"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
08-06-2016, 11:04 PM (This post was last modified: 08-06-2016, 11:10 PM by Nastartia.)
Thick ash clung to her lungs. She was running, her sides heaving as she tried to escape. Her eyes searching frantically for her family. Somewhere in the distance she heard a crack and then a scream, the sounds all too loud as the forest around her fell apart. Her home turning against her. Frantic thoughts raced through her mind as she found herself desperate to find her parents, her siblings, the rest of the herd. She hadn't meant to do it, it was an accident. But it was too late for that now. Suddenly the world was caving in on her, clasping her in its warm embrace, flames licking her sides and trees falling down upon her.
She woke with a start, jumping to her legs, sweat dripping down her body. Her eyes frantically moved around, searching for the danger, but there was none. There never was. She gave a tired sigh and lowered her head down in defeat. Just a bad dream. She'd tell herself every night. Even if it was more than that, it's all she really could do to comfort herself. She had no one anymore. Once upon a time she had a family, a loving mother, a protective father, an adventurous brother, a sparky sister, and around them a herd of faces she could no longer put names to. Since the fire when she was a yearling, she had lost it all. She had seen her sister briefly after the fire, but her sister held nothing but resentment toward her, and she had quickly retreated to places where others would not know her for what she had done.
It seemed the whispers would follow her everywhere though, because it didn't matter how fast she ran, or how far she traveled they always caught up, haunting her nights and her thoughts.
Murderer. Silly little girl. So foolish. You should have listened.
Her ears pinned back as they continued to haunt her, even when she was awoke and she screamed out in frustration, wishing they'd leave her alone. "Leave me alone!" She shouted and took off, her vision blurred by the tears that threatened to break through the barriers she put up. She didn't know where she was going anymore, she didn't care either. She just wanted away, away from the voices, away from the guilt. She wanted to forget.
She ran until her legs ached, till her sides heaved and her lungs burned. She ran until dusk was upon her, and eventually she was so weary she could stand no longer. Tripping over her own legs Nastartia fell forwards, rolling over something until eventually she crashed into something solid. Too tired to look up to see what it was, once again she fell into the grasp of sleep, repeating the circle all over again, the same one she had lived for the past two years. Run, fall, sleep, wake.
This time though she did not wake to tears and sweating. This time, it was different. Her one blue eye opened to rest upon the shape of the solid form she had crashed into. How long had she been out?Had it been hours? Minutes? She wasn't sure. But she had crashed herself against the frame of an equine. She was too drained to say anything, to react, to do anything, so she lay there, in her vulnerable state, at the mercy of whomever she had so rudely disturbed.
n a s t a r t i a
War does not determine who is right, only who is left.
you and I both know that the house is haunted and you and I both know that the ghost is me
It had been a fairly uneventful morning so far.
He had risen early, sleep eluding him except for a few hours when night had begun to bleed into the day. He did not mind it though; he had struggled to sleep well. He spent most of the night wandering around the kingdom, checking on those who slumbered and then walking the border. The Gates was a peaceful, quiet kingdom and most nights passed without event, but that did not stop him from wandering—waiting for the time when that peace would be shattered. Hungering for it, if he was honest with himself, although he did not choose to be often. He preferred to ignore that side of him; he preferred to pretend it not exist.
Still, today, he had risen even earlier than usual, the fog not quite lifting from the valley of the kingdom, the Gates beautiful when washed in the watery morning light. Magnus had not wasted time in shaking the sleep from his limbs and then setting off toward the field—putting himself to work once more. He may not have many good traits to bring to the kingdom, but he could bring sheer work ethic. He would work himself to the bone if it meant that life could be poured once more into the kingdom.
The morning, however, took a jerky turn as soon as the mare had crashed into him. He had jolted forward, surprised, ears pinning. After several strides, he had swiveled to look back at what had crashed into him and his chest constricted at the sight of the mare. He had returned as quickly as he had bolted away, reaching down to nose at her gently. “Hello?” his voice was low, urgent. “Are you okay?” She had remained stubbornly unresponsive. Eyes closed, body limp. After minutes of trying, he finally went silent, his mouth pressing together until his lips thinned, gold-flecked eyes darkening with concern.
Thankfully, she had not remained that way for too long.
Eventually, she had opened her eyes, and he felt his breath loosen—coming out in one giant whoosh. “Oh, thank goodness.” He dropped his nose down further. “Are you okay? That was quite a spill.”
Everything ached,her sides, her legs, her throat, somehow her neck too. She watched the stallion standing above her in silence, trying to take in his words fully, trying to understand what he was saying to her. It was like being underwater, her hearing muffled by the voices telling her all that she was, all that she had done. Punishing her. But his words broke through the whispers unseen barrier and she attempted to rise herself up. Folding her legs beneath her she moved off of her side and was now laying upright, not quite ready to stand. "I uh.. yea. I'm sorry about that." She spoke in a hushed voice, one that held defeat and pain.
She took a quick look around her, taking in what there was to see. She was in some soft of field, where she did not know, but she was there now. Her eyes then drift onto the golden coated stallion, her eyes trailing his broad frame and then moving to his face, watching his speckled eyes. "I'm sorry.. I didn't mean to disturb you." She apologized, again. Perhaps she did not need to, but it was all she was used to these days. Apologizing for things she did, even if it wasn't her fault.
"I'm Nastartia, by the way." She decided to add, hopefully soon she'd have built up enough courage within herself to stand, ignore the bruises and bumps on her body from the fall, and then she'd be able to leave the stallion in peace. There was no way he'd want her around for long seeing as she had already so rudely rammed herself into him.
n a s t a r t i a
War does not determine who is right, only who is left.
you and I both know that the house is haunted and you and I both know that the ghost is me
His smile was kind, if a bit crooked.
Sensing her discomfort, he ignored his own and folded his legs, gently bringing his well-muscled frame down to the ground to rest beside her. He figured it would be easier to get her bearings if she was looking at him evenly instead of craning her neck up to him and staring at the sun on his back. “There’s no need to apologize,” he said quietly, tilting his heavy-jawed face to the side to look at her better. “It is not as if you had purposefully tripped and fallen. I am just glad to know that you are okay. It did not look pleasant.”
For a moment, silence reigns between them, giving Magnus a chance to catch his breath, ink-dipped ears flicking back and forth atop his head—more out of habit than nerves. He was far too trained to ever fully relax when in a vulnerable position like this. Not that predators tended to make it this far to the field, but one never knew—especially with all of the tensions that had recently run rampant between the kingdoms.
Bringing his attention back toward her, his smile deepened. “Nastartia,” he repeated, giving his tongue a chance to acquaint itself with the unusual syllables. “That is a unique name. A truly beautiful one.” He was not prone to large amounts of flattery, but he was an honest stallion, and not against speaking his mind when he thought it. “My name is Magnus.” Snorting lightly against the light pollen in the air, he continued. “So what brings you to the field?” He gave a roguish grin. “Other than impeccable company.”
He was so gentle, so kind. It was not something she had expected at all, and when he lowered himself beside her, folding his legs beneath his broad build as she had she felt a warmth and trusting to this stranger boil within her. Her eyes watched him as he spoke, asking her questions she wasn't sure she wished to answer. Just thinking about it made her shiver with a fear she could not seem to control nor wished to face.
"It is a habit I suppose, to apologize when things go wrong around me." She said briefly before listening to his compliment of her name, causing a warmth to rush to her face, luckily her blood bay pelt hid anything that might show and quickly she regained herself as he moved on-wards to his name. Magnus. She liked that name, and it would be one she would remember. She laughed at his final question tossing her head to the side slightly as she attempted to muffle the laughter. "Well, I suppose I was just wandering." Which was in part true, she failed to mention the -running away from haunting nightmares and voices part though- "and I came across these lands, I'm still truly sorry for having rammed myself into you." She knew her lie was terrible, she could already feel his eyes begin to question and judge her. No wanderer in their sane mind flings them self willingly into a stranger, it was obvious she had been running, weary from it even and lost her footing. She bit her lip, looking around them quickly, searching yet again for an escape.
n a s t a r t i a
War does not determine who is right, only who is left.
we carry these things inside that no one else can see they hold us down like anchors; they drown us out at sea
She reminded him of a deer—all wide eyes and dancing legs. Even lying still next to him, he could feel the nervous energy bubbling off of her, that primal desire to run simmering in the air. It put him on edge, but he did his best to mask it. The last thing that would help her would be if he compounded her nerves with his own. So instead he casually glanced around them from time to time, keeping a watchful eye on the field while remaining calm, gold-flecked eyes relaxed and mouth maintaining a small smile.
“Isn’t that the truth?” he replied with a kind smile, voice purposefully low. He could not help but feel like she would shatter if he spoke too loud, too quickly. There was something about her that brought out every protective bone in his body; all he wanted to do was usher her back to the Gates so that she could sleep in peace. So that she could find refuge from whatever was frightening her. This is what the Gates was for.
But he also knew the importance of free will. What sanctuary would the Gates be if he was forcing her inhabitants there? So he didn’t rush the process, instead letting the silences rise and fall naturally between them as the conversation progressed. Even when she explained her reasoning for being in the field, and he felt an itch between his shoulder blades that it was not the whole truth, he left it alone. She had her own reasons, and if she didn’t feel like sharing, then he wasn’t going to force her to. Everything in due time.
“There’s no need to apologize! If we hadn’t crossed paths,” he winked, “then we wouldn’t be sitting here, enjoying this fine weather together.” He had to wonder why she was actually here, what actually frightened her so, but something told him that she wouldn’t want to talk about it, at least not directly.
So he did his best to skirt around the subject, hoping to put her at ease while protecting her pride. “I’m not sure if you are new to these parts, but your wanderings actually brought you to the Field. Most people here come looking for a home or for people who are interested in joining their own, whether it be a kingdom or a herd.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge her interest and discomfort to see if he should continue. “That’s what I was doing here today when I ran across you.”
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