"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
04-24-2017, 05:27 PM (This post was last modified: 04-24-2017, 05:29 PM by Heartfire.)
Figured we should start fresh since the twins have grown quite a bit
show them the joy and the pain and the ending
It takes her no time at all to find him. Of course, he is never far from her sight (it is difficult to escape it), especially with her son at his side. He had taken him for training, she knows, but she has discovered herself to be a protective mother. Oh, she would never stop Longclaw from doing as he wished, but that does not mean she would not watch over him.
Today however, it is not her son she has come for. It is his father.
For whatever ungodly reason, he had chosen Pangea as his home. The desolate wasteland is worse than the desert, her birth home. She stares at the decayed land, the sluggish river in the distance and nary a blade of grass in sight. Shaking her head a bit, she sighs softly as she casts her sight into the deathly expanse, finding her target and showing him the small nook near the border where she stands. In another place, she might have simply walked in and hunted him down. Gone to him where he currently stands. But she does not trust this land, nor its residents.
He lives here after all. Bruise, the wretched creature she had vowed her revenge on. Of course, she hadn’t told Wyrm that yet. She didn’t want him doing anything without her, and she knows him well enough to know he might have tried.
She would relish an encounter with the bastard, but he is surrounded by allies here. She is not so filled with confidence that she believes she could best an entire kingdom alone. So, she waits. With one hoof cocked in an appearance of ease, blue gaze lazily scanning the wasteland, she waits for Wyrm to come to her.
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:
He comes.
He always does. Always would, until the day his flesh grew too tight to fit over bones and he closed his eyes for good. There’s no shame in understanding that without her, Wyrm would have nothing worth living for, so he tells Longclaw of his intentions before trading shapes to set out and meet her. Cheetah - it comes so easily - fair-colored to reflect the sun and with modifications to extend the stamina of short bursts into a loping, rolling run. Black-rimmed eyes and wide paws, a tail to rudder him against the winds that dance across the sand flats, and soon enough he finds her. She is the only creature who has ever opened his third eye.
Her two regular ones, however, seem especially sharp today. “Nothing like Nerine, I know.” He murmurs to her, body expanding to take the shape she knows him best by. She won’t be so easily side-tracked, though, and he’s very much aware why. Longclaw, of course, is here. Heartfire, though usually reserved, has made herself quite clear about her feelings for their twins so Wyrm knows this conversation won’t come easily. No coaxing, no amount of soothing, would dim the hyperborean emotions she displays so clearly through her gaze. Fixated, the green stallion can’t look away, but he closes the distance between them soon (and eagerly) enough.
His nose clashes softly against the motley of hairs near the apex of her neck, drawing backwards to trace a light path against her rigid cheek so that his words, “Is Rapture safe? Have you come to scold me?” might not rise above a whisper. There’s the faint jerk of his lips against her skin; the act of smiling, followed by a retreating step so that he might face her equally. He always liked her best when she was angry.
did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?
A shiver of wind caresses her as she watches the shape loping towards her across the dessicated wastes of Pangea. For a moment, just the barest span of time, she allows herself to admire the way his muscles shift beneath the sleek fur of the large cat, the focused intensity of his stride and the way the sun plays with the mingled black and tan hairs of his changed coat.
Then he is there before, as swiftly as only he seems able to manage, changing into his familiar green form, with its longer limbs and emerald coat glimmering in the sun. She rather enjoys watching him like this, the hum of energy and the thrill of power and desire. Not that she would ever tell him such a thing.
”Mmmm,” is her only response to his insight. She might not think much of this place, but there are always ears listening (she would know better than anyone), and she did not need to offend anyone on behalf of Nerine. Not yet, at least.
When he brushes against her, she leans almost imperceptibly into the soft touch that ruffles the intermingled black and white hairs of her crest. She allows herself a brief touch, her nose stretching out to drift across his skin as he retreats, a momentary lapse of decorum.
As her eyes lift, assessing him in that distinct manner of hers, she allows one equine brow to rise. ”Is there something I need scold you for?”
After a moment’s consideration, she turns her gaze back to the dry landscape before her. Always waiting, always watchful. ”Rapture is perfectly safe.” She does not ask after Longclaw. But then, she does not need to. It takes her only a thought to reach out and see that he is well.”You have made an… interesting choice in home.”
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
