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  • 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


    the day is gone, the world spins madly on [march babies]
    #1
    knight
    do not unsheathe me
    without reason
    do not wield me without valor
    Two small, green eyes watch a butterfly drift peacefully among the dandelions. It kisses them, or he thinks they do, that's what he would tell others if asked. Knight knows what kisses are, his Mother placed them ever so softly against the twirl of a cowlick on his brow. Her dark lips could not be missed against the bright white star that stretched beneath his wine colored forelock.

    That's what the butterfly was doing too, racing from bloom to bloom, giving kisses to the flowers as it crawled to their centers.

    It was orange, like when the sun was rising over the horizon, shooing away the stars to make room. The edges were black, spotted with tiny dots and Knight thought it was pretty, but not as pretty as Mother.

    No one was pretty like Mother.

    He was so excited when she said he could go play. He quickly ran off on spindly long legs before she could change her mind, trying his best to race there. Knight fell twice, tumbling in the green grass but it was not enough to upset him. Instead he rose up, shook himself off and tried again, determined to get it right. Should he fall a thousand times he would persist, maybe that was hard headed, maybe it was perseverance- his father shining through.

    Father was a great man, Mother said they were named by him, special and one of a kind. Knight believed her, he wished her to tell him again and again, he was too little to know how much it might hurt her to do so. What he did know was that he wanted to be like that man, strong and loyal. Sometimes he tried to imagine what he might have looked like, in person, tried to picture his face because he was sure it was kind. He knew what his eyes were like, the same as his own, soft and green, like pebbles by the river.

    He bent his tiny head to sniff at the little, orange butterfly, laughing as it fluttered away and began the chase anew.
    killdare x malis
    html by call
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    #2

    dreamer, every time you stargaze the whole world is lying at your feet

    The Taiga was a delectable playground on its own for any young child, and Ana would’ve been quite content playing there all day every day if her father had allowed it, but, for some reason, daddy had taken her on this forced march to the actual Playground, muttering something about ‘social development’ and ‘becoming a well-rounded child’. She had shot back that she didn’t want to be well-rounded like him, the fat oaf, and maybe he should’ve gone to the Playground less as a child and that maybe if he had stayed home more when he was a foal he wouldn’t be so FAT now. Her daddy had said something about working on her brevity, whatever that was.

    He had escorted her to the edge of the Playground, and with a brief kiss of the forehead (at which she recoiled and told him how gross he was), and a couple of instructions (Don’t leave the playground, and for goodness sake don’t talk to strangers) he left, leaving her to her own devices. This was the first time that she had ever been truly alone, and she found herself pausing for the first time ever, her light applegreen eyes wide like saucers. She took a deep breath; the air was sweet, and the feel of wind in her babyfuzz was somehow even sweeter. There wasn’t much wind, deep in the forests of her home. But she found she liked it.

    And with a big grin on her face, she found herself bounding through fields of thick grass, and bright blooms, enjoying the sun on her face and the sound of birds singing to one another. That was another thing you didn’t get much of in the Taiga – unfiltered sunlight, and the novelty was not lost on her.

    She felt like she could run forever. However, realistic limitations are a thing and she found herself beginning to pant a little. She slowed to a walk, and looked around her. Properly this time. She looked at the petals of the flowers, and the weird patterns the rippling sea of grass made when the wind rushed through it, and the little cabbage-butterflies that fluttered around, like little flecks of dust.

    She was not the only one here. She eyed another foal, deep purple, seemingly entranced by a little orange butterfly. She remembers her father’s instruction – don’t talk to strangers – and huffs. Silly daddy. What did he know? She stalks up to him (or rather… the butterfly), with her butt held high in the air and her shoulders low, almost felid (…almost), but mostly comical.

    “I can help you catch it.” She says, with a smile, as she gets closer. “If you would like. Tigers are good at catching things.” She smiles again, falls into her playbow pose, wiggles her little golden bum. “Whadya say?"

    "I’m Anastazja, by the way.”

    Anastazja
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    #3

    Longclaw

    The sea is far from the playground, much farther than poor little Longclaw could hope to walk in a day. So far, in fact, that he had been utterly surprised when his sire (Wyrm prefered not to be called dad. Never dad) had suggested the trip. The glimmering blue boy had peered up at the gangly green stallion with a doubtful expression and asked, “Really? When?” His father had only chuckled in that particularly cringe worthy style of his before shifting his body into the shape of an ancient eagle - impossibly large, with claws like great scythes - before beating the wind and sand into his astonished face and grabbing ahold of him with one of those deft, cage-like talons to take him on the ride of his life.

    He’d never wanted wings so badly before.

    They’d soared across the earth, dipped low and rose high, and Longclaw had squealed once in sheer joy before the unapproving, round eye of his sire had tilted to look down at him. After that, he’d kept quiet and turned his own eyes down to where the rest of the world teemed like ants. It was a moment he knew he should be cherishing (Wyrm was never one to be overly affectionate) but only left him feeling a bit sad. His mother had the ability to simply wipe things from existence, while his father had this freakish ability to shapeshift, and so far all he’d been able to accomplish was growing some sharp teeth. He felt .. like a disappointment. Wyrm, however, had snapped at him the moment he’d spoken up about it.

    “Never say that.” His father had snarled. “No son of mine is worthless.” It hadn’t mattered to the powerful shifter that Longclaw was mostly physically attractive, (as if that could be a power, hmph) he’d assured his little blue boy that his gift would come with time. So, as the wind tossed his shock of a mane and tail and the two of them drifted back down to the earth once more, Longclaw was determined to practice and make his father proud. The eagle dumped him gently near the others, never touching the ground but sending waves of wind over the bent grass before disappearing once more into the sky, and Longclaw was left to gather himself up and peer around at who was close by.

    To his surprise, a young colt (as boldly colored as him) and a young filly were co-mingling near a blooming bush. “No time like now!” He encourages himself, moving ahead on gangly, shimmering legs to where they waited. “Hey there!” He calls out, stumbling once over some invisible stone or branch, “What are you two looking at?”

    One-Half contract between Wyrm and Heartfire

    [Image: sScEgld.png]
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    #4
    Somewhere between the sand and the stardust,
    through every collapse and creation,
    there is a pulse that echoes of you and I.

    As she watches her father (he might not like to be called father, but she does it anyway) fly away with her brother clutched in his talons, a hint of sadness fills the pale blue of her eyes. She is not like her father or brother. Not even like her mother. In their eyes, she is so very plain and boring. Plain and boring are so easy to overlook in her family.

    But then, they didn't know she has taken after her mother in more ways than one. She has never told them, never shown them. She has no need to. She is perfectly content in her quiet obscurity.

    Or at least, she was. When she hadn't been alone.

    But instead of wallowing in any such sadness, she follows. She would make her own happiness. For a time, she thought she had lost them. Thought she had become lost (though, in truth, she never had been. Mother had been there, showing her the way. She should have known she would be), but she finds her way. She finds the playground, and she finds her brother.

    In so many ways, she is very different from her family. There is a softness, a brightness in her that has been hammered from her parents. Perhaps it had never existed in them. She is a delicate wisp of a girl, the dusky blue of her coat threaded with chains if white, the pale blue of her eyes quiet and softly unassuming. There is a certain loveliness in that delicacy, the promise of fragile beauty. But for now she is simply a girl, a dainty bit of fluff in the way foals so often are.

    She approaches the trio a bit hesitantly, coming close to her brother's side as her eyes catch on what had attracted their attention. A smile curves her blue lips, eyes lighting as she follows the path of the fluttering butterfly. In that one small way perhaps, she betrays herself through an observance few could make, especially coming to the conversation so late as she did. ”Oh!” she gasps, voice so soft as to be almost inaudible. ”It's so lovely.” There is true appreciation in her words, something rare and heartfelt. And perhaps the truest display of just exactly who Rapture is.

    Rapture
    wyrm x heartfire
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    #5
    From the safety of a shaded thicket, Ivar watches the group. He has caught a glimpse of the butterfly that entrances them, but he has no interest in it. Instead, his focus is on the jewel bright collection of children, their blue and gold and mulberry coats a striking change to the shaded blacks, greys, and whites that he has assumed all horses were before. They are just as fascinating to him as they butterfly is to them. His own smoky black coat and mottled tobiano hide blends in well with the forsythia bush he shelters beneath, though the plethora of little flowers are starting to litter him with their yellow pollen. It’s a rather uncomfortable sensation, especially in his soft pink nose, and eventually that (and curiosity) force him into the sunlight.

    He manages to look as though he’s just come through the brush rather than hiding in it, and he shakes the pollen from his velvety coat with an awkward shake. It almost unbalances him, but he catches himself, and moves closer. Despite his hesitation, he manages to smile, looking from one bright face to the next and wondering if this is perhaps what Mother meant when she spoke of the colors of parrots. She has the most wonderful tales and has even promised to change his colors, if he wants that. Ivar is a little doubtful. His mother is wonderful but she is just a small mouse grey mare, isn’t she? She has never used the magic from her stories in front of him, and though he is young he has already begun to wonder if she’s telling the truth. It never occurs to him that perhaps her lingering weariness is related to her lack of arcane feats.

    Weariness is to be expected of course, having birth Ivar so late, but he can’t know that. He does notice that he is larger than some of the other children. Not older looking, and not of a heavier build – simply larger. A common side effect of remaining in utero a little too long, and one that won’t be noticeable in a few months, but still one that he notices, especially given that he is already lacking in their festive colors. Still, he smiles, because despite his nerves he is still implicitly trusting, and says: “Hi. I’m Ivar.”
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    #6
    knight
    do not unsheathe me
    without reason
    do not wield me without valor
    It easily evades him, the butterfly, its delicate wings drifting it just out of reach. Every once in awhile, the breeze would catch it, helping it along and Knight would wildly try to outmaneuver it, his thin wine colored legs trying to keep up. It was never a straight line either, full of ups and downs, twisting back on its path. At once it turns back around flying back at him and in his surprise he stalls, unsure of what would happen if they crashed. Instead it is only he that crashes, landing with an ‘oof’ on his little mulberry hued rump.

    Knight is neither upset nor embarrassed about this action, his ears wiggle on his tiny head as he looks up to see the golden girl. “Catch it? How are you gonna do that?” Two matte green eyes watch her with interest, and he blinks when she responds. “Tiger, but what’s a tiger?” How very confusing, the little purple boy had never seen a tiger before, much less heard of them. He wondered just what made them so good at catching butterflies and how they might do it.

    “Will it give us kisses too then, like the flowers?” he blurts, because in his peripheral something quite large is flying away. In its place is a shining colt, colored like the river when the sun hits it just right. He scrambles to his feet, tilting for a moment before he finds his balance and excitedly paces towards the other.

    “Wow, wow! Did you see that thing?! Look at the size of it, what is that, are you okay?” Of course he looked okay, he didn't seem afraid at all or much less phased on any account about the gigantic bird. Knight couldn’t help but care about the well being of others, he would have gladly puffed his chest and swatted that monster on its big ol’ beak too. “Come see, we found a butterfly and it is very hard to catch!” He turned back around to the spot where he had last left the small flying insect, it had surprisingly not flown too far away.

    Oh its so lovely, she is the last to join them but she does not easily slip by Knights notice. She was painted deep blue and spoke with a kindness, he smiled big for her swishing his stubby tail.

    “Hi everybody! I’m Knight and this is a butterfly, we are going to give it kisses!”  He was rather proud about that, believing they really could smooch the delicate winged creature. They would kiss it because they liked it, because they loved it. You always gave kisses to things you loved, surely.

    But it seemed that the girl was not the last to join them, another boy entered the playground from the bushes, maybe having just arrived himself. The plainness of his coat didn’t strike Knight as odd, instead he found it quite fancy same as the girl, he did not know many painted horses. “Hi Ivar,” he pranced in place still wondering what a tiger was. “Do you want to help us catch a butterfly?” There was no way it could evade them all, he imagined its tiny wings would tickle his nose, and he smiled once more.
    killdare x malis
    html by call
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    #7

    dreamer, every time you stargaze the whole world is lying at your feet

    He inquires what a tiger is, and Ana tilts her head, trying to figure out a good way to put it in words. When she had asked her own daddy what a tiger was he had just turned into a fluffy ball of stripes, and that had been explanation enough. She visualises the furry, broad tiger-form of her father before she tries to put words to it.

    ”Well they’re stripey and they have sharp teeth and long skinny tails…” she doesn’t get to finish her explanation before he interrupts her to ask whether the butterflies would kiss them and Ana is about to reply, and tell him ‘If that’s what you want, we can make it happen’ (although she’s unsure of how exactly they’d go about doing this – butterflies don’t have mouths and you need mouths to kiss – or maybe they just had tiny mouths and Ana couldn’t see them?) when something else happens – a gigantic bird descends from the sky and drops down a little sparkly blue colt. The boy she was talking to becomes entirely distracted, and the words fall from her mouth unspoken, discouraged at his lack of interest in conversing with her. And aside from that, he starts bellowing and running away from her, towards the sparkly colt. She follows him though, a little apprehensively, remaining quiet throughout their exchange,

    A pretty blue and white filly is next to join in their conversation. Ana had never seen this many people in one go on her own; let alone ones her own age, and let alone ones who were exuberant and bursting with energy and excitement. Her ears flicker a little anxiously at this new girl, the one who exclaims the loveliness of the butterfly. A little puzzled she looks back at the butterfly – yes, Ana, supposes, it is rather OK looking. The first colt shouts excitedly again, and Ana takes a step back.

    Another one appears, less splendidly dressed than the rest, in brown and white, although Ana thinks it is an entirely fetching coat-colour in its own right. He is also a good deal less noisy and rambunctious than the rest, which immediately paints him in a favourable light. Knight talks again, invites him to join their little party and Ana’s light applegreen eyes widen. She is entirely overwhelmed by the amount of children, and their respective energy. Fortunately they are all very interested in talking to each other and not her, so it is not difficult for the little metal-and-cream filly to slip off from the gathering, in search of quiet and adventures.

    Anastazja


    edit: for clarification she's gone all overwhelmed with the amount of people and has left the thread - feel free to seek her out on her lonesome at a later date, though. Smile
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    #8

    Longclaw

    The group grows, to Longclaws surprise, with the addition of his elder twin sister and another refreshingly normal-looking colt named Ivar. With grave interest he listens to Knight speak about the butterfly (catch one, whatever for?) but turns his head to solemnly bump noses with his sibling. He hadn’t even realized that Rapture might have wanted to join along in the adventure - nor can he fathom how she managed to remain on the heels of their dad during the trip. But she’s here, and Longclaw is actually all the more excited for it. Sharing a womb with her had not nearly been enough time together and in situations where he falls short, Rapture is always eager to tread first and encourage him along.

    He appreciates that her gentle nature puts him immediately at ease before turning back to the slimming group. The golden filly has slipped away while he was distracted and he watches her go curiously, ears swiveling and nostrils flaring to huff the smell of her as she disappears. He understands - crowds are unusual for him too. “We can’t possibly give it kisses.” Longclaw declares with a brunt shake of his dark blue head. “Our mouths are too large! We might hurt it.” He tells them, hopping about to block the drifting pattern of flight that the wary butterfly has attempted to make to escape the curious onlookers.

    “My name is Longclaw and that’s my sister,” He names the cotton-and-bluebell filly proudly, turning his bright eyes to where she admires the small creature, “and I think we should circle it to see who it lands on!” The greenish boy proposes, proud of his idea though he’s forgotten that butterflies can certainly ascend vertically too. “Help me Rapture!” He squeals in youthful delight, glimmering hooves nearly dancing on the air in excitement while his tail bats restlessly at his shiny hips. “You can help too Knight, and you, Ivar!”

    He never wanted to leave this place. Never wanted to return to sea with its smelly, stinky water and grainy sand. He and Rapture could stay here, certainly, and mother and father could join later. They’d enjoy the butterflies … perhaps Wyrm would even transform into one for them, and they could be friends forever.

    Nevermind that he’d completely forgotten why he’d been dropped here in the first place.

    One-Half contract between Wyrm and Heartfire

    [Image: sScEgld.png]
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    #9

    build me up from bones, wrap me up in skin
    hold me close enough to breathe me in

     She has been blissfully happy playing in Tephra alone.

    Well, not truly alone.  Her multitude of siblings have visited often enough.  Her parents have kept her both entertained and educated since the day she first opened her eyes to the sun.  But everyone is so much older than she.  And while the precocious filly is usually more interested in the adult’s conversations and motivations, anyway, sometimes she wants only to be a child.  So when she hears about the playground (and her close proximity to it), she slips away from home and makes her way towards fun -

         - and stops as soon as her feet hit the sea.

    It isn’t too deep, the cerulean water that laps at the edge of her hooves.  She can see all the way to the land across, to the green that stretches out to the playground beyond.  But she’s never swum before.  How much easier it would be if Mother came too!  Radiant swallows the hard lump that rises in her throat and forces herself to take the first steps into the water.  The waves are gentle as they bump against her red sides, buoy her bottlebrush tail behind her.  Her eyes glitter like chipped amber with fear; she makes it across.

    Once she pulls her soaking body onto the far shore (shakes, shines in the glow of spring) the filly lets out a delighted whinny.  On the safety of land – with the earth rich and firm beneath her dainty feet – she races towards her destination.  In no time at all, she skirts around the meadow and finds the playground.  Tall, sentinel trees ring the border.  Their bark is peeled in some spots.  Radiant sees faces in many of them, wise and wrinkled and ancient.  Logic tells her that they can’t be, though.  Beqanna is born-again; she knows all of the stories.  

    A muffled shriek shakes her from her head.  Today is meant to be fun, not factual, and the pure sound of youthful exuberance finally draws her in.  The red roan girl spots the others almost immediately (passes one heading out, too, perhaps pulled away by her curfew.  She says “hi,” to the filly before continuing on).  One purple boy names himself Knight, and when the blue boy pipes in, she learns the rest of their names.  “I’m Radiant,” she says, her voice as bright as lit ice.  When she hears their plan to kiss the butterfly, she can’t stop the grin that worms across her lips.  The chase is on!  She forgets that she’s left home without notice as she jumps forward to help the other children.  Instead, her happy eyes travel from Longclaw to Rapture to Ivar; the butterfly floats just in front of his face!  “Danaus plexipplus.  Or Asterocampa clyton.” She can’t help herself.  “Oooh, I think she likes you!”



    Radiant
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    #10
    It is so easy to get carried away in the excitement, to allow the exuberance of the others, of her brother, of Knight and now, of Ivar, to carry her along. She is a naturally quiet creature, not shy, but certainly not vivacious or outgoing like her brother. Like her mother, and even in a way like her father. It’s easy to follow the group, to allow the smile of joy and delight to stretch her lips, to dance along with the carefree path of the butterfly.

    Her blue gaze is distracted for a moment, following the retreat of the golden filly. A hint of sadness crosses her features, quickly passing. She understands, perhaps too well, just how overwhelming the world could sometimes be. Especially when one is so new. Were it not for her brother, she might never have dared come here on her own.

    But then, she might have. She surprises even herself sometimes.

    She doesn’t hesitate in obeying her brother’s directive, small, delicate form slipping forward to form one corner of a circle around the wayward creature. She can see the fallacy of such a plan, but she is charmed nonetheless. Perhaps it would simply fly away, reaching into the heavens and disappearing before any of them could touch it, before it could place those gentle kisses upon them that Knight so badly wanted, but then, perhaps it would not.

    Her small, glowing face turns to the mulberry colt, features lighting with the soft smile that tugs at her lips, everything that is innocent and kind. ”If the butterfly does not give you a kiss, I shall. Though, I think perhaps it would give better kisses than I would.” Her words echo a bit louder this time, a bit more firmly, though still softer than that of her newfound friends.

    She has barely gotten the words out when a new face emerges, this one a fillycolored a coppery red. Her head tips curiously as the newcomer, who introduces herself as Radiant, begins speaking, her lips forming around foreign sounding words. And though she doesn’t quite understand it, she is fairly certain it is a name. ”How do you know it is a she?” Her gentle voice is filled with curiosity, her mind as eager for knowledge as her eyes for sight.
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