t a m l i n |
@[Wishbone]
Beqanna
Assailant -- Year 226
"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
[private] a melody to open their eyes
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02-13-2021, 04:18 PM
@[Wishbone]
02-22-2021, 03:24 PM
it's a mystery to me we have a greed with which we have agreed. you think you have to want more than you need; until you have it all you won't be free. and when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed. Some days Wishbone paces Tephra’s borders. Some days she wanders in the jungle, stepping across lava flows and splashing through creeks. Some days she simply stands at the edge of the beach, listening to the ocean’s dysrhythmic song. She has accepted that there is no such thing as day or night anymore, merely the passage of time evidenced by the slow decay of their jungle. Her sleeping patterns have only exhaustion as their reasoning, and even this is unreliable. Since the moon and sun first collided, Wishbone has found sleep to be a fabled thing. Her dreams are flashes of memory, of Svedka’s blue-eyed face, of her mother’s laughter. The urgency in Warden’s voice often wakes her up. Her brother’s voice jolts her awake now, and it sounds so real that Wishbone sucks in a deep breath of the air. Yet all she smells is the thick sweetness of dying plantlife, clinging so heavily in the air that she can taste it. It’s enough to send Wishbone out of the jungle. The sounds of the beach are beginning to reach her ears when she catches the scents of fresh blood and warm fur. So far, she has only seen the wafting forms of shadows (and there are even darker shadows than what surrounds them, otherworldly beings that flicker with teeth and eyes she can’t begin to describe); she hasn’t heard about anyone getting injured by the beings. The shape of Svedka falling into the open mouth of the earth flashes across her mind’s eye, and she shudders instinctively. Apprehension mingles with frustration at the thought of her brother lost somewhere, perhaps stuck in the darkness he had spoken of before. Wishbone tightens her jaw against the spiral of thoughts she knows will follow if she keeps thinking about Svedka. Instead, she turns toward the signs of struggle. The glowing birds’ swooping forms provide enough light for Wishbone to make out the blood streaks on the ground. She follows them quickly, her pulse quickening in her throat, and when she finds the remains of a carcass torn apart, she stops. Thankfully the prey seems to have been a deer of some kind, and the predators have already moved on. Wishbone’s amber eyes scan the dark undergrowth as she calls out, “Hello?” @[Tamlin]
03-06-2021, 06:30 PM
@[Wishbone]
04-05-2021, 09:23 PM
it's a mystery to me we have a greed with which we have agreed. you think you have to want more than you need; until you have it all you won't be free. and when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed. Wishbone has never considered herself afraid. She has peered into the many shifting faces of Death and laughed. From the moment she could walk, Wishbone has been a daughter of Bravery. Fear has been an emotion not nearly as strong as the rest, a phantom that haunts the quietest part of her mind. She has been happy this way; she has been proud of her independence, her fearlessness, her courage. It had felt like nothing would phase her. She had kept her chin up, even as Ivar sunk his teeth into her skin, pressing his weight between her shoulders and forcing ocean water into her lungs. While the Afterlife was gray and cold and hazy, she had paced the threshold between Life and Death until her legs gave out beneath her. It wasn’t until the monster twisted from her murderer into a friend’s friend into a true beast that Wishbone felt the first fleeting screams of genuine fear. To die once was an adventure; to die again would be torture. And yet, she hadn’t died. Merely splintered into a thousand pieces and reformed into someone new. Wishbone can’t explain it (even still, she is confused by the magic that winds through her blood), but this purple body feels closer to her original body. It brings her comfort, even as an unfamiliar voice cuts through the darkness. Perhaps she would have sent a blunt-tipped bone right through his chest if it weren’t for several different factors. Monsters didn’t speak — something she had learned in her encounters with them. Her body is unwilling to die — if bleeding out by a pair of relentless jaws hadn’t killed her, maybe nothing would. The stranger is a twisted skeleton — she can hear the clatter of bone rubbing against its brethren. “I’m assuming the wolves are friends of yours.” There’s a twist of humor in her rough voice. Tephra is her home, and even that simple fact eases whatever fragile pieces of fear linger in her mind. “I will have to remember that wolves and skeletons tend to run together.” Wishbone’s amber eyes twinkle with amusement, even as she introduces herself. “I’m Wishbone.” @[Tamlin]
04-17-2021, 08:32 PM
@[Wishbone] just in case you didn't have enough replies from me already <3
05-18-2021, 08:35 PM
it's a mystery to me we have a greed with which we have agreed. you think you have to want more than you need; until you have it all you won't be free. and when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed. Wishbone’s ran with wolves before, though not in the same way Tamlin mentions. She’d spent her childhood peering over her shoulder for the flashing teeth of Longclaw. She’d spent her growing, maturing years with Wolfbane in mind (and heart). She’d spent her older years with a kelpie with bloodlust like a wolf, one who’d eventually gotten what he wanted. And she’d seen wolves in the Afterlife, ones who had probably been deadly during their lives but now roamed the gray world like shadows. His question makes her laugh, especially the way he exaggerates his words at the end. The skeleton has a sense of humor, and she finds her rough voice chiming along with the rattling of his bones. “Not the ones you run with,” she offers in return, and her eyes are blazing with the soulful tales of her adventures. In the darkness, while Tamlin’s pack races through the woods together, Wishbone begins to tell him just one of the true stories of her life. @[Tamlin] Just a little closer for this thread <3 | |||
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