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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


    [open]  Come and light my eyes // Any
    #1
    The birds are confused with this long-lived darkness. The cheep at all hours, but quietly, inconsistently. Their songs are interrupted with nighthawks calling, with bats squealing and foxes yowling. I sleep, fitfully, and wander in the nocturnal dim. 

    Like an evil eye, the eclipse hangs threatening in the sky, the thinnest ring of light in a starless expanse. The Voices have gone quiet. That worries me more than their incessant bile ever did. They are quiet, but I still catch phantom movement in the edges of my vision. The morpheous shadows and half-seen reflections of predator's eyes are gone as soon as I turn to look at them, but they are never absent long. 

    Instead of Voices, I hear them moving. Silently, or very near it. Only soft steps in the loam, the whisper of skin on leaves, of claws scratching ever so softly against stone. It is unnerving in the worst ways, but I have a silver lining: I am not the only one to hear them. 

    No, none of us are alone now. Screams in the endless night assure me of this. Whether it is Them or their prey screaming, I can't tell. I'm not foolish enough to investigate. Not again. 

    I pause my wandering at the snap of a twig. It was not my foot that caused it, and They do not make such mistakes. I stiffen, eyes wide in the absence of light, only aware that I am no longer solitary. There is something solid out there. Very nearly tangible. The yellow gleam of jaundiced eyes catches my attention for one endless moment, before it blinks and does not reappear. A reminder, that I was not alone to begin with. 

    "Who's there," I ask, voice flat but steady. Maybe it is foolhardy to give away my position so easily. The not knowing is worse, though.
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    #2
    He couldn't bring himself to leave the Forest. Juice has only ever known living amongst trees. He feels safe when concealed in their shadows, and surrounded by their unwavering trunks. The unscathed male is hardly camouflaged; though, his pelt is also not as loud as some others. In the thralls of winter, his pelt is medium in length. The bulk of his chassis is a cocoa brown, with sooty dreads cascading down his crest and brushing his hocks. His undercarriage is, in stark contrast, the color of pure snow. The white marks the underside of his barrel, and reaches up all four limbs, above the joint in the middle. His weight is healthy though, his eyes are dark, lacking the spark of youth the rest of his body gives off.

    Today, Juice loiters in the woods. He moves idly in hopes that something will captivate him. Her voice snaps his attention towards her shimmery blue bod. She sure is shiny. She also smells of the forest; of bark, leaves and moss; the damp, earthiness of home. He cannot be sure if the territory that clings to her is the Forest they stand in currently or, from Sylva. Either way, he has been caught. Juice lowers his poll in disappointment. He should know better. He has stalked many others in these woods. He should be more careful.

    Her query leaves an awkwardness in the air that he normally tries to avoid; however, he cannot leave now. He shuffles through the leaves, making sure to make a little more noise, just to confirm her suspicion and grow the anticipation. He pauses a moment, just long enough to say, "I am". He holds his breath and then moves from the shadows so that the winged cotton candy colored mare could better see him. He halts and stands to her right. He is not much to look at when compared to her shimmery pelt, wings, and fiery sunset dyed tresses. However, unbeknownst to Juice, this mare knows more about him than most Beqannians. Maybe, just maybe, @[Sabra] will recognize the splashed white markings of his mother, Lavendel.

    ---

    I really wanted to write with you again, Bru. Don't feel too much pressure here. I know Sabra and Juice were in Sylva at different times. I guess I am hoping she tells him enough about his parents that he goes searching and stops bumming around the Forest. Having said that, I am open to whatever direction you wish to go!!
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    #3
    The staff in my breast throbs for a moment, aching and irritated. I can almost forget it's presence these days, or at the very least ignore it. Easy to ignore what's always there. 

    What is new, that catches my attention, and I turn my blinded eyes to follow the sound of another. This damned darkness is thick, and it covers all. An eclipse, they call it, but what eclipse lasts for days on end? I grimace at the sky. "Oh, very clever," I snap in the voice's direction. "Tell me another one." As far as irritating voices in the dark go, this one is mild, but I have known them to change in an instant, to go from coy to bloodthirsty on the turn of a heel. 

    My wings rustle in the dark, flickers of lightning revealed when they shift. Memoirs of my first death. Insufficient lighting now. "Give me your name." I command, my voice soft but unyielding. One pace, two, and I am nearer now to the one who's softly breathing in the dark. 

    My other senses pry for more detail. Hints of description denied to my eyes. Masculine was the voice, brief as it was. The scent of forest mulch permeates everything here, and it is only the faintest hints of anything else I receive. 

    @[Juice]
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