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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


    god make me pay like the devil i am; anastazja
    #1

    He knows. He sees the looks – the uncomfortable glances, hesitant words…he knows why he stands alone, tucked safely beneath nearby trees and brush, shrouded by their shade. With dark, nearly bottomless eyes he stares out from his hiding place, his chest tight with what the young colt would come to know as rage when he was able to understand emotion. More importantly, if he ever will understand emotion. 

    He is different and not in a good way. His outbursts were unsolicited and certain reactions from others to his behavior trigger him even more, causing him more pain, more fury. He couldn’t understand why he was shunned but surprisingly, he wishes he could. He cannot comprehend why his mother punished him for certain things he did (why was stomping on things so bad?) or the looks he was given when he spoke. 

    Maugrim’s evergreen body, dark and blending in with the underbrush that surrounds him, is small and insignificant within the shadows. Save for the touches of pearlescent lavender that covers him in large patches, he seems to disappear well into his surroundings. He watches the other colts and fillies from a distance, not knowing that if he were to be seen by them that it might make them feel odd. They should be thankful he wasn’t standing out in the open, directly staring at them with a furrowed brow and a thin mouth as they frolicked and played in the sun. He snorts sharply. He’s tried to play, to be a child full of joy and laughter - but he cannot keep up the charade. These things did not interest him. 

    He thinks about going to the water (the only place he could find peace and feel truly comfortable), but then he would have to cross paths with the foals in the distance. They were in the way. The colt watches them with rising jealousy, stomping a hoof into the dirt as he grinds his teeth. 

    A butterfly flutters nearby, it’s bright yellow wings catching Maugrim’s keen eye. He snorts amusedly, baring his teeth and pinning his ears against his neck as it flutters close to him. “Don’t.” His voice is metal as he gave his warning to the small insect, unaware that his request will be ignored simply because it is an insect and cannot communicate. It flutters closer, bobbing and weaving in the springtime sun. Maugrim’s heart quickens. He feels nervous, his eyes uncertain as it draws ever nearer. 

    Suddenly the butterfly is too close and his nerves turn instantly into anger. He lunges forward; bared teeth ready to snap shut on the delicate, yellow wings. Of course, his soft teeth only thump together on air as the butterfly goes on its way. He huffs in disappointment, eyes rolling wildly as he watches the insect ascend – at least it was leaving. He could hear his mother’s voice in his head. 

    Mind your temper, sweetheart. 

    He tosses his head aggravatingly before he turns his face back towards the open field, watching intently at the scene before him.  His eyes narrow as thoughts enter his mind on how to subdue the equines so that he may get nearer to the water. 

    m a u g r i m.

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    #2

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

    She walks as if she knows where she is going, but she doesn’t really, except for ‘away from here’. The gaggle of foals and their shrieks of delight fade behind her as she departs from the large group she had been conversing with, and the space she had been standing in is almost instantly filled with more filly (not that it bothers her). She breathes a sigh of relief, each lungful of air a little easier to pass with the more distance between them all. It’s when she meets the edge of the grass where grass becomes bramble and root that she finally takes a moment to pause.

    To breathe, really, and gather her thoughts. She chided herself for being so silly and essentially running away (although she hadn’t been running, she had been walking slowly, purposefully, as if filled with an ocean’s worth of confidence about her decision to leave them all). Was she being unreasonable? Silly? Weak? No, she decides, she is none of those things. There were a lot of them, and she refused to fight for attention. If they wanted to spend their afternoon shrieking the delights of butterflies, overflowing with energy and too quick to have a proper conversation, then so be it. She decides the decision to leave them all had been a good one, and next time she wouldn’t let her heart feel fluttery and nervous as if scared of what they might think. No, she would be strong, like the sequoias of the Taiga, steadfast, confident in their being.

    She refused to feel this foolish, this light-headed, again.

    And with that, she makes a decision to feel happy once more. No use lingering on it all. Move on. Move forward. The metal and cream filly springs lightly into the thick bushes, thorns snagging in her tail and pulling at her babyfluff but she pays no mind, pressing onwards through the wall of brambles and tangled branches, pushing through the nettles and the burdocks, the cabbage-plants and the golden-saxifrage, her sensitive nose filled with a myriad of scents. She is nowhere near silent; crashing through the foliage like some kind of injured rabbit.

    She pauses, her nose quivering as the scent of equine, nearby, fills her nose. Her light applegreen eyes narrow a little and she finally manages to pick out the figure of a small, laying-down colt, dark green against the dark green, though with peculiar patches of light purple which save him from being entirely invisible.

    She watches him quietly, as if to make sure that no others are about to approach. There’s another butterfly fluttering about, almost beneath the colt’s nose before he lunges at it, missing it entirely, induced in a sort of rage.

    The metal-and-cream filly steps forward, as if out of the gloom (although it must be impossible for the colt to have not noticed her before; she had not exactly been any type of quiet in her approach). But now she announces her willingness to engage him, and not just watch him from the distance.

    She stands by him for a long moment, watching him, wondering whether others will come bursting through at any moment.

    ”Butterflies are pointless.” she says, shaking her head, with a note of bitterness in her voice (bitter that the butterflies had led her into a situation where she had felt unwelcome, uncomfortable, unhappy). But, regardless, a smile ignites her whiskered lips, and her light applegreen eyes are aglow with enthusiasm once more.

    ”But rabbits…! Rabbits are fun to hunt!” she almost bounces on the spot, but refrains – wanting to keep her energy for the chase. ”You should hunt with me. You seem better at it than those other foals.” she tosses her head in the direction of the foal-gathering with a snort, a grin never leaving her face (even if she felt that it might take a while to recover from the shock of having so many foals appear at once).

    And there was nothing like a good hunt to bolster your mood, and appease your appetite, after all!

    Anastazja
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    #3

    He is young and oblivious, and just as the butterfly leaves his eyesight there is suddenly a new presence near him. His lips rip apart seamlessly to show teeth, like a small dog attempting to appear menacing. He remains quiet and still, ears laying flat against the patches of pearl and evergreen of his coat. He almost seems feral, socially inept. For a long moment he merely watches her, brow furrowing confusedly as she begins to speak to him. He continues to watch her as she speaks, his small body tense and uncomfortable with her being so near to him. His lips twitch – he wants to bite her and get rid of her (and to maybe see what was beneath her golden cream skin).

    Then, before his annoyance bubbled into rage, the girl offers him something interesting – something he had never thought of before.

    “Hunt?” he blurts suddenly, his voice low and inquisitive. His ears now prick towards her with curiosity and his muscles relax ever so slightly. His brow was still low on his dark eyes, but he no longer was a wild thing spitting beneath the shadows. She had also complimented him, which Maugrim would never admit to enjoy hearing. Of course he would be better at it than them and right of her to see it.

    His dark eyes turn to observe the foals frolicking in the distance as he considers her invitation, his face bitter with resentment as he watches their folly. He inhales deeply, the smell of damp earth filling his nostrils. He exhales in a slow sigh, his breath causing the foliage near his mouth to rustle quietly. He groans inwardly, knowing that he would simply have to wait for the parade of children to leave the area before he could wade into the still and calm depths of the small lake that was beyond the field. His short tail flicks impatiently, lips twitching absentmindedly. “I haven’t seen no rabbits,” he muses dismissively (almost to himself, as he has the awful habit of making no eye contact when he spoke). “Just birds and those damned butterflies.” Dissatisfaction ripples across his face, and one could make the assumption that it was not just the birds and butterflies that made him bothered.  

    His jaw clenches tightly as his dark, narrowing eyes fall to the girl once again, contemplative. “They’re fast,” he says, referring to the rabbits (or maybe the foals in the distance), “how do you catch them?”

    Maugrim knew how he would, but he figures surrounding an animal in a watery grave isn’t exactly what this girl had in mind.

    m a u g r i m.

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