boys had bird names, and the other two just sounded nice to her ear. She smiled, a little wistful at his suggestion. She'd come to terms with being a mother of sons, but the picture the feminine name drew in her mind was a lovely kind of fantasy daughter. 

    "No, that's not quite right. Not for him. Maybe you'll have a daughter it suites some day, though." She wuffed softly into the fuzz on the boy's back. Her sister had a daughter named Sande, and Aquaria wished she'd thought of it first. Oh well. There were years between her niece's birth and now. 

    The colt was growing bored with being looked at, and wandered past his father's shoulder to look at the river going by. It was a smaller body of water, easily jumped by a grown horse, but he seemed fascinated by the burbling noise it made. Aquaria stepped behind him, humming softly. "You're brothers learned how to fish in this river," she commented, nose dipping to point at the quicksilver bodies that flowed with the water. If what she'd seen was any indication, this little one would also be taking his first gulps of cold fish from this river. 

    She paused where the mud clung to her hooves, memory tickling the back of her mind. It had been here, hadn't it? Or near enough, anyway. Where Pteron had met Halcyon for the first time, where they had made Cormorant together. That had been the last time she'd seen him, really. Up until Hal found him again, and brought him and his family to her island. It had been happy memories in this place before. But so many of those memories were of her sons, and so few were of their maker. 

    @[Pteron]
    Reply
    #7
    and since you’re the only one that matters,----------------
    ----------------tell me: who do i run to?

    She agrees that Moira is not right, but doesn’t seem offended by the fact that he’d had a suggestion. Something that fits. Something bright and curious. “What about Torrent?”

    Pteron’s olive gaze follows the colt as he moves closer to the river. Aquaria does not seem overly concerned with the boy’s nearness to the water, so Pteron takes his cue from the mare as to how much of her aquatic nature their son has inherited. He knows that he is over-cautious. The colt had clearly grown under the water as an egg, for even with the distance between them Pteron is sure that the grey mare had not been carrying a child these past seasons.

    The days are much the same here in Ischia, but Pteron is able to tell the time of year by sky, and this is early spring everywhere else in Beqanna, even if here it is a perfectly tropical day. The years since his arrival have passed quickly, slipping away the way they do for the immortal denizens of Beqanna. He has spent time with Halcyon and Asena, training them in what he knows of warfare, and offered the same to the other island children in as unassuming a capacity as he has been able. That has not made up for the conspicuous absence of others here in this tropical paradise, and it is they who darken the back of his eyes even when he smiles.

    Adarra would love it here, he thinks; the thought of his eldest daughter crossing his mind as it often does when he thinks of her siblings. She was golden like this colt, but the nameless little boy seems determined to be his own creature.

    “He’s very brave,” Pteron comments, “Definitely got that from you.”

    @[Aquaria]

    -- pteron --

    Reply
    #8
    aquaria
    - THE TIDE IS HIGH, IT'S SINK OR SWIM -

    There's a subtle shift in the air as they move to the task of naming, and Aquaria feels the tightness in her shoulders loosen somewhat. It's easier to focus on the baby, to keep herself centered on him. Her children have always been brilliant focal points, stars to guide herself by when she felt lost in darkness. 

    Her eyes too follow the boy, watchful, ready to lend help if needed. It was so rarely needed though, with her offspring. They were an independent lot, to her pride and her mild regret. That was the nature of sailors, though. Children of the sea couldn't help but explore it. She knew the feeling. The bone deep hunger for adventure, new sights, new horizons. A destiny for traveling far from home. 

    She blinked, lost in her thoughts until Pteron spoke again. Too often her mind spiraled down sad or dark crevices these days. She mustered a vague smile, nodded slowly as she considered the propsal. Dragged herself out of the trench. "Pteron, Torrent. Are you naming him after yourself?" She asked, a touch of humor in her voice. 

    "I'll consider it," she promised. "It's a good name. Something he could grow into." Certainly better than anything she'd played with so far. She felt a strange twinge of irritation. That he'd been able to come up with such a fitting name without much effort. She should have managed that. It was a basic, necessary thing, and she'd failed. 

    Her heart wrenched at the lies her own mind spun about herself, her capabilities. Why was it so hard to rebuild confidence once it had broken? She only hummed non-commitally at the comment Pteron made. She didn't feel brave at all. The last two years she'd barely managed to feel anything at all. It was simpler to submit to the flow of her days. The same patterns, the same rhythms, no deeper meaning to any of it. Existence, at its most basic. 

    Would it be better, she wondered, to leave? Situate Torrent (she was already thinking of him with that name) with his father's family, and dive, dive, dive into the sea. Let the memory of herself live on in the sea foam on the water, in her children. Would that be enough?

    - MY ONLY RIVAL IS WITHIN -


    @[Pteron]
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