"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
10-08-2015, 06:47 PM (This post was last modified: 10-12-2015, 08:48 PM by Namaah.)
love as thou wilt
The world is full of sounds. Noise, my mother would say. For her it must be with the thoughts of others crashing in and out of her brain. But oh, the symphony the universe composes for me. Cacophonic at times, but still a song. The music plays from dawn til dusk. It calls my name, whispering of the delights I will find on my adventures. I close my eyes tight, imagining the lands beyond the Valley. The lands I will someday see.
“You'll see the Meadow better with your eyes open.”
An amused chuckle reaches my ears. My eyes shoot open, wide and golden, to meet the gaze of my mother.
“Oh mama, really?” I exclaim. Excitement reverbrates through my body. My fledgling wings flutter as if joy could propel me to fly. I look at them a little mournfully. It will be ages yet before they can carry me. I tuck my disappointing feathered appendages against my side and look up at my mother. She is grinning.
I scowl.
“Mom. Stop reading my mind!”
“Sorry, darling. Force of habit. Come along.”
My Kushiel is right, I think as I trot along beside her. Mama can be very 'xasperating. I hope she is listening right now. I cock an ear but she makes no visible sign that she has heard my thoughts. I snort, and run ahead of her as if I know the way. Some day I will. Some day the Meadow will be as well known to me as the Valley.
We reach the expanse of land. It is emptier than I expected. I have a feeling that is why Mother chose dawn to visit here. She lets me look around on my own but I am never farther than a thought away. It's all Kushiel's fault. He had to go and be naughty so often that now I'm the one on a leash. I wrinkle my nose.
“Go ahead, Namaah. I'm going to stretch my wings. I'll be here if you want me.”
She gives me a playful nudge and canters away, wings spread. I watch with longing. It is hard to wait for the day when the skies will be mine, too. When she is a speck in the clouds, indistinguishable from the flocking birds, I look out over the grassy plain. My delight overtakes me and I sprint into an ungainly canter. Kushiel says I am beautiful, but I think I look awkward and too tall. My coat is gray and white, and my eyes are bright and golden. Two Osprey wings sprout from my shoulders, covered in downy flightless feathers. I am my brother's feminine minaiture.
I splash through a creek filled with chilly water, laughter bubbling up from my chest. It feels good to be free, to visit a new place and feel the wind ruffle my feathers as if I am flying. I drink in the sights eagerly, nearly losing my balance when I begin paying less attention to where my feet are. Finally, my sides heaving, I collapse in a fit of giggles under a massive oak tree.
I have never felt more like the world is mine than I do in this moment.
think about it, there must be higher love down in the heart or hidden in the stars above
So far the meadow was the only home Isle knew. She had heard of the others by sorting through the minds of horses whose attention was focused elsewhere, on deep thought, on conversation. The Chamber was the one she knew best and that was because of mom. Oksana thought of it often, worried about going back to see her heart sister who she missed so dearly, worried about going back and seeing someone else. But that thought always ended the same, abruptly, without a name for Isle to cling to.
It was incredible how fast she was learning to control the mind-reading. At first the noise had been amazing, so vibrant and fulfilling like finding a long lost friend. But as the days swept past, the noise had turned to a static that blurred her thoughts and made her head ache. Dad had showed her how to make it better though, how to pick which thoughts she wanted to let through and which ones she could trap behind a barrier.
She practiced now with Wyck nearby, standing comfortably in the shade of a large oak tree. Mom and dad had given them some space to be children, Oksana had taken to the skies and Dempsey was probably close enough to rifle through their thoughts in case woe found them. Isle closed her eyes and those small brown ears flicked back to bury themselves in the mohawk of black mane that rose from the crest of her neck. First she imagined the meadow, dad’s meadow, the metaphorical one that sprawled so wide across her imagination that it pushed everything else out. Methodically, she matched the thoughts with colors, it seemed easier this way, and then slowly began eliminating the louder colors, the louder voices that made her head hurt. She even tried to dull Wyck’s bright yellow thoughts a little, not because he made her head hurt, but because it was about as easy as pushing her own thoughts away. She felt a frown crinkle her mouth as she tried to decide if his thoughts seemed any quieter than usual. She was pretty they didn’t.
She had managed to empty the imaginary meadow pretty well, leaving Wyck’s yellow and a few calmer thoughts, cloudy grays and dull blues. But suddenly something new approached, a voice, a thought, a pink color even brighter than Wyck’s sunshine yellow! Her eyes shoot open and she spins on her haunches just as the sound of giggling appears on the other side of the oak tree. Peering around the tree with a lopsided smile Isle watches the girl. “Hi Namaah, I’m Isle!.” She flashes a look of eagerness Wyck’s way as she pulls herself fully around the trunk to better see this new friend. “And this is my brother, Wyck.”
but now we're sleeping at the edge holding something we don't need
The meadow was home. It was large and grassy and full of strangers who were incredibly loud but did not seem to understand his way of speaking like his family. They did not respond to his thoughts in the same way that Isle and dad would, and they did not even pick up on his habits the way that mom would. They could not read happiness in the wiggling of his ears or see when he was frustrated by the way his nose would scrunch up. In fact, they seemed to notice him at all—as if he wasn’t there. Just a ghost.
Wyck was not sure what to make of it yet, was not able to form opinions on a life of silence yet, and he instead just stuck close to Isle, her ability somewhat of a buoy in his world. When she was near, he was able to feel normal—was able to converse in his own strange fashion. She made him feel less alone. When he was with her, and mom and dad, he did not feel broken at all. He felt special.
Together, they are bounding through the meadow when suddenly Isle spins, and Wyck does his best to follow suit—his legs still too long to be graceful, and his motions awkward because of it. “Isleeeeee!” he complained in his head, eyes narrowing in playful annoyance. “You can’t just stop all of a sudden. I could have run into a tree! Or the ocean!” He throws his small red head backward, “For all you know, I could have died. I could have diedddd—and it would have been all your fault.”
He grins and laughter bounces around in his head as he finally catches up to her, slightly out of breath. The colt brightens when he sees the stranger, and his ears perk—body language open and friendly. “Yeah, I’m Wyck!” he thinks silently, wondering if she may be able to hear his thoughts if he thought them really hard. He still wasn’t quite sure who could and who couldn't yet. “Wanna play?”
WYCK
all this delusion in our heads is going to bring us to our knees
The sun is pouring through the oak leaves like rain drops, sending splashes of sunshine trickling across the grass. I watch with amusement as the light dances on my feathers. The sun rarely shines so brightly in the Valley and our trees are nothing like these. I ruffle my wings to cast shadows. The Meadow is everything I had hoped, I think with a satisfied sigh. I glance around ruefully. Well, except for company. Perhaps the playground would have been a better choice for my first adventure. I shake my head, determined to prove mother wrong. Just because she can read minds doesn't mean she's right about everything.
As if I have summoned her, a girl appears suddenly around the breadth of the trunk. Her brown and white coat looks more like mother's than my own dappled grey one. She is beaming, a bright red colt in tow, and her joy is infectious. My grin widens and I scramble to my feet. They look like they are my age.
I am so used to my mother knowing my thoughts nearly as soon as I do that I don't even question my new friend's awareness of my name. I simply accept her knowledge with wide golden eyes. Maybe everyone in the world can read minds except me. I flutter my wings, eagerness humming through my slight form.
“Hi Isle! And Wyck! You're twins, aren't you? That's so lucky. There's only me at home.”
I mean, I do have a brother who is just the same as a colt, but he has to go home sometimes so he can make sure the Chamber's tree is still on fire. He tells me it is a very important job. I am quite proud of him. I bet not everyone has a big brother like mine.
I wag my tail, moving closer to the pair and nudging them gently, impulsively, in turn. First Isle, with her lopsided, friendly smile and then Wyck, with his eyes that talk. His lack of speech doesn't occur to me as any stranger than Isle's use of my name. The world is strange, and I know it young.
“I live in the Valley. We have a wall of fire to keep out bad horses. Where do you guys live? Is your mama nearby, too?”
Words spill out of me unrestrained in the fashion of most curious children. I am almost completely oblivious to the knowledge of involved fathers. I have mother, and though I know that fathers have a bit to do with making babies, my experience is that they don't stick around. That's the job of mothers and big brothers.
