forget all the names we used to know
Corvus would never call unless he meant it. Never. That’s why Crevan has slipped skins - donned the coat of his ancestors and transformed into an ivory and taupe beast - to race from the Field to the Meadow. Faster and more adept this way, though he knows he won’t keep it in his brother’s presence. No - Corvus had never liked when Crevan wore this coat, had always been bitter during training session and glanced at him with spiteful eyes when his voice took the shape of flame. It was as natural as the way Crevan glowered at those silky, perfect wings pressed to his twin’s sides, as natural as the growl that slipped from somewhere unknown when his womb-brother shaped the wind to his own desires.
To be in competition with each other was just the way they were, had been, would always be. Where it stemmed from his mother could never pinpoint, though she knew (that woman never let much slip past) and chose to keep a tight lip about it. More than likely she assumed the two would figure it out themselves and, in their own strange, quiet way, they did: with distance. It was the key to their tumultuous relationship, the one thing that reminded them of their blood ties and kept them coming back time after time to reunite until, at last, one or the other would grow too weary and the two would split again. Cyclical, a bit petty, but altogether necessary.
A huff of breath and then Crevan is slowing; he can smell the familiar calling card of his twin (eerily close to his own) and so he chooses here and now to shift once more into horse. Upwards he grows, step by step molding himself to become the shape he was born into: a muddied, goldenrod stallion with the shock of a navy mane and tail to set him off. The grasses around him bend, sway, break against each stride until he comes to rest at a standstill before his mirror replica; their only difference being that Corvus was lighter, more honey and framed in swaths of dark green hair. “Brother!” He exclaims, the tone of curiosity alighting over his face to transform it into increduilty. His twin had grown, and for the better.
“Too long, it’s been too long.” He admonishes, though he’s partially to blame. A bump of his nose against the elder sibling’s shoulder and then he paces back again to stare at him fully. “Is everything alright? You sounded .. strained.”
revan