"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
The red wytch is alone this spring afternoon, but only in the physical sense. She is curled up under her favorite tree, legs tucked neatly between her copper body, dreaming deep. This is only the second pleasant dream she's had since the fall of Taiga, and both dreams were about the progeny of her lovers. She is taken back to a time before the warring homelands, before the God-King murdered an entire eco-system, before she was the third in a high functioning love triangle. It was the first time she was alone with the twins. They are curled around her, slumbering, too old to nurse but too young to trail their mother as the Wolf in her hunts. Jah-Lilah looks down at them with stars in her eyes, singing.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night,
Take these broken wings and learn to fly.
All your life,
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.
She bends her nose down and takes turns grooming each of them, cooing and singing. She licks each little face, muzzle, ear. She combs wild coltish manes with her teeth, pulling out burrs and brambles. She nibbles along each one of their withers, and down their backs, first one, then the other. She dotes on them like they are her own, she loves them so. She continues her song as she admires each boy in his sleep. She turns to Crevan, burning like the sun next to her, he whines and whimpers in his sleep like his mother. The shifter has always been more daring, more explorative, more bold. He has power greater than he knows, even now.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night,
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see.
All your life,
You were only waiting for this moment to be free.
He rolls over, readjusts and continues sleeping. Her wild Fire-Fang, Son-of-the-Water, his traits fit him better than he even knows. Then there was the elder boy. Her First-to-Fly, Son-of-the-Wind. He and his sibling were so different. He possessed those wings, those beautiful emerald wings. He could fly where there was no air current, but he was so quiet. She licked the base of his jawbone again, pulling him tight. If only she could keep the pair of them so close. Both had a storm brewing within them, yet both were coping in opposite manners. But that matters not to Jah-Lilah right now. All that matters is this fleeting time she has with them. She whispers to each of them his sacred name, a playful secret between them for now. "First-to-Fly", to @[Corvus], the big brother, made in his father's image. Then "Fire-Fang" to @[Crevan], always boisterous and rowdy, driving his mother crazy.
Blackbird fly, blackbird fly,
Into the light of the dark black night.
With the ending notes of her song, her eyelids flutter open. She looks around, sighing heavily. Her life was so good then, but her life is great now. She rises with a groan, her sparks popping all around her. She shakes herself off, then reaches down to graze upon fresh new shoots of grass emerging from the Earth.
(yes, I am alone) but then again, I always was. as far back as I can tell.
It is not often that he is so close in proximity to his brother.
Crevan is wild and impulsive in a way that he is not; in a way that he cannot understand. He is loud, boisterous, and he has never known when to bite his tongue, and it has left him bitter, easily agitated, and altogether uneasy in his presence. Though blood has bound them together, it is thin and watered down, and the thread is thin and fraying with each passing day – he does not yearn for his company; he despises it. He is a reminder of everything that he is not; everything that he is not capable of. Rather than realizing the value of brotherhood, of a kinship that could not be destroyed even by will, he is consumed by the envy of his shifting ability – by the opportunity given to him to traverse to another dimension, to be close to mother in a way that he, himself, can never truly comprehend.
He will never be part of what they have, of the bond shared between mother and son – he will never be a part of the pack; a thought that writhes a burning hatred and deep-rooted jealousy and spite into his shriveling, barely beating heart. But then – then, there is Jah-Lilah. She is an anchor, binding him to a family he has never felt that he belonged to, to a lineage that is not her own and yet she is more tethered than even he, without the blood he has flowing through his own veins. She is powerful – a force to be reckoned with; he does not question her when she chides him for his sharp tongue and sharper wit – he does not shy away from her affection, of her teeth nibbling into his withers or the warmth of her body enveloping his own in an embrace.
He does not return it, but he never shies away – not as he does with Mother. Not as he does with Brother.
He is quiet, but content, with a sheer ray of sunlight boring onto his marigold flesh and bone, entangling itself in the deep emerald of his tangled tresses. A grunt emerges from the tightness of his throat as her teeth preen and pull at the brambles tucked away within his mane; it is pleasant but each tug is painful – but he is quiet still. Patient. He has feigned sleep, and when her soft voice murmurs a sacred name to him, there is a sliver of a smile that finds its way to his lips – but it is fleeting, and gone long before she can see it.
There is a pang of disappointment in his chest when he hears the name of his brother.
Fire-Fang.
All that he is not.
And quietly, silently, his darkened gaze bores into the slumbering face of his brother, the festering wound of his neglected heart growing hotter and brighter with a hatred he cannot stifle.
I think maybe it's because you were never really real to begin with. (I just made you up to hurt myself)
His spine had snapped, like brittle firestarter. The pain at first had been excruciating, blinding, and then numbing when Raxa had at last pulled herself off Crevan. Thana had luckily jumped in, sparing him the need to try and moan for help because the action itself would’ve been useless. His ribs, too, had bent inwards to puncture healthy lungs while below the waist he’d felt nothing at all. What Crevan should be is dead.
Instead, he’s slumbering rather peacefully until the twitch of a phantom feeling jerks one tan ear to the side. There’s shuffling, enough to rouse him steadily from an otherwise undisturbed sleep and with the turn of his massive, lupine head he blinks until his twin’s shape comes into focus. Nothing is lost in the look between them and after what Crevan deems too long of a time for Corvus to be staring like that, his ivory lips pull up to reveal wet, closed teeth.
“First-to-Fly,” He snaps mockingly, rising from his curled position to stretch growing limbs and fluff out dew-soaked fur. Before meeting his father, Crevan had been desperate to receive acceptance from his elder brother - he might have done anything to gain approval in those otherwise dark eyes. But when his feathered brother had left them all at the River? When he had said nothing and gave them all a glance so similar to the one he was giving now? It reminded Crevan that acceptance was something he should’ve never cared about.
Not from Canaan, not from Crevan, not from anyone other than himself. He was powerful, happy to be wolf and part of the pack and if Corvus wanted a pat on the back, he could get it elsewhere. “we missed you in Sylva.” He finishes with a sharp quip, settling quietly into a proper sit before curling a plumed, thick tail over his paws like mother. “Though, someone has to have our father’s useless knack of never being around and I guess I can say I’m glad it’s not me.” He smirks.
This is his strategy, though. Always has been. Take the needle, prick the skin, push just far enough and you’ll hit a nerve. With the disinterested blink of navy eyes he turns his attention to Jah, tongue lolling childishly from the corner of his maw. “It wasn’t all that scary, right Jah?”
These four lonely souls have changed the way I feel.
The boys had always been at odds, had always been envious of one another, had always resented their father. He hadn't been around to bear the brunt of their ire, so daggers were thrown at one another. She wished she could make them see how much they needed each other, how deep and strong their connection could be. She'd be better off talking to the rocks at her feet. They had more in common than they realized, unfortunately they were both hard-headed and stubborn, each desiring to be the victor or the Alpha in the relationship. Silly, silly boys.
She had her own special bond with each of them, the same, but different. Her bond with @[Corvus] was more earthbound, ironically enough. She had taught him about wind currents, feeling the air and the earth around him, being in tune with nature. He wanted so much to be a part of a pack, and Jah-Lilah sometimes grew exasperated trying to explain that she herself was alone when she came upon them, and pack mentality was sometimes overrated. He was moody and silent, brooding away when she tried to demonstrate the value of depending solely on oneself. How to tell the goldenrod son that he was enough.
Then there was @[Crevan]. Always go, never stop. Obnoxious, loud, rowdy. She and him had shared many inside jokes, much to the annoyance of others. He pestered her to death about war stories of the plains, and wanted to know about her bond with the animals and the Earth-Mother. Wanted her to teach him about fire, to run with the creatures of the woods. How many times had she allowed him to practice hunting with her as his prey? These were all but hers, the two yellow colts. They had come to her tree today though to argue? To bicker? She thought not.
Corvus stares daggers into his sib, and it is not lost on Crevan. The younger son mockingly repeats the name Jah-Lilah had given to Corvus as a babe, and instinctually her ears are at half-mast. She sighs heavily, perhaps a bit over exaggeratedly as she listens to him prod his brother with words. Then he attempts to bring his surrogate into it, and she's having none of it. She rolls her green eyes, snorting long and loud. "Fire-Fang, don't start." She warns, not turning to the pair just yet, attempting to continue to enjoy her afternoon. Crevan, as fucking relentless as always, continues being messy. She cranes her neck around to eyeball him, then turns round to step between the pair, shouldering her way in between them. "Be quiet!" She snaps aggressively, because now he's insulting his brother, his father, and her mate, and her patience is wearing thin with them. "Don't bring me into your childish bullshit Fire-Fang, hiding behind that Wolf-Mask." She then turns to the eldest, if he thought he was escaping her today, he too, was wrong. "Corvus, why didn't you come when your mother beckoned for her family? She means nothing to you? I mean nothing to you?"
The red mare had a look and a tone rarely seen outside of the small family group, and she was beyond pissy that at a time like this she even had to see the boys at each others' throats.
(yes, I am alone) but then again, I always was. as far back as I can tell.
First-to-Fly.
And suddenly, a namesake that had been given so much meaning and depth, felt worthless, empty, and cruel. The bitterness on the tongue of his brother does not go unnoticed. Acrid bile, laced with arsenic and smoother than silk, though his arrogance is stifling and his haughty accusation hardly has the bite he yearns for. His gaze is steady and does not waver – glowering at the one that he had once shared of a womb with, and never anything else. He had loathed him for so long, he could hardly remember a time when his blackened heart did not shrivel up at the mere sight of him – foolish, impulsive, and ignorant, his brother is the epitome of all that he cannot be and he does not long to be like him.
His head does finally lift from its resting place, though his vocal cords are still and silent, as he merely observes Crevan while the jagged edge of his spoken word tries mightily to cut into him – it does not work. He does not thirst for more as he does, and though there is a tendril of his heart loathe to cut itself free from the pulsating heartstring of his mother, he does not yearn for it all as she does. Not by violence, nor by force – Crevan was more like his mother that he could ever imagine; and Circinae – as Corvus had come to know – was far less the martyr she portrayed herself to be.
”I did not come because I did not feel it was my place,” he nearly growls, his deep baritone rumbling with raw testosterone – his youth is fading away and giving way to the masculinity and brute strength of maturity, and it is present most in his tone of voice – harsh and unwavering. ”I am not as foolish as you are, brother, to think that power should be my own at any cost.”
He is quiet, then, hushed by the purposeful force of the mare beside him. His darkened gaze does glance away, but only for a moment, before boring into her own. His long but muscled legs stir beneath him, carrying him to eye level as the inky darkness of his winged appendages bristle and tuck closer to his flank. She has chided them, as she has so often had to do – any moment of solitude shared by the two was often fleeting, and though he does not recoil, his gaze is averted – toward his brother.
Never had he loathed the blood simmering within his veins more.
But Jah-Lilah –
Oh, her words are scathing, digging into his supple flesh to the very core of his beating heart and he is stunned by her accusation, by her reckless twist of tongue. His gaze – wide-eyed, and on the berth of unshed tears – see her and nothing but her, while his wild heart pounds endlessly against its iron cage. He had expected his brother to use his sharp tongue and sharper wit to weave a carefully woven web of untruth (he knew his brother knew him; he knew that he would shy away from the violent conflict that would be inevitable – he had no thirst for authority, for dominion by force) – but Jah-Lilah, his last connection to a kinship he had never quite felt he belonged in –
The thread had been cut; leaving two frayed ends of the same tether –
Betrayal is what is tucked away within the gleam of his hazel eyes, flickering between each of her own, breathless but if only for a moment.
”Not you,” he breathed softly, stunned still. ”I never thought that you would turn on me. You - you, the one who speaks of freedom, of a bond of the Earth and of poetry,” he does snarl now, his ears tightly pinned back against his skull, teeth bared. ”I will not follow my mother, nor my brother, into the pits of hell with you. I will not partake in violence upon others to gain what my heart wants, regardless of who has asked it of me – and if you cannot understand that, Jah-Lilah, you have sold your soul to the devil.”
And as swiftly as he had come, he is gone.
I think maybe it's because you were never really real to begin with. (I just made you up to hurt myself)
“I wasn’t given a choice, it was thrust upon me.” He wants to say, once Corvus’ embittered tone cuts through the quiet air. That thought alone highlights so much that’s twisted in the dynamic between the brothers - a grave misunderstanding that will rip and tear at them for a time. “If he had any idea …” Crevan thinks, narrowing dark eyes with the turn of his head once Jah chimes in.
The Underneath had changed Crevan. It gives him pause to wonder: would Corvus have been so successful, had he been thrown into the fray? Or was it simply destiny, some alignment of the stars that cast him as the warrior while his brother remained behind? “Could things have been different if Corvus had been the one to emerge with new power?”
But his twin’s speech is cutting through his thoughts, sawing at Jah-Lilah’s character in hopes to expose her middle, and Crevan?
Oh, how he laughs.
Laughs and laughs and laughs as Corvus disappears, just a flurry of feathers and unshed tears. “We’re living in a hell on earth.” He chortles, flopping easily enough onto his belly. “Why not enjoy the ride?”
So different, still very much the same.
However, Jah-Lilah’s question does arouse some topics for future thought. The young wolf’s mind is a busy place anyways, this interaction only serves to bring on something of a headache. “Don’t mind him so much, aunty.” The boy huffs, lowering his head once more with nothing to do but relax. “Mother spoiled him too much as a baby.”
And with that, the aging boy yawns once before closing his eyes. He’d been chasing down the hare of a dream, it was time he finished the job.
