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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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 sun still burns the shadows out -- flower
    #1

    resurrect the saint within the wretch

    For the last few weeks, Warden’s mind has become clear.

    Svedka’s return seems to have awakened something within the horned stallion. Seeing his elder brother alive and well, despite his inability to keep him from nearly a year of torture beneath the earth’s surface, brings light to the otherwise darkened sea of his irises. For so long he had slumbered beneath their family’s grotto, the warmth of the volcano pulsing against the smooth cave walls. He could not bear to walk amongst the darkness, not when it burned at the very edges of his vision and made it nearly impossible for him to see.

    His premonitions came to him daily and violently. Death, maulings, darkness - all swam so eagerly in his third eye, keeping the stallion from rising to his feet. Instead he remained on the cool, stony floor and succumbed to the atrocities he was forced to witness when the sun no longer shone. It drug him down, deeper and deeper, placating him further into this nothingness in which he had sworn he would never sink into.

    He cannot remember her leaving - only remembering she had done so when she had returned to him again. Fever dreams often pummeled him, drifting in and out of consciousness as the color of his eyes shifted between navy and the cursed white, dreaming in visions. She had brought Svedka to him, timid and quietly. At first, he thought maybe he had been dreaming. But of course, it wasn’t a dream (not when all your dreams are nightmares) and then, for the first time in ages, he could see the sun shining outside of the grotto.

    It had been quite a few days since his brother’s return and, on a warm spring night accompanied by the soft chill of a cool breeze, the Watcher emerges.

    The night sky is fairly clear, as it always is during a Tephran spring, with darkened edges of deeper colored clouds skirting around the full moon. He sighs, tilting his ivory face into the moonlight despite his belief that the stars and the moon are nothing but objects in the sky; incapable of thought or compassion. Even so, he turns to it naturally, instinctively, for resilience. And then, without a moment’s hesitation, he murmurs into the darkness: “Flower?”

    Warden’s eyes are closed, basking in the moonlight and fluttering the large, milky white wings that have laid dormant at his sides for far too long. He flexes the lithe bone, the stench of dampness clinging to him. She’d be nearby - she always was - and if she wasn’t, it wouldn’t be long until he would hear the shimmering of her fragile hoofsteps whispering against the darkened sand.

    Warden



    @[flower]




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