"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
sorry he's lame and got lost. I promise he didn't mean to abandon mom! D:
I SHOULD BE BRAVE, WITH NOTHING TO LOSE.
The wild child had been lost.
It’s been months (maybe even a year, he was not at all knowledgeable in the passing of time) since he’s last seen her – the one whom he had fiercely grown to love and considered his blood. But he had not gone willingly from her side. He remembers playing with the pair of fennec foxes he often spent his days with now that there was another child for her to care for. All at once, the sky had swiftly turned dark and large, angry clouds were gathering.
The wind was ferociously whipping through his mane and his hazel eyes were started to narrow due to the flying bits of sand and dust beginning to bombard his face. His companions began to cry out to him in warning as they began to quickly dig themselves into the sand. He was bewildered and frightened for the wild child had yet to experience his first sandstorm.
And viciously did it cross the dunes, roiling through the sand and dirt, throwing it maliciously at the poor boy. He staggered beneath the onslaught and fell into the waves of sand. All he could do was tightly close his eyes and ears and pray for the best.
It swept through and dissipated just as quickly as it had formed.
He shook himself off vigorously and tried to survey the now extremely foreign-looking area. For the sandstorm had moved the dunes and covered the boulders he used as guidelines. Thunder rumbled across the sky and he could see that he had only weathered the first of the storm. He was without any knowledge of nearby shelter and had to morosely survive the heavy rain and lightning that accompanied a rarely occurrence of a desert rainstorm.
But he was now separated and lost to her.
And so he had wandered lonely and wild once again.
He had grown. His coltish figure lengthened and gained more of a solid stature that was reminiscent of his ancestral mustang blood. But he was lean and on the thin side, the hardiness of his breed and his stubborn nature had kept him going through the harsh and relatively unknown climate of the desert. For the wild child was not a child born of the desert – he was a child born of the bitter cold and wolves and infection.
But he has survived both environments.
And he has finally found his way back home to her.
Etro’s birth seems so long ago; it was easy, wonderfully easy compared to the birth of the triplets. In some small way, she might have been trying to replace her wandering brood with more - more that wouldn’t leave. But they all leave at some point, don’t they?
She knows she cannot always keep them at her side, and so she loves some of them from afar. She loves them all, and always will, no matter what may come. She only wishes, of course, that some had stopped to say goodbye before they took off.
It must have been some sort of freakish time and sandstorm that took Munroe from her (and out in the Desert, she has no doubt that such things exist). So much has happened to Yael in the years that he has been gone. It must have been some sort of magical flux, because every living thing that did not find high ground or leave the Kingdom was destroyed in the flood. Yael herself had travelled the length and breadth of the Desert, draining the waters with the land’s own help. Never once did she see her wild child. For that, she was grateful… because to find him would have meant that he was dead, and there was too much death in Yael’s life already.
Her Tribe. Aviva. Vanquish. Nocturnal. Morphine. Esther.
If the eternal woman was ever to look older and wiser, it is now, with her mane and tail streaked silver by the raw power of the Desert. Only slightly different than when he last saw her, but there are tiny, sorrowful lines at the corners of her eyes, and while she shines in the sun, it is not as bright as it was before. Yael is coping. Yael is trying to stay busy. Yael is not as sad as she was before. Time passes and heals, but it is glacially, achingly slow.
The ex-Queen simply stands atop a dune, surveying the land she used to rule. Her eyes are closed as she leans into the wind, relishing its cooler temperature as it brings winter air southward. She expands her circle of concentration, letting it radiate away from her slowly, touching each and every living thing. She feels the sand as it shifts and stirs and is lifted by the wind, the beetles and snakes as they sidewind and burrow, the occasional Desert resident and then - then she gasps and her eyes fly open. Tears begin to well in her eyes, and her heart pounds joyfully and ecstatically for whom she has just felt. With her next breath, she disappears from the dune and reappears ten feet from him, his name on her lips and breath caught in her chest.
“Munroe…” she whispers, drinking him in. She doesn’t realize how thirsty she’s been.
Thanks to Mama Yael's patient lessons, her rebellious wings have gradually been brought under control. Well, enough under control that the next logical step had taken place: actual flying lessons, which had gone about as well as could be expected. And today, the red dun is up in the sky on one of her solo attempts, her attention tightly focused on keeping her extra pair of limbs from getting any ideas of their own. A crash landing was not how she wanted her afternoon to end, no, not at all. In one of her spare moments drifting across the desert sky, she happens to glance downwards and spots two figures upon the sand, one of them very familiar indeed. Curious as to what her adoptive mother is doing down there, she sideslips through the air, beginning a careful descent. The youngster comes down to earth in a loose spiraling pattern, making her way towards the pair once her hooves have actually made contact with the hot golden sands. As she nears them, it becomes evident that this is a Big Moment, whatever it was that was going on, and the planned greeting she had been about to offer up dies in her red throat. Instead, Kabechet just stands quietly to one side, making herself visible but not intruding directly. Should Mama Yael and the unfamiliar male--was he one of the many children that she had heard about?--want to include her in their conversation, she will join in, but not until then.
THEN I'LL GO OUT BACK AND I'LL GET MY GUN
I'LL SAY "YOU HAVEN'T MET ME, I AM THE ONLY SON."
His figure strikes a haggard and slumping pose as he tirelessly trudges his way back to her. It is perhaps the hottest part of the day, but it is tempered by a slightly cooling breeze. The sky is brilliantly clear with the sun strongly beating down upon his weary body, but the wild child is uplifted by the good weather.
His hope is as radiant as the rays of light that currently enfold him in warmth.
His long journey seems to have come to end. His hazel eyes blink furiously at the sudden appearance of his heart’s desire. He shakes his head in disbelief – this was surely a mirage. But the longer he stared, the more solid she appeared to be. She may have changed slightly, but he thinks she would always remain recognizable to his childish heart.
There seems to be a short standoff with both contenders eagerly, desperately even, drinking each other in until their hearts overflow with too many feelings at once. She is the first to break their contest. This is of no surprise to the wild child for where she leads, he would gladly follow. It is merely one word, one whisper, but it is enough; he hears all he needs from her.
After years of solitude, the wild child has remained quite skittish of contact, but he does not hesitate when it comes to her. He quickly eats up the painful distance and attempts to drown himself in her embrace. He has come home at last. A fleeting word, a memory even, comes forth and he finally addresses her with all his overwhelming affection. “Ima!” He remembers the others who were hers; he remembers them using this name for her.
“Lost. Long time. Scared. But home. Home with you.”
He finds it a strange thing that he no longer barely reached his nose to the middle of her chest - his face was much closer to her own now. Perhaps he will grow taller, but his years of malnourishment might have stunted his growth. Of course, none of this would ever concern the wild child. He had survived and he was found once more.
Their reunion was interrupted by a flurry of wings and muffled hooves and the wild child is quick to withdraw from her in order to protect her. But his fury is immediately softened when a red and winged child stands before the pair with a silent curiosity. His hazel eyes compare her wings to the golden ones of her and he turns questioningly back to her. Was this another of hers for him to protect as well? He remembers the boy who was gentle and kind to him (who tried so hard to gain his trust) and the gregarious little girl who would speak with the many desert animals. They were hers; this meant they were his to watch over.
Her children are her pride and joy and glory - all of them, from her first born to the most recent adoptee. It is easy to say that a parent loves their natural children, for a mother who carries them within her womb, it seems almost natural. These two foundlings are equally precious to her. Her heart ached for Munroe when he disappeared. Kabe was a salve she didn’t know she needed. They were hers and she was theirs and they were each others. They had to take care of each other. That is what a family does.
He calls her mother, and the dam inside her breaks.
Her great golden wings - the ones he was so fascinated by as a colt, the ones with the soft and shiny feathers; his security blanket - fold around him in a tight embrace. If she could take away all his fear, she would. And then, of course, it comes to her. She can. While she would never tamper with his memories, she can alleviate whatever sense of abandonment he might have felt at the situation (she would never abandon him). Gently, ever so gently, she tries to siphon off a bit of sadness and lost-childness from the past few years. Really, it was more of a ‘everything that happened wasn’t as bad as it seems because I’m home now’ feeling. And he might even start to think that it was ‘all a bit of a grand adventure!’
Yael murmurs into his ear, “I vas so worried about you, Munroe. Velcome home, darleeng. I love you.” She brushes her velvety soft nose across his neck in a maternal gesture, as if she were tucking a son’s stray hair behind his ear. She can feel Kabe in the background, and is actually glad the girl found them, even if Munroe isn’t. He quickly backpedals, and Yael turns to look at Kabe, gesturing her over with a smile and wave of her wings.
“Kabe, I’d like you to meet somevone. T’is ees Munroe, and he ees my first adoptive son. Munroe, t’is ees Kabechet. She ees like you. She ees your seester now.” She watches the two of them curiously, eager to see how Munroe will take the newest addition to her family. She is the only one around, and they should keep each other company. Briefly, she wonders what would happen if Etro, or Kitra and Akbar were to return…. how would her two foundlings feel about that?
07-24-2015, 11:04 PM (This post was last modified: 07-24-2015, 11:05 PM by Kabechet.)
The red girl flinches back, briefly, as the colt pulls away from Yael to aim a ferocious stare in her direction. He seems to calm just as quickly as he had gone into "sentry mode", and Kabe relaxes in turn. Good thing for her, an abrupt attempt to try and get airborne to escape would have more likely resulted in herself sprawled upon the hot sands, an awkward pile of limbs and smug feathers. She sees Mama Yael beckoning her over, and quickly obeys, moving in closer until she stands next to the golden mare, nuzzling her in greeting. The filly listens as the introductions are made, and she turns to the hazel-eyed boy to offer him a friendly smile upon hearing that he is indeed adopted kin to her. She waves her right wing like a human might do with their hand upon meeting someone, though she feels a little silly while doing so.
Would he understand the gesture? Munroe seems....not simple, no. She's not sure of how to describe him until the word suddenly drops into her brain. Feral, yes. He was kin, in spirit, to the gazelles and the wild dogs who prowled the edges of the Desert. Did he consider her part of his family after their adoptive mother's proclamations? Kabechet hopes so. It would be good to have someone to play with, if he wanted to that was. Her smile deepens. "Hello. I'm Kabechet, but you can call me Kabe if you want to. I've never had a brother, not until Mama Yael found me. I hope you don't mind me being here, talking to you....." Was she saying too much? Babbling? Fearing that she's doing just that, she quiets herself so that Munroe can have a chance to answer.
