"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
Summer arrives, the sun does not, and when Mazikeen leaves Hyaline she follows the River south and does not allow herself to so much as look to the west. She already knows she’s probably going to do something stupid in that direction eventually... but not yet. For now, she can pretend that she doesn’t care because she knows she shouldn’t.
She’s thankful for her quest in a way she had not been before - it’s the ideal distraction. A problem that she’s capable of solving. And, finally, it’s beginning to feel actually possible. She still misses her shifting, and she’s pretty sure that’s never going to go away as long as this continues, but the despair isn’t what it was. Determination has settled in, buoyed by the support of her friends, and a growing appreciation for this form.
She catches herself hoping that maybe once this particular pain is gone, another will leave too.
Better to hope for that than anything else, at least.
(Though sometimes those hopes catch up with her too, in defiance of all logic and sense.)
Mazikeen does not follow the river to the coast, and does not allow her mind to linger on why, and instead moves into the forest. This place still frightens her and though it is a reasonable (yet annoying) fear, she’s stubborn enough not to let it have any influence over her except for a heightened sense of caution and an elevated heart rate.
Every other trip she’s made here since she was attacked has involved either the shape or the features of a large predator.
It seems fitting and appropriate for the task she’s been given to face this place again with no traits whatsoever. No feline eyes to guide her, no sharp teeth or flexing claws to deter anyone from bothering her. Just the strength she’s always had and some new ideas on what to do with her hooves in a fight.
(No. Not going there.)
She doesn’t even use her fire aura to light her way and instead moves deep into the woods until she can no longer discern the shapes of the trees from the empty spaces between them and is forced to stop. There Mazikeen stands, eyes open but unseeing and ears flicking towards each sound that comes her way - though there’s not many. It’s almost entirely still in the forest around her and she tenses in anticipation of what the next noise might be.
He is not especially quiet in the darkness. Has never known the bite of a predator to instill caution, nor the sting of an injury that might incur some sort of understanding. He is young and naive, full of unearned self-confidence to lead his way in this eternal night. One day he may learn, and one day he may regret. But for today he is simply a young boy of not quite two with little to trouble him but a monster here or there.
As he had grown, he has begun to look rather odd however. While he is rife with the slim and long-legged lankiness of youth, his skin had begun to grow… lumpy. As luck would have it, his mother (one of them at least) had recognized the unusual protrusions immediately. Had explained that one day soon they would begin to burst through his skin as bone grew into (a slightly gruesome) armor. For now though, he simply appeared an oddly misshapen colt who had grand delusions of already being a stallion.
Picking his way through the trees is easy enough for him, his sight heightened and enhanced by his own abilities. He had come here to learn, though he had yet to find anything useful (though if truth be told, he had found plenty of useful information, just nothing he yet recognized as useful). Finally deciding to return home, he is quickly interrupted by the sight of something out of the corner of his eye. He stills, gaze sharpening as though it could cut more than just the darkness. He relaxes just as quickly however when he recognizes the form as equine.
Not anyone he knows, but still as familiar as the rest. These midnight times are perhaps not the best for friend-making, though that does not seem to stop the red and white colt. Tossing flaxen strands from his gaze, he moves forward, steps as quiet as an elephant on gravel might be. Curiosity blooming, he greets her with all the finesse of a balloon animal. “If you’re waiting for monsters, you might have better luck farther in.”
The noise of someone approaching is loud enough that Mazikeen is sure it is either not a predator or, if it is, at least a very stupid one.
They speak and it’s not until Mazikeen feels a sting of disappointment that she realizes she had been harbouring some hopes about who might approach her here. And then that sting is swiftly followed by a flush of hatred for herself for being so stupid.
And then she turns to the voice and, in the dim light, makes out the shape of a colt just about the same age as she had been when she had been shredded apart and left to die in this forest.
All other thoughts flee her for a few heartbeats - she remembers it all so well. Too well.
But she had been prepared for these memories, that’s why she was here - to face them - and she’s able to bully them away and climb her way back to sense. She inhales a breath into lungs housed in a chest that is intact, and she shifts a body that is whole and strong so she can face the colt better.
When she speaks, she covers up any unease with humour and a wry smile sparks in her eyes. “I’m actually more worried about impaling my eye on a branch I can’t see than any monsters I might find out here.” It doesn’t occur to Mazikeen that this might be the sort of thing you just don’t say to a youth - it was the truth, though. At least with a monster she’d get a good fight in. She could kick and scream at a tree all she wanted but all she'd do is maybe scrape off some bark and earn some bruises (as she knew from experience).
“What about you, is that what you’re out here looking for? Monsters?”
Unlike his new companion, Reave has no true purpose here beyond curiosity. He has no particular mission, no tragedy he wishes to come to terms with (the death of his birth mother notwithstanding - she had come back at least. No doubt he has lingering emotions buried deep somewhere, but it isn’t what had led him here).
His easy confidence is quickly waylaid however, giving way instead to a whiplash of intense emotion and the jumbled flash of memory. His own heartbeat races just as hers must have. Leaning uncomfortably onto his haunches (as though he could prepare himself), he shakes his head roughly until the overwhelming memories recede, tossed aside like droplets of water.
With a snort, he shakes his head one more time for good measure before his blue eyes fix on the mare before him with a renewed intensity. He resists the urge to check his chest, knowing it is whole. It hadn’t been him that had once been ripped open.
“Would you like to be able to see them?” he asks, stepping closer, curiosity now trebled. If anything had been made clear just moments ago, it’s that she had come here to confront something. He’s not quite sure whether that something is tangible or intangible yet. Still, it’s a brave thing. And fascinating, especially to a young boy just growing into his own skin.
Her follow-up question gives him pause however. He should have expected it of course. It would only be natural to wonder what someone so young is doing in such a dark and dangerous part of the woods. “I suppose,” he replies slowly, noncommittally. “The monsters by themselves are pretty boring, but what they’re trying to do to everyone isn’t.” He pauses then, eyeing her shrewdly. “Have you met them yet?”
Mazikeen wears a faint smile at next question the colt asks, and her eyes drift to the vague shadows around them. She wonders if the colt is able to produce some sort of glow or an aura like she can and is just willingly choosing to stand in the darkness instead. “Sure, I wouldn’t mind.” She ends up answering with a shrug - thinking it doesn’t matter either way. She’s here to face her fears but they’ll still exist even if she can see any branches that might be aiming towards her eye.
Her attention returns back to the colt when he answers her question. Boring was such a surprising way to describe the creatures of shadow that a bright smile breaks out on her expression and she laughs softly. A little more of the fear eases out of her with the sound. “A few, none of which have been boring.” She thinks particularly about the one she met with Wishbone, who had worn the face of a friend right until it had bitten her. How it had smiled at her and she discovered what it looked like to see her own blood drip from the mouth of someone she cared for.
Maybe Mazikeen had too many memories in this forest. “But maybe you’re right and it’s just what they were trying to do. None of the ones I’ve seen up close lived past our encounter.” There’s no particular note of gloating in her voice when she says this - they had deserved it. They had attacked first. She’s seen some from a distance, moving about like strange animals, only to investigate closer and find them gone.
She shakes her head a little because she’s still grinning about the colt’s choice of words as she glances once again into the darkness around them. “I can’t believe you think they’re boring.”
He’s not quite certain what had compelled him to extend the offer to her, though it does cause him to pause and wonder why it had not occurred to him to do the same for others. It is a simple enough task for him, his abilities having grown by leaps and bounds during the last year of his life. And when she accepts, it takes him only moments to find the tethers of her vision, to twist and shape them into already familiar paths. A grin stretches across his lips as he witnesses her sight shift, the trees thrown abruptly into sharp relief.
As he releases his hold on her sight, he tilts his head slightly, peering at her with open interest. If anything, her assertions that she had met a few who were decidedly not boring only served to further entrench his beliefs. He nods slowly as she glosses over the details of what encounters she’d had, though that hardly mattered. Details are easy enough when the echoes of her memories riddle the ether around her.
“I think they want something,” he replies slowly, his brow furrowing, expression growing thoughtful. “But I can’t figure out what. They’re… strange.”
The understatement of the year, if ever there was one.
His lips purse as she exclaims her disbelief. Of course, from her perspective, they were probably the furthest thing from boring, though it takes him a moment to recognize that. When he does, his consternation morphs into an abrupt laugh as he shifts to toss his head, indicating the deeper reaches of the forest (though in truth it’s not just the forest - it’s all the dark and rarely trodden portions of this continent). “Have you ever seen them when they think no one is around?” he questions, gaze returning to her. “They just… shuffle about.”
Mazikeen had not been expecting her sight to change, and had not been prepared for the emotions that would rise up when it happened - she blinked furiously, pushing those emotions away while also relishing being able to see clearly for the first time since she lost her shifting. She knew this feeling - but she had not known that this trick could be used this way. She shifts her head away from a branch that had, in fact, been a little too close for comfort and tries not to think about sunsets or anything else.
It’s actually a relief when she is back in darkness, her own next-to-useless sight in place and she exhales a small breath. “Thanks.” She manages, not wanting to be rude even if the word is a little more strangled than she cared for.
Fortunately, the topic of the monsters and their habits doesn’t allow for much space for her mind to wander - far better to focus on that instead. It’s a good topic, too, for these dark woods where she’s trying to face her fears.
Mazikeen had never paused to consider that the creatures might be here for some reason beyond just causing chaos. At his question, she nods - thoughtful, remembering those first few that she had only seen from a distance. “That’s true.” She thinks about it for another moment, considering the colt standing with her with a tilt of her head. Wondering what theories he had come to while he tried to puzzle out the monsters. She can only think of one -“Maybe they’re just waiting until they’re hungry again. Even wolves don’t hunt all the time, right?”
As ravenously as he has tackled life, his years are still far too short for him to have seen more than a tiny fraction of what this world has to offer. To an older and far wiser equine, it may seem obvious that the creatures had come to build a perfect haven for themselves. But for Reave, young and inexperienced as he is, he struggles to imagine why any creature would feel the need to leave their own world for another - except perhaps for curiosity’s sake. But then, as a young boy had never known want, never risked starvation or lack of resources, the world still seems boundless and full, always providing what one needs.
It’s difficult to imagine a world where that isn’t the case when one has never known or seen it. But as with all things, naivete must eventually die. And with the sun trapped behind the moon and food withering under too-cold air and lack of light, he would by necessity lose his sooner rather than later.
For now however, he is content, engrossed in conversation on the theoretical in a world growing rapidly more real by the day.
His pride inflates almost immediately at her accession to the truth of his observation. Though he had been watching them a great deal (from a distance, of course. He is nosy, not a fool), he can claim no true insight into the reasons for the behavior. And for Reave, that is perhaps the most frustrating thing at all. He can watch the world and all the vagaries within, but what he truly wishes is to understand it. With the horses he encounters, it’s simple enough when the emotions and memories cling to them like flotsam. But for things like the monsters crawling about? Well, if they have emotions or memories or even thoughts, they are certainly nothing like he’s ever seen before.
So, unsurprisingly, her supposition catches at that deep-rooted desire to understand. “I suppose,” he replies slowly, gaze flickering towards the deeper woods as a thoughtful expression suffuses his features. “It’s a bit like the great cats that sleep all day and only stir themselves to hunt.”
Then, with a pleased expression and a brief laugh, he turns back to her to exclaim, “Maybe they’re not so strange after all!”
She likes his comparison to big cats better than hers about wolves - if only because, though she had first learned to hunt as a wolf herself, she had become fond of lions and tigers and snow leopards. These thoughts don't carry the same pain as they did months ago, though there's still some uncomfortable nostalgia. She's not as useless trapped in this form as she once believed but that doesn't mean having claws isn't occasionally very handy.
(Or better eyesight to see when your face is close to a branch)
And though she certainly thinks the creatures are still strange, she can’t begrudge the colt for the satisfaction that seems to come from this line of thinking so she nods and offers an enthusiastic “Yeah!” in agreement, a small smile lighting up her own features in response to his.
She briefly considers changing the subject, though she doesn’t entirely mind this - standing in blackness, speaking to a colt about monsters and other dark things was as good of a way to pass the time and implant new memories over top of old fears. A little more of her fear does slip out every now and then, and she starts to believe that she is capable of surviving a visit to this forest without having to shift herself into something frightening.
Since the colt seems to be doing more thinking about the creatures than she has, she decides he might just have already thought about the next question that came to her mind. “Do you think they’ll stick around when the sun comes back? A new predator for us to watch for in the night?” It had always been a matter of when for Mazikeen. Something was going to shift in the world, things were going to teeter back to how they had been, or close to it. This land couldn’t just die - she refused to believe that was possible.
Truthfully, Reave’s imaginings of the future are far too often brief and incomplete. It is a hard thing to imagine when one is young. The possibilities stretch endlessly even as the whims and foibles of most remain a mystery. Though he is learning with each and every day that passes, he has never tried too hard to guess what others would do.
Which is why, in so many ways, her question gives him pause. His observations of the strange creatures now inhabiting this land have been rooted so firmly in the present that he is hard pressed to extrapolate his knowledge into something more theoretical than guessing at their purpose.
He is silent for several long breaths, a frown pulling at his lips as his gaze trails thoughtfully along the trees. And as his thoughts progress, the frown deepens. He can feel the uncertainty and fear reflecting even as he comes to an uncomfortable understanding.
“I’m not certain they intend for us to be around for that long,” he finally responds, the words slowly spoken and overlain with a certain dread. Reave cannot possibly know the future of course, but he can think of little else that makes sense. He can’t imagine the beasts would wish to see their patience and perseverance rewarded with an eventual shuffle into near irrelevance.
His thoughts filter rapidly, his emotions as clear on his red and white features as they are floating in the air around everyone he meets. After another moment, he asks suddenly, “The creatures, when you encountered them, did they… say anything?”
Though to her it may seem a sudden turn, to Reave, it weighs heavily. Despite his many talents, he has not yet grown skilled enough to discern what conversations might be occurring in the visions he spies upon. And with the fleeting, ephemeral nature of emotional memory, such details have proven very difficult to pin down. Details, as it turns out, that may be important.
