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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


    as black as your soul || gryffen
    #1
    THANA.
    (as black as your soul)
      It has already begun to feel like home.
     
       There is a frigidity clutching to the remnants of dusk as the sun, somewhere beyond the dense copse of deciduous trees, rises into the morning sky – and though dawn has descended upon much of the world around them, there is still a dark shadow lingering with the haze of a low-lying fog. The sunlight has yet to touch the woodland floor, and she is at ease with it. Quietly, her lithe and agile figure has weaved itself past each winding branch and over each dry, bristling bush lining the once forbidden border, delighted by the mist enveloping her.
     
       She has been without sleep – her heart is too ragged, her adrenaline surging too powerfully through her veins – she cannot keep the enthrallment, nor the sheer glee that had arisen upon the usurpation at bay. Too easily, the once self-proclaimed protector of the woodland had been deposed, whittled down to little else but a captive of the dark forest and its secrets – and oh, what secrets would be forged in time, as sordid and illicit as she could dream of!
     
       There is a part of her, however small, that had felt the deep pang of disappointment upon finding that no battle had been fought, no victory carved out in spilled blood – but alas, triumph is just that, and the Taiga had become their own.
     
       Eventually, she becomes tired of the aimless wandering, and with ease, she acquires a small remnant of his scent lingering in the air, as her slender and swift canine legs carry her with boundless energy through the vegetation. Her lungs are heavy with the icy air, and her blood is churning thickly through her body, surging her forward – and when she is upon him, he is alone, quiet, contemplative – looking over all that had become his own.
     
       It does take her a moment to regain her composure, as her tired and bristling canine form catches its foregone breath, but soon she is very much equine again, lipping gently at the tangled mess of his mane, laying haphazardly across the paleness of his neck.
     
       ”Gryffen,” she breathes, and nothing more.
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