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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


    with a love that shall never die...
    #1

    She is old. Far too old to be having a child. She does not doubt that this will be her last. She will not survive the babe’s birth, of this she is sure. She has lost weight. Though she had always been slender, now she is little more than a thin casing of skin over bone, her bulging belly the only testament of health upon her. Her dark hair hangs limp and tangled against her thin neck, her once pretty features drawn and haggard. She has returned here only to die.

    No, that’s not entirely true. She had returned a short time ago only to be met with the nightmare that had haunted her for her entire life. And now, month’s later, she is returning to die. She would not have come at all, but she knows this is the only place her babe has even a chance of surviving. The magic of this land might grant her the life she could never hope to offer her. And whatever else one might say of her, they would never say that she did not love her children. She wishes only that she could behold her only other child once more, apologize for leaving her (even if she had been an adult by that point, no longer a child), tell her how much she loves her. But she knows that she will never get that chance. Because this is it, this is the end for her.

    The sand of the beach stings her knees as she falls heavily to the earth. The pangs of labor are growing worse. Sweat soaks her dull coat as her breath comes in ragged gasps. This labor has been too long, far more difficult than it should be. Her bright brown eyes are glazed with pain as she collapses to her side. In that moment, she knows fear. Fear that her child will perish with her, unable to escape her womb.

    She fights for the child, harder than she has ever fought for anything in her life. She struggles to push, to birth the babe from a body too thin and wasted to possibly sustain life any longer. Finally, as the child slips more easily from her body than her struggle would have implied, she knows relief. But she is weak. Even lifting her small head is a task beyond her ability.

    She can feel the life force slipping from, her lids growing heavy, her limbs weak, her spirit light. She opens her eyes one last time, taking in the star studded sky above her. She sees her then, an achingly beautiful face she had thought never to see again. That face is older, more weary, but so much more precious than ever. She has new scars, a testament to the life she had lived. She smiles, knowing that her youngest child would be safe. One final word slips from her lips as her lids slide closed and the breath leaves her body for a final time.

    “Ely.”

    joythief

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    #2
    love is a temporary madness...
    She does not know why she has come here. Her body aches fiercely, her soul pained. She walks with a limp, new scars marking her once perfectly sleek red coat. But she is not dying. This she knows with a certainty. So why has she come here?

    Her dark hooves dig into the soft sand of the beach, leaving ephemeral indentations in the earth behind her as she walks. The night sky overhead is strewn with stars as the midnight hue of the heavens fades slowly into the muted navy of predawn. She had been unable to sleep tonight, ancient memories tangling thickly in her mind. She did not fly here, but rather had walked. She has not flown since the incident, fear and something else she is too afraid to name holding her back.

    It is not until she is quite close that she sees the body. She pauses, the sight of another unexpected. Though many had died here, the sand is surprisingly free of bones. A slight movement from the horse startles her, for she had not expected her to be living. As she steps nearer, the scent of birth hits her nostrils. Worry creases her brow as she takes the remaining steps swiftly to the mare’s side.

    As she gazes down upon the dull red form, the shock of recognition hits her. She is rendered speechless as she stares at that familiar face. A face she had not seen in many, many years. The face of one she had thought long since dead. Her mother’s face.

    As she stares at her, a small smile faintly stretches her mother’s lips. A single word slips from her mouth as she exhales her final breath, lids closing over dim amber eyes. Her name. Ely. The nickname she had used for her nearly since the moment of her birth, decades ago. Her mother had been so young then, so alive. So very different from the emaciated mare that lay before her now.

    “Momma?”

    The word escapes her before she can stop it. But it is too late. Her mother is already gone. She can sense it as her life slips away. The fear had given way to joy, a joy so heartrendingly beautiful and pure that it had shaken her senses for a moment. And then the joy had faded, leaving nothing behind. The tears fall from her russet eyes unbidden, echoing the unbearable sadness stirring within her. To have finally found her mother after all these years, only to watch her slip away into death, is a blow more heavy than the one she had experienced such a short time ago as she had hit the unforgiving earth.

    A sound startles her, drawing her attention, halting the flow of tears. She suddenly recalls the odor of birth hanging heavily in the air. She steps forward, nose dropping as she approaches the newly born foal. A filly with a coat the same red hue as her own, but with startling teal markings and a bold white star upon her forehead. A tremulous smile touches her lips, a tentative flicker of optimism blossoming in her chest. The filly is perfectly beautiful, a bright ray burning strongly in a time of such despair. She nuzzles the girl gently as she inspects her closely. As she does so, a glimmer passes over the filly’s small body, hundreds of sparks twinkling in her vision like the stars overhead. She stills for a moment, suddenly knowing there is far more to this unique child than meets the eye.

    “Come, sweetheart. I will bring you home with me.”

    She pauses, realizing that the filly does not have a name. Their mother had died before giving her one. After several long moments of thought, she softly whispers a word, her name.

    “Lirren.”
    elysteria
    image c nadyabird.deviantart.com; html c Insane
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