don't leave me here alone; sid pony - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: Explore (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: The Common Lands (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=72) +---- Forum: River (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=82) +---- Thread: don't leave me here alone; sid pony (/showthread.php?tid=21796) |
don't leave me here alone; sid pony - Glassheart - 11-19-2018 Glassheart i'll always love you the most @[Sid] RE: don't leave me here alone; sid pony - Noori - 12-04-2018 Most days, most days stay the sole same Please stay, for this fear it will not die Down low, down amongst the thorn rows Weeds grow, through the lilies and the vines Though she has never had an easy life, these past few years have been perhaps the easiest. Five years passed her by since her return to Trekk, with many children to show just how fruitful a reunion theirs had been; twins, even, though with her disposition for them none ought to be surprised. Even with the onset of the contagion, their little family has managed to stay safe; Tylana, Tsara, Targaryen. Her little hoard of children, reminiscent of her original triplets though admittedly less chaotic considering the nature of their birth (that being the fact that they all have the same father, and are not triplets, of course). Though the threat of the plague never lessened, they thought themselves immortal. Until one day, they realized their naivety. The sickness latched on quickly, perhaps sensing the wood that lay beneath Noori's pristine first layer of bark - she grew old the more time she spent in this reality with Trekk, and her unequine immune system gave way without warning. In the twilight hours of her life, she and Trekk relived their happiest moments and pretended as if there were no sad ones. Her one true love held her close until the sap in her veins slowed to a stop, and he held her past that still, his body quaking as he mourned alone for the life of a goddess. As they discussed beforehand, Trekk did not bury Noori, but instead left her where she lay with but a single flower atop the point of her shoulder, to commemorate the divinity of her being for any who passed by and saw the tree-mare slowly becoming one with nature. Gradually, over the course of weeks, her body decomposed into the earth, being overtaken by green grasses and bright flowers which had no place on this wasteland of a continent. Months later now, Trekk has slowed his coming round to his wife's final resting place. As such, when the sound of a baby's snuffling emerges from the small mound where Noori died, no one is around to hear it. When two opalescent nostrils peak from the grasses to sneeze out a ludicrous amount of dirt, no one is there to laugh. And when four clumsy hooves kick themselves free of the earth, no one is there to witness her rebirth: to witness her first reincarnation. Woman, Spring, Phoenix: and now, Baby. She is lucky to be Spring incarnate; she has no need for milk, and instead will be able to photosynthesize to receive the energy she needs. In the limited understanding of her first few days, Noori wanders through forests and fields which feel familiar, though she couldn't tell you why. Each day she feels stronger and more sure of herself, with the weeks gradually passing until she begins to remember her life before. At about one or two months of age, she recalls the major points of her life, namely being raised by Scorch and Hestoni, having many children, and her that she loved someone dearly. Who, she cannot yet recall: but her heart calls for him incessantly, and she wanders in the hopes of finding one who reminds her of him. Unfortunately, strangers are not wont to approach a tiny tree-nymph, of white bark hide and red willow-frond mane and tail. Especially dissuading are the pupil-lacking, glowing green eyes set wide in her skull, the crimson cracks running through her alabaster coat, and the deep green glow from within; and of course, let us not forget the trail of growth which follows behind the babe. Flowers, grass, saplings, and rain showers; they follow the nymph without pause, too great a power to master for the yet childlike Noori. During one of her wanderings, the filly begins to worry that she will never be subject to the company of another for the rest of her days. Though some semblance of adult understanding now belong to the growing being, understanding their implications and properly interpreting reality are tasks which yet evade her mental abilities. As such, she skirts the edge of the river with an anxious quiet, eyes searching for something she doesn't understand; and when they fall upon the pale figure of a woman more bones than flesh, what she does understand is that she must help. That, at least, she can do. Thin and utterly alien, Noori realizes that her appearance may upset the prostrate mare - so she approaches slowly, though every fiber of her being wants to rush forward. To help, of course, but also for self-interested reasons; her stomach clenches and unclenches wildly at the thought of being able to converse with another, for so long has passed since she spoke to anyone but the flowers. Close enough now that she could touch the ghostly creature, the babe swings her head low and closely studies the blood drooling lazily from the other's nostrils. Wordless for now, the child calls upon wisdom she forgot she knew to quietly grow and harvest a handful of herbs, grinding them with her mind until a small amount of poultice floats, a salve at her disposal. Nickering low in her throat to reassure her new friend that all is well, Noori carefully guides the salve to the mare's nostrils, applying it across the membranes both inside and out until the pain lessens and the bleeding ceases. It is far from a permanent solution, but it will help her feel better for now. "Hello," says the child, blinking abashedly and wondering where she found the courage to do as she has done. "You have pretty eyes." noori @[Glassheart] I wrote you a novel with a closet character. Sorry not sorry. RE: don't leave me here alone; sid pony - Glassheart - 12-10-2018 Glassheart i'll always love you the most @[Noori] RE: don't leave me here alone; sid pony - Noori - 12-13-2018 Most days, most days stay the sole same Please stay, for this fear it will not die Down low, down amongst the thorn rows Weeds grow, through the lilies and the vines The bone-laced woman smiles as Noori deftly crafts a serum for her bleeding nose, the stretch of her pale lips placid and dreamy. Young and innocent, the magician smiles back, eager to encourage any form of affection sent her way; she longs for approval and for validation, and hurries in her fabrication, as if that might win her ever more smiles from the dying creature. Ironic, really, that spring incarnate finds herself so enthralled by one who calls her mistress by the name of Death. She who is responsible for new life ought not be so in love with one whose every breath could very well be her last. The poultice does its job, stopping the rivulets of blood in their tracks and somewhat reviving the prostrate figure. Though her head far from lifts, she at least shakes it, as if ridding her mind of cobwebs which grew far too long ago. As this small movement overcomes the other (and as she processes the compliment given to her by the magician), Noori studies her face thoughtfully, and then her body. Without meaning to do so, she brings three butterflies to perch weightlessly against the point of the mare's emaciated shoulder. The flimsy things are as thin as she is, Noori thinks to herself. Blue, as are the mare's eyes. What are you? A wondersome question, filled with possibility and question. Noori blinks her pupiless eyes, stiff bark ears flicking as she thinks upon an answer. Standing this close to the mare, she can see the way her skin twitches with death, but to Noori, the movement is only another expression of beauty and pain. You're beautiful. Am I? She knows in her heart that she is, but the babe has yet to conceptualize exactly what that understanding means. In her mind, her beauty stems from her perfect union with nature; she thinks upon this as her eyes settle on the butterflies. Their wings open and close lazily, utterly within the child's control, as unconscious as said control may be. "I am... a girl," she starts, teetering for a moment as a powerful gust of her own wind pushes her thin, weedy body over the twigs of her legs. Restabilizing, Noori shakes out her willow-mane and promptly plops down into the space between the dying mare's neck and chin. The flared edges of her flesh catch against the other's soft, dying skin, but after a few wiggles and adjustments, Noori is comfortably settled with her chin resting atop the mare's cheek. Their faces are hilariously different in size; the nymph is not a large creature, as small as a newborn foal despite her months of revival. "I am also the Spring," she whispers, not needing to look to know that the butterflies still sit where she has left them. Enjoying the pulse of her new friend (as it is much faster than her own, as sap flows slowly), Noori closes her eyes. "What are you?" noori @[Glassheart] RE: don't leave me here alone; sid pony - Glassheart - 12-23-2018 Glassheart i'll always love you the most @[Noori] RE: don't leave me here alone; sid pony - Noori - 01-02-2019 In the moment that follows Noori’s question, a cough rattles from her friend’s lungs, reverberating through her entire body despite its feebleness. The reality of Glassheart’s sickness hits Noori then, causing her to momentarily lift her porcelain head to look closely at the other. By the way her fever-glassed eyes trail to the burbling river, Noori takes it that she wishes not to discuss the details of her illness; a strange, alien sympathy flows through the babe. “I know how you feel,” she whispers, lips brushing against the mare’s sweat-ridden cheek. From here, she smells the death and decay as it ripens the other’s flesh, and becomes sick as she remembers that exact scent marking her previous body. Swallowing back bile, Noori presses her lips to the other, a gesture of unfeigned pain and understanding. Death’s kiss, though she knows not how true that saying may very well be for her companion. “It’s going to be okay.” She knows deep down that this mare will not revive as she has; but for all finite beings, the release of death would always bring peace, even if it is in the shape of pure, unadulterated nothingness. The moment passes, however, as Glassheart’s jaw begins gnawing around words. She offers no insight into her character, except perhaps that its foundation is innately cracked, unstable, and uncertain. Alone, she offers next, the word a reflection broad enough to encapsulate all that could possibly have come to pass in this grown mare’s life; I’m alone. In the wake of silence following this statement, Noori suddenly hears the world around them more keenly; her magician’s fingertips run swiftly across the singing birds, the jumping squirrels, and the rooting pigs; she feels also the sway of the grass in the wind, the blood-like coursing of the river, and the swift movement of the wind far above. Mother Spring never feels lonesome the way other mortals do; but when she strains and remembers her first childhood, emancipated from her parents and her elder sister, she thinks she can imagine what loneliness feels like. Noori pauses a while longer, listening to her friend breathe and wondering if she could say anything at all to help her feel better. “You’ve got me,” she begins quietly. “And I could find you a healer to rid you of this disease, if you’d like.” But something tells the child that she would not make it back in time; whether because of death or because of Glassheart’s abandonment of this place in the name of being alone, Noori will never know. “I’m Noori, by the way. I hope you don’t die. I don’t have many friends, and those I had, I fear have forgotten me…” |