"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
This time the darkness stays as he opens his eyes. It is the panic that forces him up, but once he realises that he stands on four hooves instead of two feet his racing heartbeat calms down again. He is back in the meadow, back to the place it all had started, and this time he awakes without her voice and presence. Yet Brynmor doesn’t seem to worry about that all. He was maybe kicked out of her gruesome little game, he still carried the terrors with him.
Milky white and unseeing eyes stare in the distance. He doesn’t register anything. Not the scents that are carried towards him or the cold winter wind that blows through his thick coat. Not even the sounds around him make him twist his ears. The images his mind throws at him consumes him completely. Some happily flashes from his fun time with both Dera and his friend, but he can also see Dera stumble backwards as she presses her hands against the gaping wound on her stomach. He sees the creature Jack leaning over her body and then he feels himself trembling with the animalistic urge of the werewolf as he kills his friend. And then they come again. Dera, his friend, his real life demon and last but not least he sees himself.
As the images keep repeating themselves his body starts to tremble and his ears are pressed tightly against his skull. Nostrils flare widely and Brynmor snorts loudly in an attempt to release some of the terror he experiences but what doesn’t leave him alone. ”I killed them…” is the only thing he can whimper.
Zojja has seen enough of winter by this point to be firmly convinced that it is easily her least favorite season. The ice. The snow. The wind. The cold. No - Zojja is most definitely not fond of winter.
When Brynmor wakes, she's huddled not far from him, back to the wind and ears nearly buried in the black tangle of her mane. Her wings are absent today. She's not sure which discovery disappointed her more: that her wings were easily the most susceptible to frostbite, or that conjuring flaming anything on her general person did not, in fact, help to warm her. So seeing this stranger sleeping casually in the snow, flat out on his side and apparently dead to the world, had only served to add insult to injury, and she'd initially crept nearer if only because she wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't dead. Now, though, she stands near him only because she simply can't be arsed to move again just yet. She is simply too frozen, she thinks. Perhaps she'll just freeze here for the duration of the season.
This train of thought lasts only until Brynmor abruptly heaves himself to his feet like a man possessed. Zojja snorts loudly and skitters away from the stallion, collecting herself after a few yards and spinning to give him a deeply offended look for having startled her (because it is his fault, obviously, and not hers for having stood so close). Brynmor does not even acknowledge her retreat - he stares off into the distance as if in a trance, and after a beat Zojja slowly begins to pick her way back toward him, eyes narrowed. Despite the cold, her wings begin to slide free of her shaggy dun hide - she's unsure if making herself appear bigger will be warranted or not, but at the very least, he doesn't look as if he'll be able to follow if she needs to beat a quick retreat. They gleam dully in the weak winter sun when at last they fully manifest, and Zojja shudders with the cold as the wind buffets against them. This better be worthwhile, she thinks.
She's nearly drawn level with him again when Brynmor looses an explosive snort, but this time Zojja merely flinches - he's still not really looking at her, and this near, the state of his eyes hint very strongly as to why. She has to strain to catch what he says, his words nearly snatched away by the wind. I killed them. Zojja weighs the merits of leaving before he notices her - but then, he doesn't look like much of a killer, and Zojja would like to think she's more than a match for him. So she steps nearer. Her mother would almost definitely call her rude for this, but she brushes her muzzle insistently against his shoulder, hoping to catch his attention. "Killed who?" she asks - a bit loudly, over the wind. Perhaps he's referring to his senses. He was certainly sitting in the snow long enough.
It’s been awhile since the wolf boy has decided to go on the prowl. He knows now - the terrible truth that lurks beneath his skin. His mother had known too - worthless bitch - but she hadn’t told him. Of course she hadn’t told him. She didn’t know much of anything these days, except how to spread her legs and get pregnant with another stallion’s offspring. So, it seems, Lupei will have a sibling. He smiles when his new name comes to mind. Lupei. A much more fitting term than Kraz had ever been. His tail, once long and mint green, is now short and black, and it wags idly from side to side. Stopping for a moment the brightly-colored stallion turns back to look at the strange appendage, ears falling as if he can somehow scare it back to being normal.
This does the trick. The black, short hairs falls out and new green ones sprout back - long and incredibly eye-catching. He smiles and continues on his way. It’s a good day for him - despite the fact that winter is now in full-force. The cold doesn’t do much to ruffle his proverbial feathers, and he enjoys the serenity of the almost empty meadow. The cold does nothing to entice pregnant mares, and so that means the nastiest of creatures stay away too. He stands out, but he knows this, it doesn’t bother him. He almost solidly one color, that enticing mint green, but it blends casually with a teal blue that drips under his belly and down onto his legs. The only thing that seems normal about him is that he’s a fresh three-year old stallion, rather handsome, with a bold white blaze. The rest is as if he was conjured from someone’s imagination.
He looks around, not at all interested in the lack of entertainment, but there seems to be a curious pair near one side of the meadow. They’re close, and the little mare to the side has odd-looking wings, so Lupei supposes that they will understand his coat. He approaches them slowly, eyes flicking between the two of them to watch their mouths form words he cannot yet hear. You could technically call it lurking, but Lupei isn’t so ready to get himself into trouble over nothing. When he feels he’s close enough he stops, head lowering while he trains his eye on the mare.
Before he could only have guessed how horses looked like. He knew that they stand upon four legs that end in hooves, have a long neck and a muzzle. Yet the sick games had temporary given him the ability to see. In that short amount of time he had seen things he wished he would’ve never seen in his life. She had taken his sight again, but the memories remained. And they haunted him. If he only thought of to the cobblestoned streets the fear crept in immediately. Brynmor would relive the moment and the images would always end with the sick making sight of Jack the Ripper feasting on her intestines. If it was possible he would’ve puked again.
The more he sees and relives the more his anxiousness rises. His senses are numbed, all he can pay attention to is the chaos in his mind. Therefor he doesn’t notice her approach. He doesn’t hear the sound of the snow crackle underneath her hooves, he doesn’t smell her scent that the wind slams against him and neither and neither he does feel the warmth of her body as she now is very close. That is until her muzzle brushes his shoulder. Instantly she brings him out of his trance and she startles him. Snorting loudly he stumbles away, only barely maintaining his balance as the snow makes the ground slippery. Confused and with a racing heart Byrnmor tries to collect himself and as one ears turns backwards against his skull the other turns around as he tries to catch any of the sounds made by here. ’Your own fault for dozing off like that’ He hears the voice in his mind mutters, but he does not pay attention to it. It is the same with her question and instead he asks his own. ”Who are you?” His nostrils are still wide and the muscles of is flank are all tense.
The second voice – third if he would include his own and four if he counts the one of his friend – has his head abruptly turn to the side. Milky white eyes directed in the way he can only guess that the stallion is. ’Aawh, Brynnie, you should’ve seen yourself. Such a little baby that let himself be scared. Isn’t that so familiar?’ That is all what is needed for Brynmor to lose himself in his thoughts again, re-living the fear he had felt during his lone run through the cobblestoned streets while something haunted him. It had been his friend who had played a prank on him. As for the stallions appearance, it had also startled him and the snorting sound and tense muscles are evidence of that. He doesn’t reply, only tensely listening to what things they might do.
"Through your secret."
OOC: Italic is what the imaginairy voice in his head says and colored is what Brynmor himself says.
Zojja has taken after her mother more than she cares to admit - something that goes beyond colors and abilities and physique. In Zojja, Porrim has left a deep-seated interest in observing everything there is to see - when she's not busying herself with her own tasks, Zojja is almost always watching someone else. It is, after all, exactly what she'd been up to when Brynmor had scrambled up from his snowy bed. She'd pity him - maybe - for being unable to do the same, if only she knew him better. The habit has, if nothing else, taught her this much: that startling someone clearly off in their own world may invite hooves, or teeth (or in a worst-case scenario, unexpected traits). So Brynmor snorts and lurches unsteadily away from her - of course he does, who wouldn't? - and though she offers no apology for disturbing him, Zojja tenses expectantly for the briefest instant. Those pale eyes may be a ruse, after all.
Except he doesn't do much more, save for asking after her name, and the dun mare cocks her head thoughtfully. "Zojja," she replies. Her tone is unrepentant, but she has grown, in some ways, in that she no longer offers her name the way she had as a child: haughtily, with the assumption that everyone ought to know full well who she is. "I'm Zojja." She's not surprised that he passed over her question - mildly disappointed, perhaps - but then, it had been a bit of a gamble approaching him in the first place. Zojja will take what she can get, provided that he stops making faces that suggest she's about to eat him alive.
The pale green stallion approaches at an almost leisurely pace, and as such, Zojja is so preoccupied with Brynmor and his increasing alarm that, initially, she manages to overlook him. Sort of. A drifting glance in Lupei's direction certainly earns him a double-take, standing out against the snow as he does, and Zojja whuffs softly at his question, a sound caught halfway between amusement and scandalisation. "Lovers' quarrel?" she repeats, one dark-tipped ear swiveling back. "Never seen him before in my life. I don't even know his name," she adds, pointedly, turning back to Brynmor as she says it - the longer she watches him, the more convinced she becomes that he cannot, in fact, see her staring. The gray stallion has returned to being caught up in his memories, and whether or not he's noticed her prodding is beyond her. She'll learn his name eventually. Maybe.
"So in essence," she continues, turning back to Lupei, "you've not interrupted anything." Her gaze tracks over the striking pattern of his coat. Interesting. She wonders, offhandedly, if she could duplicate it perfectly, but now is really not the time. "In the interest of us all being familiar, though: I'm Zojja. He's..." She hesitates. "Someone. And you are...?"
He likes the mare. It’s as simple as that. Lupei doesn’t waste time on trivial things like the inside of a book. One glance at the cover and he’ll know whether or not it’s worth perusing. So, with some measure of rapid finality, he concedes that he likes Zojja’s company and for that reason alone he’ll stay. His eyes reflect the humor that he feels over her initial response but they don’t stick to her, instead sliding over to get a better view of the stallion who’s cowering away from them. He’s blind, whoever he is, and that’s a fact that Lupei missed when he first interrupted them.
When he does turn his attention back to the dun mare, her own eyes are just leaving the pattern of his coat. He doesn’t think much on it, it’s a usual thing when he meets new horses. She mentions that she still doesn’t know the blind stallion’s name and Lupei considers this with a dissatisfied frown. “Hmm.” He mumbles, looking over the shivering creature with a thin veil of pity. “Lupei.” He replies to Zojja without turning his head. “The way he acts you’d think we’d come to murder him.” He says offhandedly, as if the other member of their party is also deaf.
He steps casually forward, nose extended so that he can blow his own steam in the general direction of the greying blind man. “Has he said anything to you?” The greenish-blue creature asks, flicking a solitary ear in Zojja’s direction. Even though the other horse has no sight, it’s clear something or someone has rattled him.
”What do you want?” he asks next. He is still tense and feels utterly uncomfortable with the current situation. Yet he couldn’t stop the relieved sigh as she told him her name. She wasn’t a shadow from the past that had come to terrorize him some more. He had only just awakened – or come back? – from her devilish games and it had left him a little shaken up. No wonder he was startled when she had suddenly appeared and touched him. Her touch has left a tingling feeling upon his shoulder and he still tries to calm his racing heart. ”You really are a pussy, Bryn. You let yourself be this startled by a little mare.” His friend humours him, but the graying male only shrugs it off, this wasn’t the time for a discussion.
Zojja’s answer to the stallion’s question is an answer he could’ve given himself. Well, that wasn’t if the recent happenings hadn’t left him in his current state. Before he had been bitter and defensive, always having the feeling that it was him – and, of course, his imaginary friend– against the big bad world. After all, he had been dumped in the corner of the kingdom only weeks after his birth and it had taken his ‘kidnapper’ three years to collect him. Three years of solitude and darkness, that would make you at least a bit crazy. Or in Brynmor’s case, quite crazy as he converses verbally with his imaginary friend, the voice in his head.
He let their conversation move past him, listening but also not listening at the same time. Or probably more like not paying full attention to their words. Zojja’s first reply had pulled him back out his thoughts and memories again, making him realise that he wasn’t alone. Brynmor was hesitant, moving away from them by stepping backwards – this time more carefully. He doesn’t like it when they were too close. Even though he cannot see at all, his other senses are developed better, but in order to be able to defend himself he needed space. The sound of their movements had to reach him earlier than their bodies.
”I can hear you perfectly fine.” The humouring words of the unknown stallion that had introduced himself as Lupei had hit a nerve. As he snorts loudly his ears press back against his skull and his lips part to show his teeth. ”And I’m the murderer here” he hisses as his eyes narrow. He moves his head, trying to glance in their directions, but he can only guess where they stand as he cannot see them.
He hears the crackling of the snow underneath Lupei’s hooves before the steam reaches him. In defence he raises his head, but his nostrils flare as he snorts to blow his steam back towards the male. ”I’m not stupid” he replies as he pulls back. ”Don’t treat me as such.” He lowers his head again, making his short yet sturdy neck slightly longer as he relaxes a little.
Brynmor's question has her at a bit of a loss, admittedly, and Zojja is irked. She hadn't had a plan, because him waking up hadn't really been in the cards. She probably would have simply slunk away if he'd just woken up as easily as he dozed in the snow, but the fact of the matter was that he hadn't, and all of his mumbling had only served to intrigue her further when she could have simply meandered off again. What does she want? Zojja cocks a back hoof, thoughtful. "Answers," she says at last. Hey, he's not the only one who can be cryptic. Just because she's not pressing the issue doesn't mean that she doesn't want to know who, exactly, he thinks he's killed. Zojja is not terribly fond of being left in the dark.
As Brynmor edges away from them (not quite so afraid, it seems), Zojja glances at their green companion, smiling wryly at his introduction. "Charmed," she replies, turning back to the greying stallion. Lupei's comment leaves her smile still tugging faintly at the corners of her mouth - less pronounced, but there all the same. Brynmor can hear them both, of course, and his threatening display is certainly fearsome, albeit (understandably) a bit poorly-aimed - he sort of snarls at the space between them, and Zojja's eyes flick fleetingly to Lupei - a silent Really? - before returning to the blind man. His words earn him a frown, and the dun mare shifts her weight to her other leg, considering Brynmor for a moment while the green stallion strolls forward to blow a breath to him. For an alleged murderer, he is remarkably clean - no blood on his stockings or the wide, wide blaze that encompasses his face. It's possible that it happened some time ago, she supposes, but he does seem awfully rattled now.
"I don't think you're stupid." This is a lie. Zojja is prone to assuming everyone is stupid until they prove otherwise. "But I've never met a self-professed murderer before. I was under the impression that's something you're meant to keep secret." Her hooves crunch in the snow as she comes to join Lupei, whuffling softly as she reaches out to offer Brynmor a breath as well. This close, she can take the opportunity to get a closer look at him. There's still no sign he's even remotely been in a struggle, and perhaps he's simply had a bad dream, but - oh. Zojja's eyes widen a little. She's not wholly certain of it, but she seems to have caught the faintest whiff of blood. Casually, the dun circles away from the gray stallion, settling nearer to Lupei's haunch instead. Hey, better safe than sorry, and Brynmor doesn't seem overly comfortable with close contact, anyway.
She could ask him his name, she supposes, but other things are gnawing at her right now. Zojja glances thoughtfully at Lupei for a moment, and then, decisively, takes a closer step to Brynmor, arching her neck.
"Did they deserve it?"
ooc; Figured I'd play a bit with the quest aftermath ie: smelling a tiny bit like blood, but if that's not allowed per the quest ending or you'd simply prefer not to have Brynmor actually have proof that he did anything, feel free to play it off as Zoj psyching herself out - he's been talking about it just long enough that she halfway thinks he's not just kidding, anyway, lol.
Well well, looks like someone has a temper. Lupei was only trying to help really, he couldn’t be bothered to care if the blind stallion took it as an insult. At the snap of his teeth Lupei returns the favor, lowering his ears and snarling from somewhere deep in his gut. He’d be the last horse to back down from a threat and the sightless horse in front of him would be careful to realize that. With his admittance of murder, Lupei tries but fails to hold back the bray of laughter. “A murderer?” The shake of his head that follows cannot be seen by the killer, but Lupei can’t help himself.
Luckily for the both of them, Zajja speaks up. She’s taken to standing behind Lupei, something that only serves to stroke his ego, and her calm voice permeates the tense air between them. His bright blue eyes peer over his shoulder at her and he catches her disbelieving stare - it’s returned, but he’s invested into the story now so he settles into a comfortable position and keeps his mouth shut. Zojja’s inept at smoothing over the little hiccup in the conversation, and he watches her curiously extend her nose to the other stallion.
When her question breaks the silence Lupei tilts his striking head and waits for an answer. If the other horse cannot supply an amazing story that’s remotely believable, then the blue-green boy will dismiss it as falsehood. The young wolf has seen plenty of truly horrifying things in this world, and thus far the grey man has yet to fulfill these ideals of a monster.
Her answer is the last thing he had expected. What kind of answers did she want that she had pulled him out of his thoughts and startled him. Little does he know what he had been mumbling out loud, that she had heard him while he had been lost in thoughts. And honestly, after the latest happenings he couldn’t even be sure that this was all real and not something that played off in his mind. All he knows is that he had lost the ability to see again.
For a short second he had felt the anger and bloodlust of the wolf, the wolf that had made him hunt down his friend. Once again the memories hit him at full force, but this time it takes Brynmor only a few seconds before he can collect himself again – during those few seconds he had been out of it, not registering a single thing. Uncomfortable his ears keep twisting, trying to find a balance between using them to express himself and using them to locate their locations. The first thing he registers is the returned, silent threat of the other male. Once again the graying male stumbles backwards, without losing his balance though. He is alert for anything else that Lupei might do, all focussed now on the signs his other senses could tell him.
If she only knew how stupid – or more like crazy actually – he really was. But that is a thing also Brynmor doesn’t know and therefor he relaxes as he hears Zojja speak. It doesn’t last long, as he flinches and backs away another few steps. ”I.. I..” didn’t meant too, but he cannot finish his sentence. He hadn’t meant to expose himself as such, it had been a slip of his tongue, something he still couldn’t really believe himself, something that haunted him. He wouldn’t ever have hurt them, if only Missy hadn’t showed up. As Zojja nears him his muscles tense, not knowing if she came to punish him or with a friendly gesture. It turns out the last and once again Brynmor offers her his own breath in return.
She retreats and then steps forward again and he can only assume she’s at Lupei’s side. In her case have done the same. Without throwing away his alertness he lowers his head a little, unseeing eyes cast down. ”He did. She didn’t.” His voice is barely a whisper, but still loud enough to catch. His heart cries and the sadness, pain and guilt rush over him instantly. First his friend had made him kill her and after his wolf had made him pay for that. But even though his friend had deserved it, he still felt guilty about it. Who was he to judge and sentence to life or death?
