"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
The return of the day and night cycle is all well and good but after a few years in the dark, Tamlin wouldn’t mind a few years of light. The first night, when he shifted back into a skeleton, he’d just pouted for the entire night until dawn finally came and brought his beautiful self back. He was particularly fond of having hair again because the flowers that have been growing there all his life suddenly started glowing.
Which was a bit of a waste when they could only be seen during daylight…
Someone seemed to be having a joke at his expense.
There was something else that had happened since the sun came back - something Tamlin had only done once and was currently wondering if it had been a dream. Sure, now he glowed - which was certainly new - but was it possible to just spontaneously start being able to shapeshift?
Into a puppy??
He knew he had been born as one but that was different. A weird but fun story.
Tamlin is not in Tephra and not accompanied by any wolves, so he’s basically out of any and every comfort zone he has. But it was a cloudy day and that meant his new glowing flowers were a little more noticeable and that could not be wasted on wolves. It's still a delight to feel feathers against his skin instead of hearing the rattle of bones so he ruffles his wings as he walks just for the joy of it all and is humming to himself while wondering what he can do to see if the whole shifting thing was a dream or a one-time deal.
She hadn’t meant to track him here like this, like a predator chasing prey, like one of his wolves gone completely feral. But when day had found them again and the sun had illuminated even the furthest corners of her hiding places, she had emerged to find his familiar face almost entirely unchanged. She did not understand how he had survived the viciousness of those twisted wrathful beasts, not when she had been driven into every form she could imagine to hide and survive.
Only once had she fought, and the tangle of poorly healed scars at the base of her neck where it hollowed and became shoulder is the only testament to how poorly that had gone. She had been careful not to let herself be cornered into a situation like that again, instead taking to the trees as a falcon or disappearing into deep burrows as a field mouse. For a while she had even lived as a bat in a cave with a hundred others, but eventually the sound of sharp chirps and chittering had driven her to other places.
She’d only thought of him once in all that time. Once when the dark was still new and she could not find him and she’d wondered if he had already fallen. Then the memory of him faded as she disappeared into more basal minds, finding ways to survive in a world not made for it. Losing her sense of self, of sanity, losing her grip on what it meant to live again.
Living was different than surviving.
She had survived, but not without other losses.
But she is certain as she lopes through the shadows nearby, those pale blue eyes a study of wonder as they remain fixed on his face, that if anyone knows how to live it’s him. He’s humming, actually humming, and if she could roll her eyes at him she is sure she would. Except that it is also that same levity that draws her to him irrevocably, his lightness a thing she wants to tether herself to. When was the last time she had been content? Happy? She frowns, though on her wolf it looks more like a grim snarl.
She lopes ahead, a mottled mix of black and steel grey and pale winter blue as she is momentarily distracted by the way he lifts his wings. They are all pale and soft feather, illuminated bright in the warm spring sunshine. Beautiful on him, she supposes reluctantly but does not dwell on it. She darts carefully to intersect his path, pausing as though she is startled to see him there. As though she hadn’t followed him all the way from his home just so she could understand the roots of his happiness. It is happiness, isn’t it?
She sits where she had paused across his path, her tail wrapping around her body to settle over her paws. It is the same way she had sat in front of him on their first encounter, and she does it to will him to remember her. To recall the way she had called him Bird after he had called her Sky, or that she had eventually given him her real name. He is still the only one she’s ever shared that with. Her head cocks slightly to the side, and when she speaks softly to him, made guarded by that desire in her chest to be remembered by him, her teeth flash just shy of a smile that almost curls her lips. “Hello Tamlin.”
the devil in my arms said feed me to the wolves tonight
For all his experience with wolves, Tamlin has picked up little of their habits. He doesn’t even really have the habits he should have as a horse. There is no instinct to be wary of his surroundings, to keep an eye out for anything that might be hunting him. Or stalking him, in this case. He has no idea that he is being followed, so wrapped up is he in his humming and his pleasant daytime thoughts.
So he does not know she is there until she is darting across his path. A wordless exclamation escapes him immediately, when she is just a blurred blue shape in that instant when he thinks she won’t stop. But she does, sitting down in his path in a manner that instantly brings back when they had first met - and instantly inspires a smile to light up his warm brown eyes even before she greets him.
It is a good feeling, to be remembered. This stallion doesn’t often consider whether he expects it or not, but the relief that spreads through him is maybe a sign that he hadn’t expected it. Or maybe he’s just grateful to see her on the other side of the eclipse, looking healthy and whole and undamaged by the things that had crawled around in the darkness.
Regardless for the reason, he is both overjoyed to see her and pleased that she remembered his name. “Winslow!” Comes his own, very elegant greeting as he dances to a stop with an overflow of youthful energy. The happiness that he feels to see this particular wolf again is potent enough that his new-found shifting is accidentally triggered, feeding off of his excitement, and he is no longer a winged stallion but a tawny coloured wolf-pup standing before his friend.
Although a little embarrassed that this is when this shifting decides to show up and prove that it is real, Tamlin laughs through it and spins in a small circle before looking up at the blue wolf with amused eyes. “You were a lot shorter the last time we met.”
His smile is a match lit and thrown into the tinder of her chest. It is something warm and bright and more earnest than she can possibly fathom, and it is there on his face entirely for her sake, entirely because she is there at all. It creates some kind of war inside her, some kind of nameless tempest as her own pale blue eyes flash with something vulnerable and then darken again with a wariness she drags up around herself like armor.
She wants to be braver than that, than this creature who guards herself against smiles, but her heart stays clenched like a stone fist inside her chest reminding her that she shouldn’t care.
Scolding her, because she does care.
Winslow! He says, and her ears flatten for one uncertain heartbeat because she does not understand why her heart leapt inside her chest at being named, being remembered. Being more than the nameless wolf she had lived as for years, a face easily unnoticed and even more easily forgotten. Yet here he is with it like a gift on his tongue and delivered with a smile that makes those soft brown eyes so oddly endearing.
She stands, needing movement to hide the way he has her feeling so unsteady, but the moment she does there is something in the air that shifts between them, a tang of magic that has her delicate ears flicking back uncertainly. For a moment she does not recognize that this tawny wolf-pup is still her Tamlin, and there is an uneasy snarl that creeps soundlessly across her mouth as she eases a few steps closer to understand.
But this laugh and the way he spins as though he is bounding and weightless, made so by the joy he seems to keep trapped inside his chest, it could be no one else. She frowns and sits, and everything about her steel and powder blue face is a scowl. Her eyes, her brow, her delicate ears - even the crinkle of her dark nose as he looks up at her and speaks with amused eyes that resonate differently on a face so young. A moment ago she had thought him handsome. Now he is a child and this tangle in her chest is something confusing.
She reaches out with a heavy paw to knock him over, letting the gangly weight of his young body do most of the tipping work. With that frown still etched into every inch of her expression, she stands again to reach out and sniff him. He still smells like Tamlin, but a boy Tamlin, a young Tamlin. “I liked it better when you were bigger.” She says, her muzzle in the thick fur of his neck, her breath against his cheek. She nuzzles him, and the movement is born of a kind of uncertainty that has her pulling back again to watch him with a new wariness she wears like armor. “I don’t understand. Are you a child?”
the devil in my arms said feed me to the wolves tonight
Tamlin is busy being delighted by the fact that he can actually shift forms that he doesn’t immediately catch on to Winslow’s confusion or the scowl on her pretty blue face. A bubble of a laugh escapes him when she reaches out and knocks him over, though, bringing him into the present again. It helps too, that she comes closer to investigate.
But...
There is something a little off about the feeling of Winslow’s muzzle in his scruff - inhaling the scent of him. It should feel wonderful, should be encouraging him to do the same, but the size and age issue get in the way. She draws back and seems to be thinking the same thing because she voices her confusion and Tamlin’s characteristic smile turns into a thoughtful frown. “Well… yes and no? I seem to only be able to shift into the baby version of animals.”
Which had not been a problem before, but Tamlin becomes aware pretty quickly that the reason why the nuzzling bothered him was because he does not want Winslow to see him as a child. So even though he is delighted to discover that this power was not a dream, he finds that he would have preferred for it to stay hidden for a while longer. Now comes the task of trying to get out of this situation.
Fortunately, he has an idea and he’s speaking before he can really consider whether it is a good idea or not. Which... is how he goes through most of life.
“Tell you what, I’ll shift into a horse if you do.” And then, in an innocent tone completely assisted by the wide brown puppy eyes of this shape, he adds “and if you’d like to nuzzle me again when I’m bigger, I wouldn’t complain.” He’d like it very much, actually.
There’s a pause and maybe it could be interpreted as him waiting for her to change first. The reality is he is struggling to remember how to change, but he finds that thoughts of Winslow help and he is soon himself again - shuffling his feathered wings and waiting with that shining, patient smile.
The frown is so uncharacteristic on his face that she might have frowned right back at him if not for the way his confession had the very opposite effect on her. Her delicate face goes very still, no sign of movement in a mouth that now aches to smirk at him at the realization that this man has such specific magic. “The baby version of animals.” She repeats, and even despite her best efforts, there is laughter dancing in the backs of those pale blue eyes as she works hard again to rein in her amusement. “A very useful skill, I’m sure.” And then, much to her horror, there is nothing she can do to stop that flash of wolfish smile from dancing across her lips - a look of genuine delight and mingled affection.
It’s very good that his next idea is something so profoundly terrible that it wipes the laughter clear off of her face. “And if I don’t?” She asks, wariness like armor she cannot help but to draw up around herself. She doesn’t mean for her tone to sound so suddenly sharp, but his request is something that untethers old, buried fears from someplace deep inside her chest.
Until -
Until she notices the softness in those wide brown eyes, the smile in his voice when he tells her he wouldn’t mind if she nuzzled him again. She blinks, blinks again, and then lets her gaze drop to some meaningless place in the forest beside them while her thoughts unravel like falling raindrops. The easiest thing would be to just turn and leave and make herself forget about him. He couldn’t possibly understand what a request it was for her to change to her born-form for him - as far as she knew, her mother had been the last one to see her that way, and her mother had left her behind.
She stands suddenly, feeling like escape is the only real answer here. But then he stands too, shifting back into that body she had first seen him in, and that undeniable gravity feels like tether stretched between them. She frowns, and if he is clever he will notice that there is some kind of pain in her eyes when they land against his so briefly. But then she takes a breath and hardens her face, and reaches for a magic that feels unfamiliar now.
She shifts without a word, and as a horse she is just as small and unremarkable as she’d always imagined, something slight and refined and plain except for perhaps the transparent horn glittering iridescent from her forehead. It was longer than she remembered, and heavier. As a girl it had been a short, blunt nub. But now it was a long spire with a point that glittered as sharp as any canine tooth. She swings her face back to lock her gaze on Tamlin, and there is something defensive in her gaze, something like a challenge as she dares him to be disappointed by this black and pale blue unicorn. To leave as her own mother had.
She doesn’t mean to let her gaze drift back to his soft, gossamer wings, doesn’t mean to remember his invitation from moments ago that she could touch him again if she wanted. Her breath catches but she doesn’t move closer - doesn’t move at all except to flick her ears uncertainly. “Well?” She asks, and her voice in this form is something less harsh, less growl than her wolf. “Am I what you were expecting?”
the devil in my arms said feed me to the wolves tonight
08-27-2021, 01:59 PM (This post was last modified: 08-27-2021, 02:00 PM by Tamlin.)
Tamlin isn’t sure what he’s done to cause that pain when their eyes meet briefly, before she hardens, but he immediately feels regret. He wants to tell her it’s okay if she doesn’t want to shift but in the next moment she does. He doesn’t quite catch the defensive look in her eyes because his are taking her in. From the deep black of her coat to the soft blue of her points, the same colours as the wolf but translated differently here. The horn is a surprise, looking wickedly sharp and it suits her - this parallel to her wolf’s teeth.
He isn’t afraid, but he likes knowing there are sharp edges to her that she can use to push him away if he oversteps. He’d grown up with wolves, after all - he’s come to admire fierceness.
Tamlin steps closer when his gentle brown eyes do finally connect with hers. They are the same piercing blue and they draw him in, and when he finally remembers how to speak his voice reverant and softer than the warm, boisterous tone he usually uses. “You were beautiful as a wolf, and it’s still true now.” Tamlin’s heart is wild in his chest and he realizes he’s nervous for perhaps the first time ever. He reaches for her, the action slow - giving her plenty of time to move before he tries to brush his muzzle gently against hers.
A simple touch, hopefully unobtrusive, and yet he feels that small contact spread like sunshine through him.
He’s thinking about his invitation, wondering if she’ll take him up on it, when he continues in that same quiet voice - unable (or perhaps just unwilling) to look away from her captivating gaze, needing to see if that pain returns so he knows when to shut up. “It’s not so bad, is it? Being the same height finally?” That warm smile of his grows again, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards with the easy teasing.
She thinks she might be holding her breath when he takes a step closer, and her eyes are suddenly a mixture of hard worry and wary uncertainty, all trapped inside a blue clearer than any unearthed gem. Not for the first time, she finds herself wondering what he thinks as those kind, curious eyes wander searchingly over her face and up to her horn where they linger just just a moment longer. But, differently than usual, she finds she cares about these quiet conclusions he must be drawing.
Except it is as though he reads her mind, or maybe just that hint of wary vulnerability where it traces fissures of softness into a face otherwise made of stone, because he calls her beautiful in a voice that leaves no room for doubt. Twice. It is a reverence she is so vastly unfamiliar with, and for one single second it hits her like a force, crushing her until she takes one single step backwards, suddenly more doe than wolf. But none of this feels mocking, none of it unkind, and when she freezes again and searches his face, there is only a familiar kind of warmth that draws her back in.
“That is ridiculous.” She says, and she thinks she meant it to be hard or defensive, but again this wolf is more like a doe, and those eyes are something soft and unsure and flooded with thoughts she holds close to her chest. Beautiful? If there was a reflection nearby to examine, in that instant she would do so. She would trace those willowy lines and that charcoal dark of skin not quite soft enough to be velvet, of that pale wintry blue like a frozen glaze over her eartips and her lips and the stretch of leg beneath her knees. She would examine her eyes and wonder what he thought he saw there, examine her frown and likely frown more deeply. She would not look at that beautiful spiral on her brow, like glass or crystal, refracting light and color over the dark skin below it.
He reaches for her and she is surprised by the desire that wells up like a tide inside her, an urgent need to reach back and touch him, breathe in a scent she has only ever imagined. Floral, summery? Or would he smell like his wolves, like the salt of dried sweat from his humid home?
In the next second she knows, because she finds her wolf again. She is bold and unafraid - terrified as she pushes in past that gentle gesture to let her nose rest near the crook of his shoulder right beside his wing. She is so close, so close, and yet suddenly it feels like it’ll never be close enough. “Not so bad.” She says, and the words are cut short, staccato in the breathless way she forces them out past the sudden racing of her heart. “Do you like it? Being the same height?” She meant to turn her head to find his eyes, but instead she is a woman possessed, reaching for the downy softness of that beautiful wing with lips that taste the sunshine on all the nearest feathers.
There is some part of her that knows she is too close, taking too much, but when she does finally turn her face to look at him, she makes no effort to step away. She doesn’t want to be away, doesn’t want distance when she’s still only just discovering what this closeness feels like. Her nose is against his neck, pushing aside the long, flowered strands of red mane to discover the stark paleness beneath, all while carefully not meeting his gaze because it feels too new, too vulnerable. “I am glad you made it out of the dark, Tamlin.”
the devil in my arms said feed me to the wolves tonight
Winslow calls his compliment ridiculous but that only adds warmth to his smile. It’s the truth, and he hopes she’ll know that one day. Beautiful is not the only word he will use to describe her but it is the truth, and Tamlin will tell her every day if he gets the chance to. He knows with absolute certainty right now that he would like that chance.
He remains steadfast, letting her accept or reject his gesture - and his smile only grows when she moves past it, stepping closer and his skin prickles with that first contact. When it is her turn to ask him if he likes being the same height he only has one answer “I do.” He breathes out the words quietly, unable to find any real volume and unable to put his thoughts together enough to even try at a joke, even a gentle one. All he can manage is utter honesty as he shifts his wing just a little so she can trace the soft feathers there with ease and his eyes close as a new happiness spreads through him.
They do not open again until he feels her move, and watches from the corner of his eye as she presses her nose into his neck.
He doesn’t want to move at all just in case it spooks her, just in case this is all he gets and then she disappears into the forest again and he has to wait another year or two for a sighting. This works out well, because Tamlin doesn’t know what he would do if he were to move. Is there such a thing as too close?
“I’m glad you did too, Winslow.” He whispers back as his nose gently finds its way into her mane. His soft movements are inspired both by a desire not to push her into an uncomfortable place and his own inexperience. But he’s very much aware of how nice it feels to have her touch on his neck so it seems like maybe that is a safe thing for him to do as well.
“Maybe…” But whatever smooth words about sticking together that he had been intending to say fumble over themselves and he can’t quite get them through the nervous lump in his throat. He tries swallowing, realizing it sounds like a gulp, and laughs at himself quietly before brushing a soft kiss against her neck when words continue to fail.
It does not escape her notice that as her lips seek and find the feathers of one single, beautiful wing, Tamlin shifts to make it easier to reach more. She pauses a moment, surprised but not hesitant, and feels something indescribable ignite in the pit of her belly. It is all the invitation she needs to explore more of him, to touch her mouth to his neck and his hair, to trace the curve of his handsome jaw only to discover shyness again.
And then his nose is in her mane too, his breath a welcome heat where it lingers just above on her black velvet skin. There is a blush that creeps over her, a literal blush that follows in the wake of skin prickled by the sensation of curious goosebumps. Her coat shifts beneath his mouth, the color at first a deep burgundy so close to the true black shade that it is almost indiscernible until it fades slowly to a sweet, soft pink.
But she is completely oblivious to it as it spreads gently outwards, even stealing into some of the tangles in her mane. Color changing was never something she learned how to control, and like a muscle unused, it was left to atrophy. But now with his lips on her skin and this uncertain ache inside her chest, the ability revives.
“Maybe?” She repeats, and her voice is something smaller than she intends it to be - a whisper too soft to even carry a snowflake aloft. He gulps and it is instinctive now to reach for him, to press her lips to his neck until he laughs and kisses her and suddenly her mouth is a gasp pressed to his warm, beautiful skin.
A kiss.
She pulls back to look at him, and at no moment does she consider that this might look like she is pulling away from him. But she is surprised and confused and dying from this ache inside her chest that is demanding she never know anyone but him. That Tamlin is her mate, even though neither of them are wolves. It does not change this need to be his, or for his heart to belong to no one but her.
Except this feeling is something that chafes inside her chest, and when her eyes find his face again they are filled with the quiet fear of this, of something new. In all of her life, she has never been wanted in any capacity. She has been like a ghost, like the sun or the moon but never both. A thing that comes and goes in perpetuity but never truly stays. “I can’t.” She tells him, though her eyes say something entirely different as they wander his face again, fall to those lips she can still feel pressed against her in a kiss.
But then instead of turning away from him she takes another quiet step toward him. “I don’t know if I should stay or go.” There is a gentle furrowing of her brow beneath her forelock, a frown on her lips that is entirely some kind of fragile uncertainty. “No one has ever wanted me to stay before.”
the devil in my arms said feed me to the wolves tonight
