• Logout
  • Beqanna

    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


    [private]  love from the west; wolfbane
    #1
    living for the past
    because the future's gone. praying in the dark that you won't go home. i should've said it better, i should've set fire to a letter. but i could run to your apartment, hope i get it started better than before; and i could write it in a poem, pretend i used to know you better than before.

    Although she doesn’t regret leaving the familiar, Wishbone’s stomach gives a strange little twist as the smells of limestone and freshwater brooks grow stronger. Her mind is swimming, caught in a confusing hurricane of doubts and memories, and her throat is dry. Her slender mahogany hips turn away from Loess’s border more than once, but within a few steps, she is twisting again.

    Wishbone is certain this is the closest she has come to fear.

    Even while exploring uncharted waters.
    Even while staring into the face of a pale, hairless creature.
    Even while tasting the thin air from atop a mountain’s summit.

    She wonders if this trip to Loess — neither political nor written with romantic whispers — will be a death sentence. Or perhaps it will be an open door. Wishbone’s heart nearly drops into the Earth’s core at the thought of reaching the border, yet the journey from Nerine to Loess is over in the blink of an eye.

    Inhale.
    It is shuddering and weak.
    Exhale.
    It is forceful and nervous.

    Wishbone tucks herself along the spiky barbs of a cactus (perhaps to protect herself from the fright of the unknown that lies before her) and waits as patiently as her nerves will allow her. If he is here, he will know. She hopes that if he knows, he will come.
    credit to eliza of adoxography.

    @[Wolfbane] / this is poopy, but it's here
    #2

    My dreams have all come true

    Of course she would think to come here, since it was the last place they’d seen one another. It was where Wishbone left Wolfbane to become a memory, and just like everything Bone had left behind she must’ve thought that Bane would still be here, or still be the memory she probably recalled. In his mind she was the same - unchanged, untamed, something neither dead nor alive. But without him knowing or expecting (the way his Wishbone liked things) her wayward journey had brought her full circle. She’d come back to Loess to break the spell, to shatter that infallible memory which hadn’t changed over the years.

    It was better that she decided to simply show up. Her skill at taking him by surprise was … well timed. Her old friend, the blue-and-gold barred pegasus, had left his brief encounter with Ilma and Litotes to head along the dark line of tree cover at the border. By chance he’d decided to walk instead of fly, and because of this the two horses happen upon one another in a way that instantly reminds Wolfbane of his first visit to Nerine.

    He stops, but not in shock. The flashing motion of his legs grows still, ceasing to wink as his long, brusque stride turns stiff. All of a sudden Bane looks alert, perked. Late autumn insects hum in the air, and through the dark forest on his right he can hear a lonely wind rustling over the branches. He stands there, staring at the mare curled behind a stout cactus, thinking for a second Her ghost has come to find me.

    For a second, it seemed more reasonable that she would never have come back at all. Only her spirit, and only to give him peace.

    But another second passes and still another. She hasn’t disappeared or vanished; he blinks and then inhales, knowing her to be real just from smell alone. He would know that scent anywhere as his Wishbone, finally come home. “What a sight for sore eyes... “ Wolfbane murmurs aloud, heavily sedated by the feel of déjà vu, “What made you come back?” He wants to know.

    Like all good nightmares do



    @[Wishbone] ~ghosty bone~
    [Image: Wolfbane2.png][Image: 3bCHvj.png]
    #3
    living for the past
    because the future's gone. praying in the dark that you won't go home. i should've said it better, i should've set fire to a letter. but i could run to your apartment, hope i get it started better than before; and i could write it in a poem, pretend i used to know you better than before.
    Wishbone can still remember the last time she had seen him. Loess was their backdrop and steaming, warmed pools of freshwater had been the foreground. He’d slipped into the water with all the skillful practice of someone born on an island and it had reminded her of the time he’d saved her from the pull of the ocean. Those damned whales had been intoxicating to her young mind, daring her to drag her legs through the currents to join them. She’d probably drowned if Wolfbane hadn’t been there.

    In fact, she can think of many times she would have drowned (or been burnt alive or broken a leg or choked or suffocated or sliced her skin open) if Wolfbane hadn’t been there. A smile comes to her mouth from beneath the scant shadow of the cactus at the thought of how annoyed he must have been, always running to save the wild girl that taunted death closer. He must have been so weary. Wishbone had thought he’d leave her in the days of their youth, choosing instead to pursue some meek, gentle mare who would be the makings of a mother for his children. He hadn’t, at least in those days, and their young friendship had blossomed into something crafted with warmth and even warmer touches beneath the light of a Nerinian glow-worm cavern.

    The autumn breeze brings the scent of familiarity; the musk and limestone of him drags her away from her nostalgia and worry. Amber eyes catch against olive ones. His voice soothes the last of her anxiety away, as though a roughened, familiar hand were running itself across a wrinkled sheet. The corners and ripples of her nerves disappear. “Bane.” Wishbone takes a few steps past and around the protection of the cactus and the afternoon sun catches the mahogany of her curves.

    “I got bored.” There is only so much newness a wanderer can absorb — even a passionate one — before they crave home. It might forever be a reckless battle: settle into the comfortable curves of home, desire the thrill of discovery and adventure, spend some time discovering and adventuring, desire the comfortable curves of home, and return home. For a flickering moment, Wishbone wonders if there is enough of Beqanna to sate her wandering heart and her wild spirit. She pushes those thoughts aside in favor of the truth — she is back now.

    Her gaze scans his body now, searching for the markings time must have surely put on him. “You look older.” A pause. “You’re still king.” It’s a statement rather than a question or an accusation. She’d heard the whispers on her way to him. “It sounds like you’re doing better than I did. Your dad would be proud.” Wishbone doesn’t mean to get sentimental, but the sight of his face (if not slightly older and more mature) dredges up the memories of their childhood and, therefore, their parents. A slight frown tugs at one corner of her sable mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring him up.” She knows it’s a tender topic.
    credit to eliza of adoxography.

    @[Wolfbane] ~rambling, awkward bone~
    #4

    No one says his name the way she does. Wishbone liked to hold onto the ‘a’, caressing the vowel a bit with her tongue to give it that warm, peppery tone he’d missed these few years past. Even as a child she spoke like a rough sailor - a bit too elderly for her own good - habitually making words sound dirty and sweet at the same time. Now (just like when they’d been children) it makes him smile; Wolfbane’s hesitant expression flourishes into a broad, half-quirked smirk at the sound of his nickname on her lips. I’ve missed you so much, he wants to tell her, watching curiously as she unwound from the shadow of her cover before edging closer.

    The awkwardness of his youth fled a long time ago and took so much with it. Dreams they once shared, his desire to make her fall in love with him every single day, the way he used to hate his father … those things have evolved or disappeared altogether. He laughs hearing her comments now, acknowledging them through the twinkle of his eyes while moving forward over the scrubland. “You’ve never apologized to me before, don’t start now.” The pegasus tells her, kissing away the frown at the corner of her mouth. He doesn’t fear being this close or this open, not when she’s been gone for so long … not when he assumed she was going to be gone forever. Bane desires nothing more than her company and her time, as long as he can manage to steal it away from her.

    “I thought you were dead.” He admits quietly, the soft folds of their noses pushing against one another while he explores her scent and the sharp lines of her wild, cognac-colored face. His lips can feel the tangible pressure of her bone structure, they adore the sensation of her honeyed fur as it shifts underneath his touch. Why did you ever leave me?

    “Went out looking for you. Came home empty … things have been different since.” Her friend explains, closing his eyes as he reaches the apex of her forehead (just where the ebony widow’s peak of hair blends into the swirl of skin) and there he remains, frozen. “Will you stay?” He whispers, beginning to feel the pain of her loss that he’d kept at bay up until this moment.

    King of Loess : Leader of the Southlands

    Wolfbane



    @[Wishbone]
    [Image: Wolfbane2.png][Image: 3bCHvj.png]
    #5
    living for the past
    because the future's gone. praying in the dark that you won't go home. i should've said it better, i should've set fire to a letter. but i could run to your apartment, hope i get it started better than before; and i could write it in a poem, pretend i used to know you better than before.
    Wolfbane smiles (a wide, warm expression that stretches into the olive of his eyes; she notices the absence of the pale fangs from his mouth) and she can feel the crackling fire of home against her high, defined cheekbones. It brings her own expression onto her face, one that is summery and dangerous and crackling with the spirit Wishbone never fails to carry with her. Despite the quickness of her disappearance and the silence that came with it, she cannot deny that Wolfbane has been the closest thing to home throughout her life. Tephra carries a piece of familiarity with it alongside Nerine; her parents are influential in her childhood; Solace and Svedka are her siblings to their core — but Wolfbane has been a constant in her life since the very beginning.

    When his lips touch the corner of her mouth, she curls herself closer to him. Wishbone has never been one to shy away from publically expressing her desires and affections, even with the weight of a crown on her head. Perhaps that is something of her chaotic carelessness, but for this moment in time it is brought upon by the ache of time separated and the familiarity his golden sides bring her. Wolfbane’s bright blue nose explores her face and his scent washes away the sharp smells of foreign lands.

    “I should have told you.” Her honey-whiskey voice is equally as quiet in the rose-gold of their reunion. She’d thought about leaving him a note or a memento so he didn’t think she’d died (a true goodbye would have been too difficult, even for her), but the idea only came to her when she was upon some steep mountain with thin air and open skies. It is perhaps the only thing Wishbone regrets from her endeavor — leaving him with nothing more than cold flanks and lonely nights.

    Wishbone would apologize again if he hadn’t already hushed her.

    His mouth pauses at her forehead, blue nose mingling with tangled dark tresses of her forelock, and Wishbone feels her entire body still in the silence. She is a doe held under the trap of his silence, waiting with a tender breath and an impatient heart to hear his judgment. When his question comes, it shatters the glass that encapsulated her. Wishbone’s dark mouth moves to kiss the slope of his golden chest. It’s a surprisingly brief action, but only because her lips are moving up toward the curve of his neck, placing tender yet firm kisses up the line of his throat and under his jaw.

    She can’t help but think about how damned much she’s missed him.

    Her mouth moves from the shadow of his jaw up toward the plane of his cheek and against the cream of his mohawk mane. Wishbone places a sweet, long touch to the skin just below his ear before whispering, “Yes, Bane.” She doesn’t know if there are other lovers in his life or if she will stay in Loess, but she will stay in Beqanna and she will stay curled against him today. “I’ve missed you.” It feels like a dam has burst in her chest to finally say those words out loud and for him to hear them. “I’ve loved you every single day I’ve been gone.”
    credit to eliza of adoxography.

    @[Wolfbane]




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)