"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
Not true war, not the war her father saw through orange slanted eyes, not the type that caused scars like he had. Thorunn lacked the spiderwebs that crossed the hide of true warriors, she had nothing to show except the scar along the side of her face. That wasn't from war, that was from her own stupidity.
Still, diplomacy wasn't something that was taught to her. She didn't know how to make her words seem anything less than abrasive and useless, falling off her tongue in strange syllables. She always managed to offend and upset for some reason, she rarely left others with a savory impression.
So, she'll do what she knows - war. She seeks out the leader of the army (thank you, welcome committee) and presents herself with a curt nod and a clearing of her throat. "Hello, I'm Thorunn - I'd like to join the army."
i don't need you to understand that i'm already saved.
The volcanic mountain rumbles and stirs in the distance beneath a blanket of fallen ash, its weaving and winding streams of oozing lava exuding a scalding heat as it slowly travels along. Long, wavering stalks of grain burst through the fertile soil many months ago, once vibrant in color, now dry and painted as gold as the sun itself as autumn descends. It gently caresses the length of her legs, brushing against her skin the way a wanton lover might do, but she does not pay it any mind.
She, too, only knew war – but not a war waged from within. Born beneath the setting sun, she had been birthed into a world still reeking of the stench of death, and curdling blood – a world where as many were being born, many had just died. The war had been brutal, she had been told; she did not need to be told. Even in her youth, she had seen the carcasses strewn about, bloated and picked apart by scavengers, and even now she should see the faint outline of where their skeletons remain.
She does not look particularly dangerous (not without her bones reforming; restructuring her into a larger, bulkier version of herself, nor without her sharped spines protruding from her skin), nor particularly battle worn – there are a few scars that can be seen beneath the pale sunlight against her blinding, golden skin, and her wings are vibrant, bright – finely preened. Perhaps it is in the illusion of perfection that she hides her own skeletons.
She pauses, then, a scent drifting to her above the sulfur and above the salty brine of the sea – and carefully, her hazel eyes seek out the source: a vibrant amber, marred with scarred flesh - but her eyes do not linger on the uneven tissue; staring instead into the startling orange of her eye.
”Thorunn,” she says softly, in consideration, before giving a heavy nod. ”welcome, then. Strengths? Weaknesses? What experience do you have?”
It is not long after the designation of a new king that new blood pools around the site, a hematoma of horses if you will. The dip dyed mare watched as Ellyse moved towards the other young mare. Kimber was a strange specimen herself, outgoing but also quite content observing. Some call it bi-polar, others would say an ambivert. Either way, she wanted to be sure to know Ellyse's movements in the event a mock or such were to happen. Perhaps that was just her pessimism showing, she wasn't sure. The ombre mare has always faced war, from her first breath after being abandoned by her mother on the Chamber's ashen floors to fighting in a raid, to fighting a magician to save whom she thought she loved, to fighting for her children...to fighting any man who dare get close enough. Fighting was all she knew, perhaps all she would ever know. Although her immortality had healed her wounds over time she has not forgotten the bolstering heat that her last battle partner shook through her body.
When your best known trait is being a hot-headed smartass, your odds aren't always the best against heavily traited men.
Although she won that battle, the battle she's been facing has been a far much more tumultuous one - facing yourself is always the worst. 10/10 don't recommend. She approaches from the back, the young chestnut would be clear to see her and the champagne probably already knew. The dip-dye mare finds herself walking around Ellyse and placing herself in a "T" formation near them, quickly glancing at the scar - wanting to ask but not wanting to pry, "Seeking what you want," she moves around to the right, "Strength." She looks to Ellyse, amber colored eyes squinting in the sun, "Kimber." She bites her tongue as to not overstep her boundaries with the head of war. She could hold her own if anything were to boil over, she was not motivated to do so today.
Her questions would be, Why this army? What makes you angry? What makes you willing to risk your life for people you barely know?" Kimber's was unresolved rage, mommy issues and self-loathing on this particular day, how about yours?
It doesn't take long to find the head of the war caste, and she doesn't disappoint in being curt. Thorunn is relieved -she is much like Thorunn's stoic father. If she had to go on another long small talk get-to-know-you so soon after her last she might lose her mind. Conversation wasn't her strong point.
Observation was.
The same observation that noted the odd way the Ellyse moved, like she was used to being something different, strange, shifting. Thorunn couldn't decide if it were a limp or a hitch or a muscle imbalance, but she was compensating for some sort of change. Never in her wildest dreams would she imagine it would be from bone bending, a trait she'd never seen.
The same observation that had a lone ear trail the mare, Kimber, as she approaches from the back. Thorunn could hear the sound of hoofsteps in the grass long before the mare made herself known. While this wasn't enemy territory it certainly wasn't her territory. She knew better than to let such a thing slide. She gives Kimber a nod of acceptance when she enters the circle.
"My father, Covet, trained me - he was an old war general," she wonders if she should have kept the name to herself. Is it an asset? Does anyone still remember the old man? They'd see him in her stocky stature, her orange eyes - but her coat? The copper was not the same as the black stallions. "I've never seen true war," she says, by means of weakness. How could she truly know what she has not seen? She does not add unfortunately, her father taught her how unfortunate war was. The peace, however temporary, that held Beqanna was a blessing.
i don't need you to understand that i'm already saved.
She could feel her eyes heavy upon her, tracing the hardened line of muscle that lay beneath the gleaming gold of her skin – following where the bone carves out her solid, but feminine figure. She would not expect any less, and in fact, she is pleased by the observation (though she maintains her stoicism; feigning a solemnness suitable for her position). Conversation meant very little when in the thick of battle, whereas observation could be a vital means of strategic advantage – and already, she can see promise within the darkness of her gaze.
She had been birthed during war – born into the stench of death; frolicked among the rotting, bloating carcasses and their coagulated blood. She did not know it herself, but she had seen the aftermath – she had seen too many still, decomposing bodies in her youth. She had pried apart their skin with her teeth; she had peeked at their putrid, decaying tissue and the solid, though sometimes broken bone structure that lay beneath.
She knew violence, hostility, and death.
It was enough.
Soon, she and Thorunn are not alone – and her gaze focuses on Kimber – two-toned (a deep, impenetrable obsidian pouring into rich, vivid lapis lazuli) but with a bright, fiery gaze. She knew that the King knew her, and that was enough for her – Magnus had come to know and to trust Offspring, and even now in the wake of his disappearance, she is trusting of his judgment.
Kimber, she utters bitingly, and Ellyse has already found it difficult to suppress an eyeroll. Jaded but experienced. She would not hesitate to put her into her place, should she find the need, but Kimber is biting her tongue (there is more to her, she is certain of it)– and so instead, she merely averts her gaze, studying the deep scarring over Thorunn’s unfortunate wound.
”Nor have I. We should hope that none of us ever have to, but alas, the world is changing,” she muses softly, glancing towards the rumbling, roiling volcano – the King was powerful, yet temperamental – it was better to prepare for the worst than to sit idly by.
”A war general, hm?” she murmurs thoughtfully, glancing once more to Kimber, studying the terseness of her jaw and the shadow in her gaze. ”Much like you, Kimber. Perhaps we all have a thing or two we can teach one another. I am self-taught,” she pauses, glancing between them. ”but do not underestimate me. I have studied the equine form up close and personal; I will find your weakness.” (the stench of death and rot would never truly leave her memory) ”And perhaps you can find mine, and together we can improve.”
She is quiet, but only for a moment.
”Seeking what you want, Kimber, can also be a weakness. In war, you should be fighting for the greater good – for others, not only for yourself.”But she knows she already knows this, and intimately; she looked forward to picking the brain of a seasoned general at a later time.
She was under no illusion of knowing it all.
She could learn from them, and them from her.
”Tephra would be grateful for your service, and I look forward to working with you– but first, tell me – both of you. Why Tephra?”
the world is changing
forever melting and spawning she remembers the way the earth heaved a great sigh and everything she knew and loved and wanted and hoped for died and drowned and there was nothing left nothing nothing nothing
She blinks a few times against the memory, a memory unlike Ellyse's but equally potent. The swell of the ground ,the pitching, the churning. No, Thorunn did not witness any death (though she will forever remember the way her fathers orange eyes closed and never opened again) but the death of her childhood. The land that swam and clashed until, finally - finally - it settled on this final form.
perhaps you can find mine
wings delicate empty marrow cumbersome heavily relied on in battle as weapons and escape but with the smallest pressure along the flight feathers just a clip is needed to ground a great beast and return them to earth and and and
"Perhaps," she says, though she means it as an agreement. Ellyse should understand, they have the same impenetrable tones, though Thorunn's are rehearsed. In the light of day, truly naked, she is not so stoic. Her father this her father that -she mimics him, forgetting herself on occasion. Forgetting him on more than one occasion.
why tephra why tephra why tephra
She doesn't need to mull these words.
"After the..." what does one call it? "Before, I lived in the Valley. After, I followed Eight. This is all I knew, and it's become home." It's an honest answer, not one with lofty ideals of greatness or entitlement. Thorunn came here first, associated it with home, and made it home. That was the beginning and the end.
i don't need you to understand that i'm already saved.
She is quiet, then –
Observant. Watching as she flinches from the onslaught of long forgotten, deeply buried memories – she feigned indifference, but there was a subtle touch of instability in her ambiguity. Ellyse is not so trusting. She does not know Thorunn, nor is she aware of her heritage (Covet had come and gone long before her time) – lineage only held a small piece of an otherwise intricately stitched puzzle and even if she had been aware of what blood ran through Thorunn’s veins, she would hardly be moved by it. Her bloodline could only carry her so far; she would have to rely on her wit, on her strength, agility, and wherewithal to do anything of value. Just as she had. Just as she would.
A name meant little. History faded with time.
All that stood before her is flesh, and bone –
Yet, Thorunn held promise, and conviction.
Her answer is enough; Thorunn considered Tephra her own – and as such, she would defend it, protect it – what more could be asked of a warrior? Ellyse had no need for fickle, cleverly disguised inquiries – if her soldiers held the same unshakable desire, the same insatiable hunger to bear the burden of battle, of blood spilled, that would be enough. Quietly, her chin dips towards her chest plate – a single, solitary nod.
Acceptance.
”I was born in the valley, beneath the rule of Eight and Topsail,” she muses quietly, glancing to Kimber, who has thus been a quiet but steady presence. ”my father served them for a time. I, too, consider Tephra my home. Welcome, Thorunn, among the ranks. I look forward to working with you.”
Learning from you. Learning with you.
Time would tell.
