"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
… curiosity killed the cat & satisfaction brought him back
Dahmer had begun to believe that he had exhausted his anger, and then winter hit Beqanna, and he is reminded of the initial reason he had chosen Tephra as his home. It hadn't been for Lucrezia or for the reputation Magnus had built for the volcano territory - it had been solely because of Magnus' promise that it never snowed in the tropical kingdom. And now, even in the early stages of winter, he is standing by the river on frosted ground while snow flurries fall from the gray sky.
His dark lips turn into a frown as he gazes across the tumultuous river, white flakes of snow finding the flat of his back, his tangled mane, and the top of his nose. The black beast sighs quietly and shakes his head from side to side, his mane flung about before finally resting just the same as it usually does - messy.
He grumbles to himself before pivoting on his hindquarters and heading into the forest, the tree boughs overhead protecting the hard earth from the light snowfall. He meanders slowly, his bright blue eyes guiding him with ease through the evergreen trees despite his distracted thoughts.
Dull hoof steps make his ears twitch and Dahmer makes an attempt to head in the opposite direction, but as he rounds a rather large copse of trees, he comes face to face with the champagne Ellyse. "Fancy seeing you here," he greets the mare, who he hadn't seen since their private rendezvous. "Had enough of the nice, comforting, heavenly warmth at home?" A shiver runs through him and the Thoroughbred snorts a cloud of white into the icy air. "Were you looking for me? I was about to head somewhere warmer for the winter, if I can find something."
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
A shiver traverses the length of her spine as winter gently caresses her skin with a whistling gale, draping its icy precipitation onto the rounded edges of her feathered appendages. She had left the humidity of the volcanic island behind, stirred as restlessness pushed her beyond the ashen boundary and into the salty sea, wading through the rumbling current until she had found the southern shoreline. The heavy hand of winter had yet to touch the far eastern side, and the sun is warm against her skin, as any remnants of the ocean water are evaporated from the impermeable surface of her feathers.
She presses on, with a heavy heart that beats unyieldingly - thump, thump it goes, urging her forward. She had to find him, but she had no idea where to look – the minutes faded into hours, until dusk had begun to fall, with a speckling of starlight hiding behind thick, roving clouds overhead. At last, the powerful churning of the river echoes throughout the thick woodland, drawing her out from the shadows and into the pale, waning daylight, and there he is –
Stark against the dull gray of the rapidly moving river and the pristine, untouched snow that lay draped over smooth boulders, he is still – with thick and heavy wings pressed against his sides, and his piercing cerulean gaze staring elsewhere. He is beautiful, she muses to herself, but not for her own satisfaction – within her, there is a stirring of life – a stirring of life she knew belonged as much to him as it belonged to her. Coiling her own feathered appendages against her flank (concealing any sign that she might be with child, though it was still early yet), she is quiet and watchful as his gaze meets with her own, as the dense shadow of evenfall envelopes them within the forest.
”I have never been one for snow,” she murmurs quietly, casting a glance towards the flurry falling gracefully from a dark and hazy sky. ”I prefer the warmth of summer more than most.”
Were you looking for me?
Her heart is suddenly uneasy within the tight confinement of her chest; she had been, but the lightness of his tone implies that he is only jesting. The dark, golden flecks of her hazel eyes search the handsome plane of his broad cheek, the brightness of his eyes, the tension of his strong jawline – their intimacy had been fleeting; a passionate but brief moment in time, with lasting consequences. Would he shy away from it?
”I was looking for you,” she breathes softly, closing the space between them (remembering the heat of him against her, of their quiet confessions made of fury and heartache) and touching her pale lips against the healing scar upon his shoulder. She had noticed it then, but said nothing – and even now, she does not pry. ”I think that you should come back to Tephra, Dahmer. You should give Offspring a chance. You belong there, with the ash and the smoke, as much as I do.”
You belong there, with our child, she does not say – not yet.
… curiosity killed the cat & satisfaction brought him back
Though his demeanor is disgruntled, Dahmer is, above all else, glad to see Ellyse. She is his only remaining tie to Tephra, and he has come to appreciate who she is, as well. Neither of them are made for snow - it's almost comical the way they stand frowning at the sky, before Ellyse pulls him back to earth. His blue eyes drop from hers, settling on the feathers at her sides.
He ruffles his own, still uncomfortable with the way they nestle against him, hoping that he will grow accustomed to the new weight at his shoulders in time. When the black beast's eyes return to her hazel ones, she is whispering, almost in confession.
I was looking for you.
His brow furrows at the way she says it, but he continues the conversation past it anyway, commenting on the weather again. Smooth.
She's touching him then, her muzzle warming his shoulder with every exhale. Dahmer closes his eyes, allows himself to enjoy the moment, before Ellyse breaks the silence again and draws his unfaltering attention back. His blue eyes are hard. "Offspring would not want me there, I'm sure," he grumbles. Dahmer hadn't been overly raucous the last time he had left Tephra, but he had certainly made his feelings about the situation known."Why are you saying this now, Ellyse?"
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
Quietly, her hazel gaze is averted away from his own, uncertainty riddled in her once steady, self-assured bones – tracing the delicate feathers, finely preened and gleaming beneath the rising moonlight. Bristling, he is burdened with the weight and uncomfortable presence of them pressed against his own ribcage, and she has never known any such discomfort herself – she had been born with hers, and she could only imagine how strange and peculiar they must feel, carved into bone that had never before felt the weight of anything more than snowfall.
She wondered, for a moment, if he had taken to the sky yet – if he had felt an unruly gale weave its way between his feathers, or if he had let the wayward wind carry him as far as the eye can see – had he flown into the sun; or towards the sea? Had he flown at all?
She does not ask. Instead, her pale lips press against the hollow bone of his wing, tucking a disobedient feather into place, before the golden flecks of her hazel eyes traverse the column of his slender, but heavily muscled neck, to the piercing ice of his eyes, boring back into her own. He is muttering, dismissing any semblance of a possibility that Tephra could be more to him, once again – that the King would see him as fit for anything (the King is far from perfect, himself, and would not fault him for his outburst – but he does not know this).
But she is hardly listening, as her heartbeat is thumping loudly in her chest, and her blood is pumping heavily in her veins, the words lingering on the tip of her tongue –
Why are you saying this now, Ellyse?
”I’m pregnant, Dahmer,” she murmurs then, searching the frigidity of his searching gaze, her own tentative and unsure – and she is only realizing then how little she truly knows him. She does not want her child - their child - to know as little of him as she does. ”and it's yours."
… curiosity killed the cat & satisfaction brought him back
She stays at his shoulder, her soft muzzle playing at Dahmer's new feathers as the snow falls gently around them. He turns his blue eyes from her, curious but hesitant about the intent of this conversation... about her comment that he belongs back in Tephra. He knows that he does; he can feel it in his bones, and in the way he smells the sulfur even though it has been months since he had last stepped hoof into the volcano territory.
He doesn't realize that he has drifted off into his own thoughts, doesn't realize the way the champagne mare's breathing has grown slightly ragged, as if she is anxious and working herself up to tell him something. The black beast nearly asks her if she is hiding something, but Ellyse beats him to the punch.
Pregnant.
He holds his breath and remains immobile.
A few moments pass, his heart beating loudly in his chest as he finally turns his icy blue eyes back to Ellyse, who has stayed at his shoulder. "Lead the way," he finally breathes to the winged mare, as he turns his black frame in the direction of Tephra. He would not allow his child to grow without him, nor would Dahmer force Ellyse to travel back and forth to the River every time he wanted to see the progeny.
His trot is brisk but unhurried, a semblance of a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. "Have you chosen a name?" he inquires curiously, allowing the excitement in his voice to seep through his words.
