"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
Summer, the golden sun, high overhead, brought a thin gleam of sweat to his pastel coat. Kirin stretched his lavender wings wide, an attempt to coax the gentle breeze in his direction, waiting for the weak streams of air to ruffle his feathers and cool him. What little air passed was hot and humid, eventually he just felt more miserable and sticky than he began with. They’d wasted no time leaving the Mountain and he found himself quite unacclimated to the burn of the sun, it was odd how that happened. To the trees he retreated, picking the shade of three large oaks and settling himself as best he could, nose lifting to sniff at the noticeably cooler drafts.
A honey bee buzzed by him, a humming blot of yellow and black and he snorted it away in one heavy sigh. Likely it had been attracted to his coloring, it spoke similarities to wisteria and who wouldn’t find him attractive? Easy mistake little bee, easy mistake.
As he waited to cool, he observed the wood, the world so very new and unfamiliar now. Even the trees did not seem to know him, though many boasted heights and trunks that would suggest otherwise. They should be ancient, they were ancient but then again they were not- he knew what old Beqanna smelled like and this was decidedly not it. Where exactly had the world gone in that great catastrophe, where did it all fit and had it been made anew or were they being tricked, fooled into believing that this old tale was a shining new penny?
Kirin was always one to resort to conspiracy whenever possible, he liked to raise suspicion and insight superstition. While standing and thinking and fanning himself with one lavender colored wingtip a mouse ran up, twitching its whiskered face much too close to Kirin’s left hoof. One solid kick and the creature tumbled end over end before it knocked the nearest trunk with a soft thunk. The stallion snorted at the unmoving mammal before lifting his snout to the sky, evidently irritated by the brief interruption.
Oh how long she had waited for this moment! As soon as her feet touched the soft grass after so long on nothing but the rocky mountain soil, Nicia's whole body seemed to glow. She was a shallow creature with simple needs and simple appetites and there would be no love lost for the fairy riddled pile of rocks that dominated the new Beqanna landscape. To Nicia the mountain was a physical manifestation of how much the fairies lorded over them equines of Beqanna, and the fact that it had been her beloved's self imposed exile after the fairies had stripped the magic didn't foster much good will on her part either. But now! Now they would be able to enjoy all the simple pleasures of their previous lives once more.
As she had descended the mountain at Kirin's side she could hardly contain her excitement behind her normally cool mask. Many smiles and gentle touches were passed along to her lover as they made the climb. He could have flown, but they would never be apart again as long as she had a say. Nicia still marveled at his exquisite form. She loved the way his wings glinted in the summere sun, and the way his feathers felt as they grazed against her silver hide. Not for the first time, she wished that she too had been blessed by her father with wings. Not that she took her iron shifting for granted, oh no, quite the opposite. The iron was what marked her as the most special of Khaos' children, she merely wants to be able to feel the rush of wind at Kirin's side. And what a pretty pair of birds they would make.
Nicia can't say that she is surprised when her love finds himself a nice piece of shade to hide in from the birght, summer sun. They had spent so long in the frigid mountain air it hardly seemed real that it could be so warm down in the common lands. She saunters over to him, her silver skin shining like a diamond as her muscles glide beneath it. She pauses a moment to stare at him, lustfully taking in all that belonged to her. She knew about his mass of children and the other mares that he had taken, but they were nothing and meant nothing. His heart belonged to her, and her's to him. Nothing would come between them again. Not space, time, or those bedamned fairies. Batting her eyelashes at him, Nicia settles her body as close to his as possible, feeling his skin pressed hot and sweaty against hers. A shiver rippled through at the delicious thoughts that came to mind.
She watched with mild interest as he sent the small mouse flying with a well placed kick and a small giggle burst out of her. With a wistful sigh she whispered into his neck, "Oh, Kult would have loved that."
One thing to be said about the Mountain, it provided seclusion. It was partially paradise in that sense, little had to be done about keeping to oneself and that was to be appreciated. Kirin knew well that there were others up there, biding their time or simply unable to accept the new world, afraid of change and slow to come around. Regardless they had all done well to stay out of each other’s hair and in most cases, sight. Perhaps that is well and good, surely there were some still stuck up on the slopes that Kirin himself harbored ill will towards. The same could be said about the lavender pegasus but he often failed to accept responsibility for his lack of popularity with everyone. He was an acquired taste and he very much liked it that way.
Anyone that mattered (to him) adored him and he still took a sense of accomplishment at the challenge of those that didn’t. They could be persuaded, coerced, forced or his favorite- seduced. What would he do without toys anyways, what would otherwise feed his wolf so to speak?
While it did little to cool him, he couldn’t help but think on the fact that breeding season was almost upon them. The only thing to rain on that parade was the loss of the Cove, taken like everything else, snatched away and reduced to nothing more than memory. His soured mood soon lifted, a glimmer of silver slinking towards him. Good thing too, he had been on the verge of scowling and everyone knows, scowling causes wrinkles. Her skin slides against his, warm and wet with sweat. His lavender head turns while his lips reach to taste the closest parts of her, trailing their hunger in their wake. A small smile spreads as she comments on the passing of the rodent against the tree, and he was not surprised at her observation.
“I do wonder when our dear little brother will find his way down the hillside, until then I suppose we must find our own playthings.” Ever lusting for destruction he barely paid the absence of Kult any mind, turning the conversation back to themselves. “We should find a little something while the season is around sweet sister, I think I’d very much enjoy to explore new friendships together.” The silver in his eyes flashed as he twisted his head to look at her eyes, drinking in their depths. “Until then you will just have to sate yourself with me,” he laughed, nipping her gently before trotting a short ways off and inviting her to give chase.
