"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
Gale this is going to break me clean in two -- this is going to bring me close to you
Though their first encounter would suggest otherwise, Gale is rather reserved with his vision magic, preferring to use it in ways that affect only himself, and others only defensively or with permission. Mazikeen had been hesitant, but at the soft exclamation Gale knows that she does not regret allowing him to alter her vision. Her blunt statement of preference summons a grin, the expression of knowing amusement brightening his blazed face. He appreciates that she is forward, because he has never been the best at subtlety, and he is somehow already very sure that she wouldn’t lie to him.
She says nothing about his wings, but Gale watches as she finds the mark she’d left there, takes note of the way her feline pupils dilute, and the soft ripple like electricity just beneath his skin that it causes. She meets his eyes, and his mouth is suddenly very dry and his skin very hot. The water would feel good, he thinks, cool against his skin, and he nearly takes a step toward the water just as Mazikeen takes one toward him.
He should be grateful that they hadn’t collided, yet he realizes that growing within him is a curiosity to know what it might be like to touch her without the violence of battle. Before he can give that any thought at all, she offers him what he would have never imposed to ask. She glides past it with humor, and Gale does laugh, but when the sound fades he continues to meet her gaze, and there something more somber in his eyes than a moment earlier. “Thank you.” He says softly, and this time he recognizes the emotion that wells at the back of his throat – gratitude – and he must clear his throat before continuing lest it well over. “That means a lot.”
Gale will not hold her to it, not when he knows what awaits, but that she offered so easily, so confidently... He had already thought her a marvelous creature, and he makes no effort to hide that in his expression as he meets her crooked grin. She is generous and powerful and funny, traits that Gale values, and it is very hard to pull his gaze away from her, so rather than continue to grin wordlessly in her direction, he instead reaches toward her nose with his own, saying: “It’s right there, by the way. Your mark from the Alliance. Right there at the end of your nose.” Just before his brushes it, he suddenly remembers the importance of personal space, and pulls his chin down as though he’d always meant to stop just short of actually touching her.
It surprises Mazikeen when he steps forward at the same time as her and she can feel her body tense once again at the proximity. Feels that electricity racing across her skin and through her muscles as she waits for the fire and fury to rise up and consume her.
It doesn’t come, though. There’s an abundance of wariness and it spikes when he reaches into the gap between them says something, but it’s lost at first in the white noise of her mind. “What?” She asks, voice distracted and uncertain, even though a second later the words make it through the fog. Her Alliance marking was on the end of her nose? What was it doing there? The closest anyone had come to hitting her in the nose had been when Gale had kicked her in the tusks and she already bore the result from that in her chipped tooth.
Mazikeen is struck with how much it means that he did not close the gap all the way. It gives her the chance to realize that this does feel different. That she is not so much afraid that Gale is messing with her as she is of her own reaction and the weight of it. She’s so on edge it feels as though she’s going to burst into flames just from his proximity - and yet… it’s not unwelcome.
There’s only the smallest hesitation before she reaches out, brushing the end of her nose against his and breathing out two quite words into the soft navy skin there. “Right here?” The contact only lasts for a brief moment but she can still feel it after she pulls back. As though she could actually feel the marking right where he said it was. Her bright eyes shine with the torrent of confusion and warmth swelling in her as they focus on his - and she wonders if he can hear the thundering pace of her heart.
The spell doesn’t completely break but there’s a shift in her as her uncertainty and a new sensation (self-consciousness) climb to the forefront of her mind. Mazikeen doesn’t step back - when does she ever? - but she moves her head and tries to remember how to speak. “So, um… is there anything edible on this island?”
Gale this is going to break me clean in two -- this is going to bring me close to you
She does not flinch away, which feels like another small victory. They’re so close their breath mingles, a single soft cloud in the cold spring air. Gale follows the plumes until the heat of them dissipates into nothing, and the rapid swooping of his stomach is now most reminiscent of birds in flight. It is her nearness causing this, he’s decided, having gathered enough evidence through observations of his own reaction and her proximity.
She makes him feel…strange.
Exposed, almost, or perhaps that is just a consequence of sharing with her the tale of the dark future that waits for him. Gale weighs the emotion, and decides he is not quite ready to deal with it. He will think more later, when he is alone and without distraction. For now he will think of other things, and he meets her gaze to change the subject just before she presses her question gently against his nose. There’d been no time to react, and yet he is able to follow her when she pulls away for the briefest moment. Just long enough to realize what he is doing, and pull away quickly.
“Yes,” he answers, “Right there at the end.” The words are spoken between breaths; the wind seems to be pulling the air from his lungs, or perhaps that too is Mazikeen. When she breaks eye contact, his senses flow in like the tide, making him aware of the dazed expression he’s been wearing. She’s going to think him a fool, Gale chides himself, and well she should. Mazikeen is well out of Gale’s league, and Gale is sure the cat-eyed mare knows it. Think about it more later, he reminds himself, and breathes a quiet breath he’d not known he’d been holding when Mazikeen asks about getting something to eat.
“Depends on what you consider edible.” He replies, recalling the sharp wolf’s teeth she’d once donned and shivering at the idea of what type of meal they might consume. “We’ve got some pretty awesome fruit.” Just he says it, he remembers that the darkness has slowed the seasonal blossoming. Well, he probably has some awesome fruit.
Mazikeen notices Gale’s dazed expression, she feels the way noticing it spreads warmth across her skin, but she doesn’t actually understand why he looked so dazed. Had he swapped out his view for something else? Or could it be, she wonders as she replays that brief contact, when his muzzle had lingered on hers and stretched out the moment they touched, she’s affecting him the same way he’s affecting her? That would be comforting. If there are words to ask such a thing, none of them come to her. Not when she’s close enough to see the faintest hint of the iridesence in his coat, to admire the strength she knows exists in those muscles (though she does note the difference in their height a bit of annoyance). Not when she feels caught by the colour of eyes she doubts these tropical waters can rival even under the sunlight.
This uncomfortably poetic thought returns Maze a little more to her senses, thankfully. Her head clears enough for rational thought to resume and, though she isn’t aware of it, her cat-eyes no longer look as though she’s been huffing catnip.
When Gale answers her question, commenting on how it depends on what she finds edible, she also finds herself thinking of the wolf - and a dozen other predatory shapes she’s taken. Even the osprey that she favours so much for flight. “I like to wear the shapes of predators, but I don’t actually enjoy the taste of meat.” She admits this casually with a tilt of her head that mimics a shrug even though it’s part of a truth she had been worried about admitting to the rest of the pack. She has wondered if it made her lesser because the thrill of the hunt came with the chase for her, the challenges it presented, and then whatever critter ended up in her claws would be set free - bruised, perhaps, but mostly unharmed.
Mazikeen enjoyed fighting much the way she enjoyed the hunt, and her fierce nature would inspire her to do anything to defend her family and friends, but she found no joy in killing. Except in the case of the shadowy monsters. That was different.
She worries that this compassion is a weakness much the way that she worries about what it means for her to be so acutely aware of Gale’s body as it stands close to hers. Or for her to realize she's glad he had been the one to tell her where her marking was, that it was him who she first touched with it.
Food, she chides herself - think about food. Mazikeen is truly hungry - even if hunger isn’t the only thing causing her stomach to flutter.
“I’d like to try fruit, though. I’ve never had it.”
Gale this is going to break me clean in two -- this is going to bring me close to you
It’s good to know she won’t eat him in his sleep, Gale thinks to himself, and smiles at his internal joke that follows her admitting to a dislike of meat. “Erne will be relieved,” he says, deciding to share the joke with her before she admits to never having had fruit before.
“In that case, I know just the thing.” He turns his head, looking back at the feathered wings. Maintaining them is not taxing, but Gale is not yet certain about this ability. He pictures himself without them, and just like that they are gone. “Ha!” He exclaims aloud at his very first successful shifting, and glances up at Mazikeen with a victorious smile. “This way!” The enthusiasm is clear in his voice, and the brindle stallion moves forward, past Mazikeen toward the heart of his tropical island resort.
He could have stepped a bit more to the side, and not brushed against her for a moment. But he didn’t, not until he’s confirmed that along her skin hums a current that causes his own heart to stutter and his blood to quicken. Gale is grateful for the darkness for just a moment, but he soon glances over his shoulder and whistles a challenge to the white mare.
The brindle stallion does not know Mazikeen well enough to gauge what she considers to be entertainment. If it’s not a race through an unfamiliar meadow, then a forest, then another meadow, she’ll be sorely disappointed.
Gale, however, is panting happily as he draws up at the shore of the heart of Islandres, and he turns to face Mazikeen with a broad grin on his face. The adrenaline still courses through his limber body, and as he steps onto the tidal fed riverbed the mud feels cool against his pasterns. As he’d suspected, a few water lilies lie scattered on the earth, anchored in place with their long roots. “Easiest to get when the tide is out,” Gale says as he tosses some in her direction. (he doesn’t notice that his flat teeth turn to something more serrated to better sever the thick roots, and they’ve changed back by the time he rejoins the white mare on the bank.
“Come back in summer and the selection will better. There’s also, ya know, grass.” Gale is not sure if he says this to tender her expectation of the water lilly bulbs or in the hopes that she’ll come back, but it works for both. Very effective, he decides, and takes a mouthful of his own.
The joke about Erne being relieved earns a grin and a small shake of her head. And then a few moments later, Maze shares with his delight when Gale successfully gets rid of the wings with (presumably) a thought. There’s a smile dancing on her expression when he turns back to her. She wants to know how far his shifting extends - can he become animals like her? - but that can be something to explore at a later time. Having not ever been under a family curse, she wasn’t sure what the timeframe was for recovering from the news it may have picked you next. What she wants is for him to enjoy shifting as much as she does - to share that joy with him - and this first success feels like a good step.
She utterly loses whatever thought had been in her mind when Gale brushes against her to get past. Maze feels her breath catch and she loses her hold on the feline eyes, her world plunging into a thicker darkness. A very soft, nervous laugh escapes her, expelling that caught air. She has the cat eyes back in a quick moment and tries not to focus on how much it unnerves her that she had lost control of them at all.
As he continues to step past her, her head turns to watch as if pulled by a magnetic force. She half expects to see a mark where he had touched her, but of course, there’s no outward sign of what she feels there. Maze is dazed, electrified, and lightheaded. It takes an extra beat of her still thundering heart to register his challenge and she muscles her way back to sanity as her body reacts and she surges after him.
Although part of her is annoyed to be trailing, she maintains enough common sense to know she can not surge past Gale to “win” the race because she has no idea where they are going. Any disappointment fades away as her legs continue to carry her across the tropical terrain. The race through the dark is reckless and thrilling - the perfect combination. It requires her to focus, which suits her just fine.
A wild smile blazes across Mazikeen’s features when they stop and she relishes in the exhilaration. The long, stretching strides had torn open a few of the cuts on her shoulder and her legs, and a few trails of blood weave against her white and black legs down to the sand, but it is not enough to hold her attention. She’s breathing heavily and she wonders idly how long her heart can go at this pace before it explodes? It had, after all, been racing long before them.
She watches, curious, as he steps onto the riverbed and plucks some kind of plant before tossing them over. She eats without hesitation - and it's only after she’s swallowed her first mouthful that she wonders at how easily she's come to trust Gale. All of this has been remarkably easy and that frightens her. She should be more careful so she's ready for when this peace crumbles.
And yet, the idea of coming back and being welcome causes her less-empty stomach to flip a little with pleasure. And the tail end of what he says inspires a laugh. “Wow. Grass, huh? What an exotic treat.” She teases with an easy sarcasm, eyes bright as she regards him.
“I’d like to come back.” And there’s a warmth in those words and the soft smile that accompanies them while she focuses on him before her eyes drift upwards to the starless expanse of the sky. “Maybe the sun will be back by then.” Maze attempts to keep her tone light but she can hear the worry that creeps in on the edges. The endless night would not see her cower but she also wouldn’t mind seeing the sun rise once again.
Gale learned long ago that not everything delicious that he’d found on Islandres is actually edible. Juniper berries, locoweed, arrowgrass, all wonderful, but not for those who lack that ability to magically repel toxins. He’s done his best - especially since Aeden and Vita added children to the resort - to not eat poisonous things, and so set a good example for the children.
Water lily bulbs are definitely a safe food. He watches Mazikeen devour them, nodding happily before he finishes his own.
When she mentions grass, Gale looks up, smiling at the tone of her voice before he’s even met her eyes. When he does, the earlier sensation returns, as though her bright orange eyes are twin flames warming him even from this distance.
“It’s special grass,” he laughs in reply, “Not that boring green stuff you all have on the mainland.” Ruinam had once insisted that the lavender seagrass and the teal-orange meadow grass tastes exactly like any other grass, but Gale was not convinced. They’re better, even if its in some intangible way, just like the sky here is bluer, the water warmer. Well, had been warmer and bluer, Gale thinks as he turns his head pensively toward the dark sky.
When she says that she would like to come back, the same warmth from earlier infuses him, and he glances back down with a smile just as she looks up at the sky. Gale’s blue eyes trail from her face, down the slope of her neck to where a cut bleeds red against her pale skin. The sight creates within him a new blend of emotions: empathy for her pain, admiration for her skill, gratitude for her efforts to defend his home, and below that all the same nameless electric thrill.
“I hope so,” he replies, without an effort to disguise his own concern. “I would like to show you Islandres in daylight, and perhaps see Hyaline as well.” That he might go there now, as a shifter, occurred to him on their run.
Gale’s explanation that the grass here is different has Mazikeen rolling her eyes as she grins. “Oh it’s special grass, okay.” She’s not sure she believes this claim from her new friend at all and allows her skepticism to leech into her teasing words. Grass was grass, wasn’t it? Whether it was in the meadow or on a tropical island?
While she’s looking at the sky, she’s sure she can feel his eyes on her like a physical touch tracing wherever they land. It’s as pleasant as it is confusing - she thought a bit of space would’ve helped her heart to calm down again. Her wounded shoulder twitches a little and she brings her gaze back down to him when she hears her concern about the sun echoed in his words. Although everyone probably felt the same way - she appreciates the creation of more common ground between them.
Where’s the mare that had lost several days as a lion immediately after the Alliance because she was so overcome with rage? Sure, it was disgust at herself more than it was at him - but blaming him had been easier, it had been welcome. She’s been looking for that anger and coming up empty. There is a fire that laces across her skin when she feels his gaze on her, but it's not connected to the hurricane of rage she had assumed would rise up. It's something else entirely.
Her earlier words ring in her head - he is not what she expected, and she’s glad for it.
And then, the mention of him coming to Hyaline, Mazikeen nods with enthusiasm - liking this idea, of sharing her home with him in return. “I could give you a tour. We only have boring green grass, I’m afraid, but we’ve got a pet sea monster. Her bark is worse than her bite, though.” Just thinking about Sabal’s reaction to being described in such a way brings out a small chuckle before Maze continues. “I did hear the Champion there used to hate your guts but she’s…” Her voice catches and she clears it with a short cough. If Mazikeen knew how to be bashful, she might look away - but her orange eyes remain steadily on Gale as something shifts in her smile. The humour fades from it and leaves only warmth. “... she’s starting to come around, I think.”
Gale this is going to break me clean in two -- this is going to bring me close to you
Even though he recognizes the sarcasm in her voice, Gale continues to nod, as though he’d not seen her rolling eyes or wide grin. He’s smiling himself because he anticipates the surprise of her seeing it beneath the sun, and also because he’s found it is rather difficult for him to not smile with Mazikeen nearby.
His eyes trace across her recent wounds one last time before settling back on her face. When the injuries heal, will they scar white like the rest of her, he wonders? Or perhaps the black of her markings? His own injuries (many added during the alliance) heal without a dimple in his flesh, though the hair that returns to cover them is always the flaxen gold of his cremello coat. They match the natural brindling of his coat, appearing to be a new stripe rather than a healed injury. Gale has mostly convinced himself that he’s okay with not having battle scars to prove himself to anything with eyes, but there are times he definitely feels the opposite.
She offers him a tour with enthusiasm, and Gale’s blue ears flick forward at the mention of a sea monster. He knows that there’s one in the waters of Ischia, but this is the first he’s heard mention of another. “A sea monster in a lake…” he muses aloud, lost in thought – do they consider themselves aptly named? – brought out only by Mazikeen’s soft chuckle and following admission.
“I’m relieved to hear it,” Gale replies, with a smile that matches her own. “Perhaps someday she might even become fond of me.” Then he winks, something he’s seen Pteron pull off enough times to successfully mimic his elder brother’s charm. Except then he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do after the wink, so he looks back up at the sky right away.
He winks and it is charming - deepening the smile that she cannot shake. There’s an urge to laugh, but she bites down on this - knowing the cause is nerves but aware it could be interpreted as unkind (and certainly not wanting that). She has no idea what to do next, though, and as Gale turns his gaze back up to the sky she finds no clues there. What’s the response when someone winks at you? She shifts her weight, thinking about moving closer to him, but second-guesses herself before her hoof can to more than shift and she remains where she is.
The only thing that bridges the gap between them is the quiet word she responds with. “Perhaps.” It’s a small lie but she wonders if he can hear that for what it is - hear the way her heart beats in her ears as she says it - as though over this weird day she hasn’t already become incredibly fond of him. Mazikeen’s made friends in less time than this before but, at least for her, this feels different. She’s uncomfortable with the sense that she’s in new territory with rules and expectations she can only guess at. There is a part of her wants to flee from this, from him, and fly away until she can breathe and think again.
As in all things, though, Mazikeen is far too stubborn to back away.
There’s a small stretch of silence where she enjoys just watching him before she speaks again - that note of humour returning as she tilts her head slightly to the side. “So, are you done coming up with excuses for us to delay our rematch - or do you have any more?” Though she does not want to fight fight anymore, there is the promise of a spar she has not forgotten… and she will happily ignore the fact that she is injured and tiptoeing her way to exhaustion for a friendly wrestling match. But if he has more excuses to delay, she cannot truthfully say she’d mind that either.
