"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
He watches the first sunset since the longest night ended and he wonders how long this one will last. Will the monsters return or are they truly gone? His ears turn left and right as he listens for any sort of yowling or gibbering that would signal their return, but there are only the soft songs of birds and twigs snapping gently underfoot in the distance. The hairs along the back of his neck no longer bristle from the overwhelming energy of the strange creatures of the dark. Why, then, do his shoulders not relax?
Slowly, he blinks his glowing eyes and resumes his journey through the towering forest trees. Ancient oaks and maples sway gently in the summer breeze. Their leaves have begun to return to a vibrant green already despite the many months without light. The world is forgetting the nightmare so quickly, it seems.
The gentle light of his foxfire keeps his path illuminated as the night settles in fully now, keeping him from stumbling over fallen logs and tangling in the underbrush. The humid air makes his sapphire forelock frizz and stick uncomfortably to his face even as it begins to cool down. He hasn’t missed this part of having the sun around. A short huff briefly sends the wisp of hair from his eyes before it quickly falls back in place. Defeated, he frowns and gives a short ‘hmph’ of dissatisfaction.
04-13-2021, 03:46 AM (This post was last modified: 04-13-2021, 03:46 AM by Fechin.)
Fechín
One day, the lights had went out. Some year or two later, it had returned.
That's about as simple as Fechín could explain it. She's never been interested in the why or how, so when the monsters came, she quickly made sure they knew that she was an acid-ice spitting mare, and that she wasn't about to be prey. When that had been settled, she had waited. Fairies knew, it was boring. Brienna was frightened of literally everything (hmm, okay, she didn't have much of a defence), her mother had been missing for the first year of the darkness or so still, and life had been incredibly grey.
But both her mother returning and the light being brought back, didn't change much in her life. She was still kicking pebbles and crunching insects these days, until she couldn't quite take it any more and ventured south. All the way out of the North - especially since grandpa ruled it and had returned with more magic than he needed and started redecorating his island for some sort of event (she hadn't asked). It's warm down here though, and she silently regrets leaving the sea-breezes of Nerine and the damp sea-mist of Taiga behind in summer. But she won't let anyone see her discomfort.
Night settles in and when she checks, there are still stars and moonlight. Nothing out of the ordinary then. Thankfully the temperature drops a little, and she stops at a small pond to quench the worst of her thirst. The moon reflects like a perfect circle in the water, as if the very thing is trapped in there. She wonders briefly if the moon had felt trapped too, during the eclipse; trapped just like herself.
A dissatisfied huff sounds nearby, and the young mare raises her head to find its source. She doesn't find them, or not immediately, so she shrugs. "You could say that again." she outs softly, but loud enough to be heard in the night. If anyone wants to come out, then they should. If not, they can continue on their way. Life is simple - and boring - like that.
anger’s like a battery that leaks acid right out of me and it starts from the heart, till it reaches my outer me
Her voice is almost like a crack of thunder in the still night. He cranes his neck to see her, or at least the silhouette of what he assumes is her. Crowns considers shuffling off into the dark and finding some sort of trouble to get into, but in the end he finds himself wandering in the direction of Fechin’s voice. The lazy orbit of his fire casts a blue light across her figure that assures him this is who spoke out.
His wings shift across his back. There is still a considerable amount of space between them and he doesn’t seem inclined to close the gap just yet. It’s been so long since he encountered someone unfamiliar that he isn’t entirely sure how to go about these things anymore. Still, he offers up a gentle smile in that usual charming way of his, the dim glow of his eyes all warmth and an immature eagerness.
“I could, but I’m not feeling particularly down anymore,” he counters with a short laugh of good humor. “Does the night still make you a little uneasy, too?” He tilts his head as the question drifts from his lips and off toward her ears. Crowns does not follow up with an introduction. Instead, he takes a small step closer and the long shadows cast by his fire shift in their angles. He half expects them to twist into awful, ugly shapes and come alive like they had before, but the night remains tranquil and smooth against their skin.
“It already seems like a very long, very strange dream, to me. But I can’t quite let my guard down anyway,” he explains as his gaze roams to the endless black at the edge of his light. Despite his nerves, the smile lingers there on his lips.
