"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
Time hadn’t been kind to most of Beqanna but it had been kind to him.
Despite his rough start in life, he had blossomed under the care of Aela and the rest of the Pampians much like the wildflowers themselves. The bristled hairs along his neck had begun to lengthen, reddish black curls that haphazardly fell across his dappled neck, along with the bottle brush tail that was no longer so short and cute. He was a lanky thing, still sometimes feeling awkward as he grew into this changing body.
His confidence had grown as well. There were moments when his insecurities still got the best of him but overall, he was doing better at learning to ignore some of them. There were still those moments when he can feel that wrongness inside of him, where his thoughts and feelings weren’t always what one might think of as good. He had set a bird on fire once until it was nothing but ashy remnants of feather and gristle. It hadn’t been till he was looking at the remains from where it had fallen to the ground that he started to feel bad. Realized that he had done something terrible. He had told nobody, not even Aela, what he had done. Vowing to keep that secret to himself.
His grip on his flames had come leaps and bounds from where he had been as a newborn. He could manipulate his fire in new ways, could hold on to it for longer, and was beginning to push the limits of just how far he could send a wildfire to spread. As for the souls…. Summoning a soul was as easy to him as breathing. But keeping them under his control, depending on who or what they had been in life, could sometimes still be a struggle.
There is still too much grief and melancholy in the Pampas to focus on the afterlife, too many emotions that made souls greedy and eager to take advantage of him. So he finds himself alone in the Meadow during a warm summer evening, a crescent moon hanging in the sky and bringing just enough light to make him glow dimly. His features are skewed into intense focus, his peculiar tawny gaze hidden beneath dark lashes, as he reaches into that void and searches for a soul. He is trying to find someone new, someone different, to what he has called forth in the past and all his attention is on that task alone. Oblivious to who might be watching him in the open lands.
In the darkness, a light flashes through the sky with a puff of ashes and scorched ground that surrounds the young grulla mare. The mare peeks her head through the dark, fluffy, wet feathers.Where am I? This isn’t where I died. She ponders, taking in her dark surroundings. Her red eyes pierce the darkness. Abs shakes her wings out, trying to get her new reborn body to work once again. She’s lost count as to how many times she’s been reborn. Each time different than the last. Different event that caused her demise. Once it was a cougar, next, it was a brutal fight with the stallion of the herd. This time will be different. This time she will succeed. She looks up to the moon noting the time of night. She has a limited time in this life before returning to the ashes.
Once taking a few deep breaths and regaining the little bit of strength she’s reborn with, she gets up and shakes off the dust.
Now, how do I start again? She thinks, as it’s been a long time since her last rebirth. She notices the young colt a little bit always, but doesn’t think he notices her. They’re similar. Yet different. He controls fire and she gets born from fire and ashes.
Life always has to start from somewhere.. A seed. But in their case, a spark. An ember.
kissed my penny and threw it in
prayed to keep my soul
S
ome like to watch the world burn. Some prefer to watch it bleed.
Blood pouring like water falling.
She is silent for a moment, watching the waterfall as it charges over the cliff’s edge and freefalls with a certain sense of purpose that she can’t quite place. Elliana finds it odd, that any one thing without a mind or a heart or anything could appear so sure of itself, but then this feature has stood the test of time, she hears, lingered even when the rest of the world was torn asunder. It, much like her, has seen so many things that those who dwell within its cooling presence could only imagine, even if they were told. The destruction of societies, the rebuilding of them, kings and queens and armies too innumerable to count and, yet, it does not boast its agelessness, but rather stands, quietly doing its relentless duty, entrancing the little shadow girl into a sort of hypnosis.
She doesn't remember when she left the field and the waterfall. She was born to wander, much to her parent’s dismay. They tried everything to keep those wandering feet put. Told her tales of monsters and repentant children. But it did nothing to staunch that wanderlust, if anything, it only kindled a fire in the crevice of her ribs.
She watches as the dust rises and dances in the moonlight, creating shapes she either does not recognize or has no name for. It unnerved her, sometimes, how silently she had learned to walk.
Without leaving a trace of your existence, do you still exist? she wondered. Like the age-old tree that fell in a clearing question. If no one was there to hear it fall, did it make sound? The question struggles in her mind before she releases it to be forgotten as she finds them in the moonlight. He glows and she is enraptured. She should turn back, if she had listened to those stories oh maybe she would have because Elliana has heard of stories of boys who reach for the throats of beautiful things. Does the girl reborn from ash know this?
She has nothing to offer them when her feet keep her moving and without her shield of stories and her spear of secrets, Elliana is set adrift and stands there—exposed for what she is. (Though what she is exactly changes from face to face to face.)
Instead of words, she offers them only a serene smile.
