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    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


    Quand on n'a que l'amour - Warrick
    #1

    It wasn’t the navy blue of his legs and muzzle, the tip of his ears and his mane and tail that made her remember him. Yes, of course that did help, it was quite an extraordinary sight. Rather that what he had said during the meeting was what she remembered. She would like it very much to meet someone who was new to Tephra like she was and she was curious to his view on the lands and why he had decided to join.

    Also, she was curious how he thought about the volcano. Ever since she had first set foot on Tephra’s grounds, the volcano had stirred something within her. She did not yet decide if seeing it made her suddenly feel strangely adventurous, or if it simply made her remember the place where she had been born. Minette. Her mother, her maman. If she only knew where the grey mare had disappeared to.

    Speaking of parents, Magnus too had now taken a step back. She could not blame him for stepping down. During the meeting Amorette had asked him if he would stay, but ever since all parted their ways she hadn’t seen him again. And that meant the only one that lived in Tephra that she knew was Lucrezia. Something she should change. Something she was doing right now.

    ”You said your name was Warrick, right? I’m Amorette” she greets him with a soft smile and a dip of the head.

    Amorette

    Quand on n'a que l'amour.



    @[Radar]
    #2

    It’s quiet, near sunset. He lingers at the edge of sunlight, watching with stoic blue eyes as the sun slowly makes its way downward. It hasn’t yet begun to dip below the horizon, painting the tropical world of Tephra in a soft, golden glow. He stares ahead while the sultry breezes play with his mane and tail, twisting its warm fingers through the black tendrils. He was slowly becoming familiar with Tephra, to its every rock and tree, to the towering volcano just in the distance. He watches longingly, staring at the volcano’s lustrous orange glow that seems to burn brighter than the sun that was setting behind it. This was the time, between sunset and nightfall, that Warrick would begin his evening walk to the volcano.

    The stallion enjoys the warmth of being near the volcano, especially during the pitch of night. It became almost ritualistic to him. He would pick one of the rivulets of orange and follow it thoughtlessly to its source, and then find rest (that’s what he would call it if anyone asked – he never truly rested) beside the volcano’s hearth. The night was always the hardest part for Warrick’s days; thoughts never ceased long enough for him to sleep peacefully. Other times, he’d spend hours stargazing with longing, sorrowful eyes until dawn shook him from his trance.

    Warrick inhales deeply, the moist air thick on his tongue. It’s autumn, a time of renewal and change, though Tephra was abundant in lush foliage and a warm environment. He had become familiar with the climate here, and though would venture outside for the mere sight of seeing changing leaves and snowfall of the other seasons, rather enjoys the humid weather.

    He is not surprised by her approach, but he is not surprised by much of anything. The first moment that the sound of her hooves were heard, a single navy-tipped ear flicks towards her. He keeps his eyes firmly on the sunset, trying to relax in the silence before night fell; for he knew that once the sun fell below the horizon, he would fitfully wander until it rose again.

    The mare is younger than him, but not by much. His brilliant blue eyes that match the blue of his markings pry away from the setting sun to peer at her through a veil of black forelock – his eyes were kind (they always were), but at the same time they were distraught; cloudy maybe, with weariness and burden. Her color is of smoke and ash, dark yet smooth, much like the thick billows of cloud that plumes from the volcano’s open mouth. She remembers his name and he is glad that she has found him. His daylight hours had been lonely, and he’s thankful that right before nightfall he has a welcome visitor.

    He remembers her vividly from the meeting that felt like so long ago. He remembers her calling Magnus ‘dad’, with a certain concern in her voice that Warrick could relate to. His gaze softens and his lips press together thoughtfully as he watches her. He has not seen Magnus since they all met to see Lucrezia’s rise to leadership. The stallion nearly reaches forward to brush his cobalt muzzle against her cheek in empathy. He knows all too well the tragedy of a disappearing parent and how their abandonment can tear and twist the heart in different ways. He refrains from reaching out to her, however; for this was their first time meeting officially. “You remember me,” he replies with a hint of a smile on his indigo lips, his voice deep and solid against the warm breezes of nightfall. “Good evening, Amorette.”

    Warrick turns his cobalt gaze back towards the volcano and the setting sun, which was more than halfway below the horizon now. He sighs softly, closing his eyes momentarily with a flutter of his auburn lids, soaking in the last few moments of the sun’s golden rays of light.  

    w a r r i c k



    @[Amorette]




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