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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


    Differences make good sparks - any
    #1
    Kahvi
    Differences make good sparks.
     The first child had been the ultimate prize. Born from a dance between a monster and an equine, one willing to sacrifice herself for a greater good. Her own greater good that was. The boy – even as an adult he still is her boy – is her pride and most prized possession. Compared to him the girl was a disappointment. Not as weak and ungifted as Esileif had thought when she had left the girl in the Den, but the once magnificent woman, is now weak again, unable to protect herself. A failure.

    And third time is a charm, don’t they say? But this time she won’t let things up to faith. Her boy is perfect, but the power hungry woman is not interested in raising a child on her own. This time the Den is not the destination, but instead she finds herself near the land of the warrior women. Boy or girl, they would shape her charm to perfection.

    All she would have to do was to collect the child once time was there.

    But first, of course, her charm has to see life. Not really the thing she’s looking forward to.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    One tiny step in front of the other, that is how she crosses the border. All she knows is that she has to walk in this direction. Someone would find her and then everything would be alright. It’s like a tiny voice in the back of her mind, distant but there, if she only knew whose voice it was. Some trees dote the landscape around her and salt is in the air. It comes from the west, carried on a breeze, fine dust comes with it.

    It sticks to her half wet coat, which is still damp from birth and dark as the night sky. With each step she takes further into the land, the darkness leaves the sky, dawn would soon be upon them. In that same darkness two figures hide, eyes watching the girl, but only to disappear before the sun would brighten up the lands.

    Now further into the lands, the wind picks up too. The newborn girl is shivering, not yet able to keep herself warm, but it does not stop her from continuing. She’s determined to fulfil this small task, she simply has to. Ignore the weakness of her body, and keep going, until someone would help her figure out what’s next. Her shrill whinny is carried by the wind, hoping that someone will hear her.



    @[Aeris]
    @[Jeje]
    Sorry for the delay! Hoping one of you is still willing to take Kavhi under your character's wing <3.
    #2
    I am not afraid... I was born to do this.
    Motherhood has weakened her and slashed into her hunger for power. It tampered with her plans and melted the ice encasing her heart. With children shadowing her footsteps Nayl allowed herself to be distracted and to lose her grip on the world. In the silence of the night, the Iron Queen’s teeth clench with agitation.

    She wants to be powerful again, but it has slipped so far from her fingers that she questions her ability to recover. When she contemplates happiness, her family comes to mind – her children, Lior – and everything else almost melts away. It’s no longer the crown. She’s spent enough time on her throne to want something more – or would it be less?

    It’s surprising to hear the wail of an abandoned child over the roar of her thoughts, but Nayl looks distantly toward the border with curiosity igniting her autumn eyes. It doesn’t take her long to find the girl and close the distance until their bodies are nearly touching. Beneath the porcelain moonlight Nayl can see the slick dampness licking the child’s coat and chilling her. ”Where’s your mother?” Because she can’t fathom a mother abandoning her child, but that horror exists in Beqanna. It’s rampant, but she is witnessing it now for the very first time. A newborn, still struggling with the concept of walking, has been left to her own accord in a strange and wild place. Glancing up, the iron queen observes the trees and the distant hills before falling back to the child. ”What’s your name?” Seeing her shiver on the eve of sunrise stirs the urge to hold her, to warm her frail body, but instead Nayl looks around with a half-expectance to see the mother join them.


    queen of nerine
    daughter of covet & myrina
    #3
    Kahvi
    Differences make good sparks.
     Motherhood was something her own mother wasn’t all too familiar with. A son was raised by her, but both her girls abandoned. The first as a mistake, but the second on purpose. Brooding and planning, but not caring. And some TLC - Tender Loving Care – is exactly what she needs.

    It comes to her in the form of a dark and light tobiano mare. In reality she hadn’t managed to stumble further into Nerine far, but to a newborn, in every sense of the word, it feels like she has been walking for miles and miles. Her stomach is grumbling and not a scent except for her own clings to her frail body and her damp coat has her shivering, it makes the girl press up to the warm body that shields her from the wind and offers her some warmth. It’s pure instinct, just as the nervous system that has her chewing and licking.

    The mare’s first question falls to deaf ears. Navy blue ears twist in the direction of where the sound comes from, but there is now way she’s able to process the words. Instead she nickers softly and her nostrils flare a little as she presses her muzzle closer, wanting to touch, needing it too.

    A name? What was that? Did she have one? She didn’t know. Her gaze is on the mare’s features, almost if she’s waiting for what is coming next, and that she is expecting the tobiano to tell her. Or show her. So she nickers again, this time extending her neck to press the velvet of her nose against the side of the mare’s muzzle.

    No-one would come. It would just be the two of them, the bay tobiano that had birthed the navy girl just shy of morning was already long gone.




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