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  • Beqanna

    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


    From a little spark may burst a flame - Polaris
    #1
    The sound of bells – or a jar full of bells, depending on which description one would like better – had fascinated him more than once. But mother had never allowed him to go and explore it, to find the source of the sound. Today, however, they were getting closer and closer towards the delicate sound.

    Ander was walking alongside his mother, black and golden head at the height of her shoulder as she lead them through Taiga. Even to him it was pretty obvious that she knew where they were going, he just didn’t. ”Moooom, where are we going? Are we there already?” he had asked multiple times, but she’d only given him vague answers with a teasing smile. Something like ”Soon,” and ”You’ll see.” It didn’t make him any less curious and excited, the opposite even.

    ”Oh grandpa!” he happily chirps as they enter the little clearing. There is a skip in his step as he leaves his mother’s side in favour of greeting Ruan, only to stop half way. ”Oh.” Curiously he takes in the girl, black, gold tipped ears pinned forward. His red eyes take her in. Teal glass and pretty purple, like grandpa’s. For a moment Ander’s gaze moves to the spotted stallion, but really, the girl was much more interesting right now. ”Hi.”

    Before he knows it he’s approaching her, barely able to stop himself from pouncing on her. Which, obviously, was a good thing he did, just barely. He stops in front of her, not yet touching and neither stepping into her private space, just extending his neck to reach out towards her. She’s older than him, but not that much taller, just as delicate and petite though.

    He’s barely aware of the gentle lip of his mother on his withers, tilting his head to quickly brush his lips across her cheek to kiss her goodbye. After a last glance – a silent conversation with Ruan – his mother turns around, to go wherever she has too, leaving Ander with his grandpa and new friend.


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