"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
He remembers the shuddering of the earth, the groaning of the plates as they crash together and separate, rumbling hungrily beneath his hooves. He had been standing in the ocean with the water pressing against his chest (he had felt truly alive in that moment, the frigid dark waters soothing the churning rage that dwells inside him), but it was fleeting. It was a strange feeling as the water begins to sink lower, rushing out from beneath him like someone had unplugged a drain. For a moment he merely watches curiously, his head tilted slightly in confusion as the world behind him shatters and cracks. Then, with more power than he had ever felt, the water pulls his legs from underneath him.
The weightlessness he felt was nothing like he had ever experienced. It was dark, cold womb enveloping him and though his heart rate increases with adrenaline, fear was not at the forefront of his mind. The water was where he belonged. He was ready to sink down into the darkness.
He had awoken with open wounds from the tide scraping him against coral and rock, sand gritting inside his flesh painfully. The salt had dried there, stinging every moment he tried to move. The beach he had been brought to was bright and quiet, the ocean’s water gently lapping at his legs. Moments later he was with another colt, nearly his age, as well as Azazelle. He wanted to rest, to sleep in the darkness of a cave or underbrush but instead he was forced to stay out in the open, with the sun’s rays burning his skin and the fierceness of anger burning in his belly.
Shortly he had left, though he knew he would be returning. Ischia’s ocean attracted him and he could not stay away – no matter the present company.
Maugrim limps his way to freshwater, his wounds burning and aching for relief. It takes him a long time to travel to the river, he had lost track of time as the sun moves through the sky. He’s thankful that no one seems to be interested in him – though who would want to try to talk to a yearling who was covered with open, festering wounds that stretch and break with every step? Besides, the scowl on the young boy’s face was hopefully enough to keep others away.
Everyone has stayed away from him since he was just a foal. This is something that is not unfamiliar to him.
Maugrim does not hesitate when he reaches the river; he enters without a thought, the water immediately cooling his hot, burning flesh. Blood, both dried and freshly pouring, stain the clear water. He sighs with relief, a shiver running through his spine. He lowers his head, putting his muzzle beneath the water and drinking deeply. Without a thought, he asks the water to rise up to meet him, sending a small and comforting wave across his back and neck. The water soaks into his skin – he was beginning to feel better.
It’s possibly hours that pass as he wades in the river, ever so often making the water splash against him to soothe his wounds.
The dark evergreen and pearlescent yearling decides to come closer to the bank, his legs wearily bringing him to the shoreline. As he pulls himself out of the water, he feels weaker. It was harder to carry his own weight without the aide the water gave him. He heaves himself onto the sand, standing weakly as the water laps at his fetlocks. The river’s water runs in rivulets down his legs, pooling at his hooves and his short mane plasters to his neck. His head is low as the springtime breeze begins to dry him. With one eye lazily open, the tired and bruised yearling attempts to nap.
05-28-2017, 08:57 PM (This post was last modified: 05-28-2017, 08:58 PM by Levi.)
Levi is moving like a shadow threw a copse of oak trees. His frame is large and heavy but his mottled dark coat helps to obscure him. At three years old he is more stallion than boy, but even so, he has more growing to do. His father had passed on may gifts, Levi considered his formidable size to be one of them. Mismatched eyes rove the world around him, then settle on the form of a stranger bathing... The common lands seem to be full of the young and homeless.
She, his fire, prompts him. Levi could feel the heat rising in his chest cavity, building, ready for release. But wounded creatures could be dangerous. The colt was young, maybe a yearling, but age didn’t mean much here. The water moved about this colt in strange ways, something he didn’t notice at first. But now, after watching him for a while it was obvious to Levi’s eye that something was encouraging the flow of the stream to caress the colt. Or more likely, someone.
The stranger turns and is leaving the protection the river, protection the colt had no idea the water was providing him. Levi tenses, if he continues walking the two will soon meet face to face. Not many trees separate Levi and the pebbled river bank. But the dark of his pelt shrouds him in the shadows of the tree trunks. Now he can see the extent of the others injuries, the severity soothing his mind slightly. If their interaction becomes a disagreement this will surly weaken any power he may have. He reaches the bank and the boy’s head droops as he seems to be overwhelmed with weariness. His observation complete, Levi moves forward. He doesn’t attempt to greet the colt, but unless he is napping very deeply he should notice the scent or sounds of the approaching beast. Levi halts, not far off, but outside of striking range. He is always wary of strangers. And pretty much everyone is a stranger.
Turning his head, he inspects the injuries of the green and lavender colt, now that he has a better view. “That one looks bad.” His voice is gruff for one so newly a stallion. He gestures with his muzzle to the worst wound. Levi flairs his nostrils and inhales, the soak in the stream has stripped the colt of any scent he may have carried form his homeland. He only carries the odor of blood and a hint of puss, but no suggestion of where he has come from. Not that it matters much, he is here now.
“Sometimes you need more than river water to cleanse a wound.” Matter of fact. To the point. Levi doesn’t really care about this boy’s wellbeing, but he does love to experiment. “Heat can purify your wound.” He leaves that statement to hang in the air between them. A wicked grin pulls at the corners of his pale lips, half suppressed and half indulged.
05-30-2017, 08:19 AM (This post was last modified: 05-30-2017, 08:23 AM by Maugrim.)
His breath is ragged and shallow as it blows from his nostrils and dark green lips, chapped and bleeding from his time in the saltwater. He runs his tongue over the sharp corners, hungrily tasting the dried blood and freshwater that still lingers there. The wind stirs, lifting his short mane (for it still was not grown out long because of his youth) from his neck, cooling the hot and somewhat rotten wounds that adorn his body. He shifts his weight, his right side leaning into the soft and compacted muck of the riverbank, wincing as the largest wound on his right shoulder opens once again, fresh blood pooling in the deep sluice of flesh. He snorts with frustration – the wounds were too deep to heal.
A sound jolts him from his inner thoughts, and before his eyes even open his ears are hidden in the short crop of lavender and green that was his mane. His lips curl menacingly to show his teeth, the cuts ripping with the movement. The pain seems to not bother him as much now, his adrenaline pumping fluidly through his veins and masking any sort of stinging or discomfort. His dark eyes quickly find the source; a robust, auburn stallion (though he could tell was young – still a fledgling) splashed with stark white stands before him, his eyes glimmering curiously as he stares down at Maugrim. The yearling stares up at him from beneath a hooded brow, refusing to lift his head to see him more clearly. The unnamed stallion is looking out into the open water of the river to his right, surveying Maugrim with a slightly less than judgmental look. He’s used to it.
Ears still pinned and teeth bared warningly, Maugrim cautiously watches the stallion. His nostrils flare, inhaling scents but all where unknown to him. He smells of singed flesh and ash – that he could recognize. The stallion was getting too close to him, and he could feel a rumbling in his chest that pounds heavily against his ribcage, his anger threatening to be released the moment this stranger made one wrong move. He gestures to the wound on his shoulder, deep and blistering in the springtime sun, and Maugrim leans away from him slightly. He was not about to give up the space he had so rightly came to find first, but being so near to someone made it feel like his body was on fire.
Maugrim’s eyes narrow questioningly, a sharp snort leaving him. The air from his nostrils causes a spray of blood from his injured lips, staining the ground below him. The idea of heat scorching his open and decaying lacerations sent a shiver down his spine, uncertain how this stranger had even come up with this idea in the first place. Maugrim’s dark, nearly pupil less eyes glances at the larger stallion. “I’m fine,” he lies, his voice steely and unbending as he forces words through his clenched teeth and tightened jaw. He could not help but think that this ‘caring’ stranger had impure intentions (which of course he did) in trying to aide him. But the yearling doesn’t move away from the older stallion just yet, knowing that his wounds were only getting worse and the water was helping, but not quickly enough.
Behind Maugrim and in front of the large stallion, a spot in the river begins to churn in the opposite direction of the current, stirring unnaturally. The yearling keeps his eyes on the ivory splashed bay, his muscles tense beneath his pearlescent and dark evergreen skin, but his mind focuses carefully on the water – ready and poised.
m a u g r i m.
@[Levi]
So either Levi can get annoyed with him and put some fire to his injury on his shoulder and singe it together, or he can see the water moving and add heat to it, and then we can put it to his wound. Either way Maugrim will get a cool scar <3 lol
He snorts, and a fine mist of blood sprays out from the colt’s green muzzle . He is in bad shape; his young flesh an awful combination of dehydrated cracks and oozing. “I’m fine” his voice defiantly contradicts reality. His jaw clenches, his eyes narrow. All signs of a cornered beast.
Levi gives a compliant snort as he turns his body and gaze away from the boy. It was clear that if he wishes to hurt Levi, the attack would be coming from the river… not his damaged body. The unnatural swirl of the water behind him reconfirms what he thought he had seen earlier.Boldly Levi takes a few steps towards the riverbank, putting more space between them and allowing him a moment to think. If the present company couldn’t have controlled the current, the dark stallion would have waded in.
But as it was he didn’t have time anyway, he needed to find a way to heat the water. Rocks large and small are scattered along the bank, he walks upriver where he discovers a larger one which has a rough bowl shape in its surface. There is some water pooled there, green and slimy. This will do.
In a rare moment of empathy Levi sees himself as the colt, broken on the shore, alone. Then not alone any more- The colts bared teeth become more engaging than threatening as he thinks this. But even so, he doesn’t let his gaud down. If this boy was anything like him, a powerful fist of water could be headed for him at any moment. But Levi wouldn’t have acted much differently - he probably would have behaved worse. The colt had grit.
The heavy stallion keeps part of his attention trained on the river and he adjusts himself so the rock is between his body and the water. A thin veil of flame covers the stone. With this small quantity of fire, he scarily feels anything inside. It used to feel like something in his guts cracked every time released her. The practice has been paying off, but he misses the severity of his body changing under the weight of the fires ferocity. He needed to break his limits again, but not now.
Levi pushes the fire into the granite surface as much as he can, heating it. The air is filled with the scent of burning things, the smoke mingling with his black mane, swirling between his ears. He doesn’t blink as it burns his eyes. The standing water steams off, the green algae and little bugs are incinerated, their ashes floating away on the air currents the rising heat is creating. Levi stands firm, facing the river. His dark neck twists back, his red eye peering at the injured colt. “I’m not going to do this for you.” He says, all traces of empathy gone. He is no healer, and he has never tried this before. It is only something he heard rumors of as a child, drifting off to sleep as the grown-ups talked, half listening to their stories as they mixed with his dreams.
Looking back to his project, He gives one more push. There is a crack, and a piece of stone falls from the side, sheared off by the quick temperature change. He cuts her off then, pulling the heat back into his body. The stone glows orange.
Stepping back, he eyes they boy. The pyro has played his part, the rest is up tp the colt.
He was too tired, too weak, to protest this stallion’s presence. Maugrim awaits the glare or a haughty glance (besides, this stranger is much older than him and probably wouldn’t be too keen on a younger colt showing disrespect). It never came. In no way was this stallion looking at him somberly or with pity, it was almost as if the same attitude was given back to Maugrim – flippant, uninterested. Maugrim’s mind whirls with spiteful words that he could unleash and deter his company, but he could not find his tongue. The tides had favored him and saved him from drowning in the depths of a black and watery grave, but did not find it necessary to steer him away from the rocky shoals and coral that dwells in the shallows of Ischia. The adrenaline that once coursed through his veins and thus had kept him numb from the pain when he was washed ashore was now beginning to ebb and wane. He did not want to argue, he wants to sleep… The yearling does not let his weary eyes fall shut. He refuses to appear weak and lifts his chin defiantly, his dark eyes watching him closely, curiously. Maugrim’s nostrils wrinkle as the smell of smoke and ash enter him, snorting in surprise as the sharp smell becomes recognizable. He cannot help but tilt his head inquisitively, and does so much as to even turn himself to face this stranger, peering over his shoulder to watch him. His brow furrows confusedly, his legs shakily bringing him a few steps closer. The stallion speaks to him with a short and almost impatient statement. Maugrim’s eyes flash to the stallion’s, for his gaze had been mesmerized by the fire that seems to have ignited from thin air. Of course, Maugrim was not vapid – it was obviously coming from the large equine beside him. Maugrim takes a step back, curious as to why he would use such a precious gift to help him. He narrows his gaze, wondering why he had not set the flames under his hooves and seared his young, wounded flesh. His nose twitches at the idea, imagining red and orange flames (some nearly blue with their heat) eating up flesh and bone. With a slow slide of his eyes downward towards the water, he realizes now that the water he had heated would now be boiling. Maugrim had half a mind to spin the water into the stallion’s eyes, his stomach rolling with anticipation at the idea of burnt retinas. Without a thought the water rises sharply and quickly, expertly: coming upwards in a thin, needle-like strand. The satisfaction at how easily the water moves for him causes a grin to spread across his cracked lips. It steams and bubbles before the stallion’s eyes, lingering threateningly as the reflection glistens in Maugrim’s ravenous, dark eyes. It would not stay hot for long and Maugrim was not one to move slowly. He would not call it empathy, or compassion. But the colt instead chooses to move the water through the sluice of flesh on his shoulder instead of flicking the water into the stranger’s eyes. He does not move away as he flushes the water through the wound, though he could not hide the pain on his face nor the soft whimper that leaves his lips as the boiling water burns inside his raw skin. Maugrim then keeps the water still once it began to lose its red-hot sting, holding it inside the gaping wound much like a bandage. When the heat had left, he lets the water fall, splashing onto the ground at his hooves and soaking into the sand. His dark eyes stare at the bay stallion, lifting his chin slightly with a shuddering breath. “I need to close it.” It was not a command, nor was he begging. It was a statement, a fact. The wound was deep, the muscle beneath white with exposure. Maugrim falls silent, brooding…waiting.
Levi made a mistake. He realizes this as the battered colt holds the thread of hot water before his eyes. His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t flinch away. Hunters chase prey, Levi knows from personal experience that fear and weakness only encourage the hunter. And it’s not like running would make him any safer. If the water darted towards him he could possibly deflect it, or at least diffuse it with a blast of heat, a sort of shield. But it’s also possible he will be blind.
But snake of water winds away and into the yawning wound.
The boy lives up to his expectations. He watches with satisfaction and the hot water steams and drains from the injury, carrying the filth away. The deed is done and the colt lifts his trembling chin, stating the apparent, exactly like Levi was hoping he would. Burning someone with their permission was something he had never done before.
Levi smiles.
It doesn’t last long, back to business. He gives and nod and takes a step forward. It’s obvious the colt doesn’t want to be close to anyone, but if he is going to do this, he will do it right. If the green skinned boy can put up with being burnt, he can deal with Levi standing a horse length away. Again, the flams materialize. They float in the air between the two males, first lively and flickering, then growing more sound, denser.The hefty stallion had used his flames to lift objects before, small debris mostly, so this is the type of fame he creates. Solidified flame.
He doesn’t wait for the stranger to lose his nerve, Levi doubts this colt will, but he won’t afford him the chance. He maneuvers the supernatural heat to apply pressure, coaxing the two side of the chasm to become one.
If he was truly sadistic, Levi could easily continue to drive the hardened flame farther into the boy’s chest. For a moment his own resolve falters, he feels a thrill like none other he has ever felt, he feels euphoric. Adrenaline warms his veins, fire twists between his ribs. She, his flame, his love, asks nicely for this one thing. To feel a beating heart
“No,” he says aloud. The heat vanishes, leaving the air full of caustic scents. The acidity of burning hair, the richness of burning flesh.
The dark horse takes two steps back, returning to the painted colt his space. He doesn’t allow himself to think over what has just happened yet, his face is blank, he stands guarded. He would not be caught off guard by the nameless boy again.
There was a certain prowess that came from wielding a powerful element, and with that both Maugrim and Levi (though the yearling had yet to learn the stallion’s name yet) were familiar. Both were far more alike than any mere glance would give them, despite their obvious differences when it came to their most treasured gift (fire and water, what could be any more unalike?). They both knew of the growl in their bellies for testing limits and pushing boundaries in their unceasing search for that one thing that could quell their insatiable thirst – the only relief the two were given was when their precious elements were malleable beneath their minds and their grasp, though often times they would reach out to those nearest to them and attempt to do the same. Why are others so damn difficult to bend and manipulate? Why couldn’t they be like water: bendable and pliable with just the flicker of a desire or thought?
The instant fear (or was it regret?) that he sees in the stallion’s eyes was enough to satisfy Maugrim for the moment. He had watched the water reflect in the flaming color of the stallion’s eyes, mesmerized as he drew his dry tongue over the crack of his lips. But much like Levi had done, he had swallowed the urge and tightened the lid, keeping his intentions sealed for now (for Maugrim, this decision was for the sake of his health).
Maugrim is sure that the auburn stallion is watching him intently as he flushes the wound. There was something about the stranger that Maugrim saw as recognizable. Was it understanding? No, understanding took compassion. Did the stallion see the familiar spark in Maugrim’s eyes, and did Maugrim see his? Then the large, robust stallion steps forward in response to Maugrim’s statement, and immediately he feels his body tense. He leans away from him, ever so slightly, shifting his weight. He could not help that his ears press instinctively into his neck and that his lips peel back to reveal his teeth yet again, eager to tear at flesh if needed. The water was there too, churning and tossing fervently behind them in warning.
There was barely even a pause between the stallion’s step forward and the searing pain that became white-hot on his shoulder. If anything, the stallion’s movement and the pain were simultaneous. With a breath it seems, the stallion was able to create the flame that would press eagerly against the dark evergreen of his shoulder. The pain was unbearable and nearly causes the colt to faint and slump to the ground. He could hear the sound of his flesh melting together as he soldered the two pieces of skin into one. He writhes beneath the intense heat, the smell of burnt skin and hair stinging his flared and bloody nostrils. The water behind them rages with agitation, responding readily to the thoughts and commands in Maugrim’s head as the colt tries to stand as still as possible for the stranger.
The stallion speaks and then the sound of sizzling flesh disappears. The stench remains, rancid and putrid in his nostrils and even on his tongue. The pain was far from subsiding, still throbbing and burning with the flames that had carefully licked his wound together. Maugrim’s slender legs buckle slightly and he felt dizzy, his breathing shallow and ragged as he tries to catch his breath and slow his heartbeat as it pulses wildly in his chest. Maugrim finally glances up at the older stallion, his dark eyes searching the unknown face. He would have said thank you, but from the look in the stallion’s eyes, just letting him burn his flesh was more than enough. He breathes heavily, his ribcage filling and emptying with large gasps. The water in the river slows and calms with the rhythm of his breathing.
“Maugrim.”
He says no more, for that was all the other needed to know.
