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    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


    what's past is prologue // augusta
    #1

    The Pampas feel empty this morning. After a few hours spent grazing and a quick swim, Clegane wanders for a while, stirring up meadow flowers and chasing the shadow of a soaring kite. His legs seem to carry him to the eastern edge of the territory on their own accord, a place he did not travel often. But no companions are to be found as he roams, and he continues on until he reaches the bay. Silver eyes follow the tree-darkened coastline as he halts in the sand, deciding that he didn't feel like turning around and going back.

    The stallion crosses the inlet to avoid traveling through Loess, then follows the coast. His heels dip into the salty water as her walks, a light dusting of frost forming on his coat despite the warm sunshine and gentle breeze.  He stays clear of the shadows of the trees when possible, but inevitably, and he comes parallel with the woodlands, the features of his face tighten and his step grows wary.

    A wolf holws somewhere in The Forest, miles off but still far too close.

    "This was a terrible idea..." he murmurs to himself, turning to face the way he had come and inwardly groaning at the miles he had traveled. A wind lifts his made from his thick crest, rustling his feathers and giving him an idea. He takes a few quick steps towards the pampas, spreading his wings like he had one-hundred times before. With a swoosh that whips up a storm of sand, he brings them down with one powerful movement.

    But just like all the other times, it doesn't work. His feet lift as he makes a modest effort to fling his weight skyward, but the fear or the difficulty of flight stop him again, and he tucks his wings back above his topline where they always sat dormant, just for show.

    clegane




    @[Radar]
    cleganetransparent
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    #2
    the night is my companion, and solitude my guide.
    The forest has always been her home.

    There had been a time when she had thought she would have been able to stray from the shadows that grow tall and long amongst the silent trees - but that time has long since passed. Her secluded alcove is familiar and warm, draped by her own magic that creates a trick of the light, hiding her from view and obscuring her from those who she did not want to be seen by. She curls up in the soft bed of lichen, drifting off to sleep every night with her shadows dancing beside her.

    And when she awakes, she finds that the gentle rays of the sun have coaxed her from her sleep. She blinks slowly, lifting her chin from her dark knees as a visible shudder trickles down her spine; winter is in the air, cold and fierce, and it makes her wary. The sound of a lonesome howl of a wolf in the distance brings the mare to her legs, shaking out the tightness of sleep.

    Another sound - almost like a howl - finds her attention. She is familiar with the mournful moan of wind through the trees, but Augusta knows that in this instance, that was not the case. Curious yet cautious, the dark blue mare departs from her copse of trees, determined to find the source of a sudden gust of powerful wind through the forest.

    She comes upon the winged stallion just as he attempts to throw himself to the sky for a second time. She pauses momentarily, single foreleg mid-air, her dark brown eyes watching him. And when he tucks those beautiful wings into his dappled sides, Augusta cannot help herself. The quiet girl draws up alongside him, fascinated by the way the sunlight catches on his coat, glinting softly.

    She’d never tell him, but she’s quite happy that he wasn’t able to leave just yet.

    “Don’t go,” she murmurs, her voice but a whisper, realizing that all the years she’s spent alone now brings her to this moment - begging a stranger to keep her company. “I mean,” she clarifies softly, “you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.”

    “I’m Augusta.”



    @[Clegane]
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    #3


    When all four of Clegane's legs are firmly on the ground again, a mild curse hisses through his clenched teeth. But he doesn't have time to let the feelings of frustration smolder. The sound of sand shifting below hooves causes him to turn his broad head, wide, silver eyes looking towards the line of trees. 

    His cheeks and tasseled ears grow warm as a soft-blue mare comes to stand beside him. The swirling wind around them seems to hold it's breath, so still it's almost quivering. He finds the stranger's inviting brown eyes, and he can't help the faint smile that makes his scarred and ragged face a little less terrible. 

    Augusta. Her whispered name leaves her lips, and he tries to swallow the sudden lump in his throat - to be so alone, then so suddenly in the company of one so beautiful having rocked him. But when he finds his voice after briefly clearing his throat, and it is surprisingly steady.

     "Clegane," the stallion replies, giving a small dip of his head. With an exhale, the ocean breeze returns, gently tumbling between them, and swirling together the scents of the places they have been. He had never thought that pine and hickory and smelled so sweetly as it did right then. 

    "I have nowhere to be but here," he offers, the far off pampas for a moment, forgotten. 


    clegane




    @[Augusta]
    cleganetransparent
    Reply
    #4
    the night is my companion, and solitude my guide.
    She has never known a stranger, not really, and that will perhaps come around to hurt her one day. She is so trusting and full of warmth; the forest has never held anything for her other than the comforting scent of wet bark after a summer rain, or the bits of color that pop through the snow as flowers begin to bloom once again at the end of winter. Life has been soft to her and so when her deep almond eyes rest on the scars that tear across his face, her own expression falls slack. Concern deepens within her irises and without thinking, she reaches out to touch her pale mouth to the gnarled skin as if in awe.

    “Clegane,” she repeats so softly, her voice a whisper as her breath warms the redness of his scar tissue. She focuses next on the intricate patterns that play across the thick curve of his neck and the near-white tendrils of mane that spill across it, humming thoughtfully to herself as she imagines where he has been and what grand stories he has to tell - more than her, she could easily guess.

    Augusta pauses, realizing her closeness and the rather rude way she was fixated on him, and her eyes grow wide. “I’m sorry,” she breathes suddenly, pulling her chin to her chest and chiding herself inwardly for being so unfeeling. It is not often she finds someone to share her day with and it seems like she is well on her way to offending him; she only hopes he does not take to the skies just yet and forgives her for her carelessness.

    There is a gentle laugh in her throat, sincere and tender. “I have nowhere else to be but here, either.” She rolls her blue mottled shoulder casually, tipping her chin upwards to gaze at the perfect white clouds that now move unhurriedly across the sky above them. “That sums up my life quite perfectly, actually.” Her voice is as smooth as the water that flows before them, fading into a hum once again.

    She turns her blue and white face towards him, that intricate blaze down the bridge of her nose contrasting brightly against the darker auburn of her eyes. “I hope you have a much better one.” Augusta smiles because of course he did; everyone did - they had to - because who would dream of living here, alone, as she does? Years ago, she thinks to herself, perhaps she would have. But now (and perhaps it is the way the wind stirs the darkness of her mane and forelock), she wishes for just a bit more.



    @[Clegane]
    Reply
    #5


    The forest had been a place of uncertain shelter for him, but nothing more. In the terrible days (or months, he did not know) after his mother had flung him across the continent in a dream, when he healed in the dark, hidden from others and light under the wing of his grand-dam, he dreamed of meadowlands and herds of wild horses. He had dreamed of anywhere other than the damp and the dark, and the pain of his healing face.

    It had taken him years to find the courage to leave. He had never loved the Riverlands or the forest, or the dark shadows that moved between their trees.

    But even though not all strangers have been kind to him, he wants to trust. But his desire and his instincts often pulled him apart. Augusta offers warmth and soft affections, and still, he flinches. But the touch is brief, brief enough to leave him wishing she hadn't pulled away once the touch is gone.

    He remains still for the gentle investigation of her almond eyes across his features, knowing that it was impossible to hide the face he wore, and it was better to let her take in the full of it now.

    "I lived here too, for a while," he offers. But he doesn't want to talk about himself, he wants to hear the sound of her voice again. "I'm sure you have a story or two, I happen to love boring stories." He smiles, reaching out to return the gesture he had unintentionally avoided, placing a brief and gentle nip on the bridge of her nose, where blue meets white. "So you have never left? Truly? Not even a hoof set into the meadow?" His voice is hushed with genuine curiosity. He had berated himself for years about the way he had stalled and simpered in the dark, but here, she was vibrant and beautiful and seemed to love the place, or at least not hate it. He wanted to know what she saw in it.

    clegane




    @[Augusta]
    cleganetransparent
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