Beqanna
Under the old oak tree [Mirage/Any] - Printable Version

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Under the old oak tree [Mirage/Any] - Hestia - 11-19-2017

sweet as sugar, hard as ice.
if you hurt me once, i'll kill you twice.

Since she woke she hasn’t stopped moving, searching, picking through the land as thoroughly as a cat bathes it’s coat. As she travels she is careful, she does not know what has happened in the time that she left, and doesn’t want to cross a line that she cannot come back from. Visiting the other kingdoms hasn’t crossed her agenda yet; understanding the politics of state would be wise before venturing into hostile territory on accident in her curious adventures.

Rumors of raids and armies are whispered through the gossiping locals that harbor themselves in the meadow. When this had all first happened, she had been one of those residents. That is, until an old friend found her and they gathered their sisters together banding to rebuild. A shudder overtakes her skin, that is a day that she won’t ever be able to forget, even if she wants to. Standing there in the cold, the dark, as the world changed, the earth feasting on their homes and loved ones. The screams and cries for help as the weak were neatly folded into the land carrying them to their graves. Devoured, burned, and plain killed; familiar faces, and terror filled strangers disappeared never to be seen again. She could only hope that somewhere out there her son and daughter had made it.

Nerine is beginning to grow on her, despite the cold and wet. The grasses are at least sweet, even if it lacks the safety of thick foliage to hunt or hide in depending on what the situation calls for. The tide pulls back, allowing one to walk along the shore and not be lashed at with the salty spray. Now is when it would be the best to explore; as earlier she thought she had seen a cave gasping for air each time the waves rolled back. She couldn’t get to it then, maybe now it would be possible. The sky begins darkening, threatening to ring itself dry over the land. Fuck, she curses at the heavens, there isn’t a tree in sight for her to hide under. She will get wet no matter what, unless she can reach the cave in time. Currently the path is dry, and picking her way along the cliff isn’t overly strenuous.

It takes her a minute to reach the beach and when she does, she pauses for a breath. Up close the shoreline is much more impressive, a thick bar of sand curls around itself blocking the biggest storms, and the cliffs buffer the onslaught of any mischievous sea storm that may have wandered to far from home. Over all it seems like a solid place to ward off natural disasters. However, to armies, they were exposed and would easily be slaughtered. She needs to find something, something that will aid them should war come.
Hestia

@[Mirage]


RE: Under the old oak tree [Mirage/Any] - Walter - 12-09-2017

As the air whistles through his downy white wings and keeps him afloat high above Nerine, Walter remembers the Before.

He doesn’t often (and doesn’t care to, not really).  Thinking on the past only brings back unpleasant memories of wasted years and broken promises.  He tries to forget the man he’d been before their world had shifted around them, if only because he is so much better now.  When he lost his supernatural ability to read emotions, he’d been forced to sort his own out.  Naturally, without aid.  He’d examined himself at the atomic level, all the layers he’d put on had been peeled back and splayed open for anyone to see.  What he found buried so far inside had been the lonely boy who’d been abandoned just after birth.  A boy who had never known touch – not even that of a mother – and had balked at it ever since.  

The Reckoning had been like a balm to his very soul.

The breeze changes, suddenly, and the golden pegasus feels the first inklings of an oncoming storm.  He thinks about how different they are here than they were in the Chamber.  He remembers, in his old home, how the residents had sheltered under the thick pine trees.  The distinct smell of the trees after a good soaking had been such a pleasant smell.  He remembers, too, how the thunder had made no difference; it rumbled under their feet just the same as the living heart had.

Here in Nerine, there are only the few caves carved deeply into the limestone cliffs to hide within.  Walter angles his wings and tilts down, meaning to do just that before the new sisterhood fills it.  He much prefers the wild northern parts of the kingdom where fewer venture.  But today, he’s searching for Djinni in the more populated area when the storm takes him by surprise.  He won’t make it back before nature lashes out at them.  The dot of bright yellow against the dark grey sky becomes bigger as he descends.  Down, down, until the warm sand cushions his landing.

And he sees he isn’t the first to scope out the cave.

A black mare stands nearby, eying the shoreline but not venturing within the sheltered place.  He has half a mind to take it first – finders keepers and all that – but he rolls his eyes and steps closer to her instead.  His footsteps are expertly and unintentionally quiet.  He never thought he’d get used to walking on the slippery substrate, but here he is, walking as silent as a soldier.  The woman looks drawn in thought.  He recognizes the look well, but isn’t so keen dealing with it on others.  A sigh passes between his greyed lips.  The first crash of thunder races towards them across the waves.  “Hey,” he says, not smiling.  Not yet.  “Got a lot on your mind or are you thinking about jumping in?”  

 

Walter

you should come back home



@[Hestia]


RE: Under the old oak tree [Mirage/Any] - Hestia - 01-12-2018

sweet as sugar, hard as ice.
if you hurt me once, i'll kill you twice.

The bitter winds offer no caress, nor fond embrace for the soured bitch. They are unyielding whips salty with their punishing sting. At one time she may have stood there basking in the rains, accepting the embrace and feeling the closeness of nature as she opened her soul to Beqanna. Believing to be in some form of favorable light with the land. However, today she stands there resting from the labor of traversing the slippery path. And once more she discovers just how naïve she really is. Just when one thinks that they may have seen everything, something new rears its head to throw a creature off course and reveal a whole new darkness that used to be beyond one’s comprehension.

Her sides steam with the slick of sweat as it is washed away by the rains. Small puffs of air may be seen leaving her nostrils before the rain pounds them to the ground snuffing the visible air before it can escape. This rain is not pleasant, and the ocean seems to be working itself into a frenzy hungrily reaching to snag her away into its foamy depths. Offering her a cold dark grave where she can forget all that lay in the past. But it’s the past that keeps her going, it forces her to search for purpose and acceptance. She clings to the past because that is all she has, all that she is. She is a relic from a bygone era that none desire to remember; and when she goes, for she will go, so will all the dark secrets of the old world. Sure there are magic horses around, ones that call themselves gods, but they slumber. Their minds do not carry the weight or the intimate details of lives affected by their travesties. If the waves had tempted her before she had already stared into the face of death, she may have been more inclined to accept the offer. However, she finds herself more fearful of its grip than she was before she had tasted of its poisoned fruit. As she contemplates her situation, a situation of nothing good. A soft voice stirs her away from her thoughts long enough to realize that they must get out off the beach before the storms crush them against the cliffs.

She doesn’t bother to glance towards the stranger, at least not yet. The prideful part of her bristles at the fact that someone is nudging into her business. Yet the floundering female, afraid to be sucked under the waves and entirely forgotten grabs for any bit of conversation as a lifeline for her lonely lost self. With reluctance she admits, thinking about how it is that we end up where we do in life. pulling herself from thought, her green eyes flit to look over the stranger. Softening her gaze when she notices his wings, the storm would not be kind to him if he stays out here too long. That cave may hold us both if you would like shelter. Her weight shifts slightly uncomfortable with her awkwardness. The idea of the proximity they would need to be in to fit in the cave… well let’s just say closeness isn’t something that she does on a regular day.

She begins to trek towards the cave, and without looking back she asks, partly out of curiosity, and partly a jab at him for nudging into her personal business. What about you? She secretly grimaces at her lack of decorum, and pauses with a sigh turning her body so that they can have a full view of one another. After listening to what he says she continues,I’m Hestia offering a upturned twitch of her lip; in consolation for her attitude. Great going, you’re winning personality shines again, the voice nags in the back of her mind giving her reason to bite her tongue.
Hestia

@[Walter]

OMG! I'm so sorry this took so long. x_x. If you need me to change anything let me know <3 Can't wait to see where this goes lol. Its going to be interesting no matter what!


RE: Under the old oak tree [Mirage/Any] - Walter - 01-14-2018

This storm looks to be a doozy.

Even as the first drops of rain fall from the space above he’d just occupied, he knows it will grow into a deluge.  The drops are fat and cold and hit hard against his golden hide.  They are due for a soaker, he supposes.  Thus far, it’s been a rather mild season and the already briny seagrass grows drier and less palatable without rain.  But tastier food will come at a great personal cost.  Already, Walter feels like a drowned rat and it has only just begun.  So he isn’t thrilled about it, but he moves closer to the lone black figure anyway, tucking his wings as tightly to his sides as he can.  He asks her what she’s doing out here – inquires on her mental state without putting the exact (and perhaps impolite) question into words.  Her answer doesn’t confirm anything, but it doesn’t deny anything, either.  He thinks he’ll proceed with caution with this one.

“Ah,” is all he says in reply, though a violent gust of wind rips the syllable away from him.  It batters him, blowing his blond mess of a mane into his eyes.  He thinks he has landed just in the nick of time.  The palomino is about to turn and scurry into the cave himself when she turns to look at him.  That cave may hold us both if you would like shelter.   Peering back under the curtain of hair, he shrugs like it doesn’t matter to him one way or another.  What was a bit more rain and wind and angry sea?  Of course he wants shelter!  And he’ll race her to get in there first if it means he is more protected from the elements than she is.  

But the dark woman brushes by him, and by the time he turns himself, he is instead on her heels to the shelter.  The sand has quickly become wet and squelches under their hooves as they pass over it.  He has half a mind to pick up speed and beat her to the cave, but she catches him off guard with a question.  “Me?”  He practically yells to be heard over the whistling air that glances off the limestone cliffs.  The waves frantically crash against the shore over and over again behind them.  Almost like they are running from something.  “I was watching from above.  Everyone is so small and insignificant when you see them down here. Their lives, so meaningless in the grand scheme of things.”  So much for proceeding with caution, but the weather is making him more grumpy than normal.  He doesn’t mean her, necessarily.  But now that she’s away from the ocean, he’s not worried she’s going to jump in at the slightest provocation.

Not on his watch.

“Walter,”  he replies, as soon as she gives her name.  She turns fully, too, giving him the tiniest smile that ever was.  It’s really just a twitch of her lip – perhaps she was actually grimacing at having found herself in his company (it has happened before) – but he takes it as a good sign.  Now, the rain comes down in thick sheets, utterly soaking him to the bone.  He wonders if he'll ever be dry again.  The stallion nods towards the cave mouth that yawns at the swirling sea.  If she didn’t hurry up, he was going to push by her, chivalry be damned.  
 

 

Walter

you should come back home



@[Hestia]: I think they will be two peas in a pod (or cave)! <3