hard candy dripping on me / tenebris

[wound]

hard liquor mixed with a little bit of intellect

Wound had always enjoyed the river that blessed Beqanna’s core. In her younger days - before her confidence blossomed - she had stood up to her chest in the quieter portions of the river. The water would lap at her belly and she would look normal for a few blissful moments. She’d spent a lot of time in the river as a youngster, even refusing to come out against her siblings’ wishes several times. She’d received their scathing tongues later. Their parenting words were similar to the pinch of a vaccine injection. There was the screaming and crying following the pinch of pain, but protection came from the hurt later down the road. Now that she was older, Wound was eternally grateful for the way her brothers had raised her. Wound had always been amazed at how the ice formed on top of the river. She’d seen several curious children fall through in the early winter, so she knew the water didn’t freeze completely through. Just as well, the center of the river was too rough and wild to be controlled by the cold. Wound aspired to be like the core of the river - an untamed rapid too fierce and bold to be controlled by the will of others. A light snow had fallen the night before. It crunched under Wound’s feet as she walked along the edge of the river. Her awkward limp (given to her by her curse of a foreleg) cause the noise to sound like a song sung slightly off-key. Wound’s breath puffed through the air like the snort of a dragon and she watched it fade into transparency with mild amusement. While she wasn’t a fan of the colder months - they left a dull ache in her joints - she had come to find her happiness in the small beauties of the winter.

@[Tenebris] / @[Ehoghan]

[Tenebris]

It is not often that Tenebris finds himself enjoying the beauty of Beqanna. He is often roaming through it restlessly, allowing himself to walk until his legs give way beneath him and leave him stranded beneath the stars until he can find his strength once more. Though despite his self-destructive actions he did (occasionally) come to a full stop, and that is how he found himself that winter day.

The soft wish wash of the river beckoned him to the evergreen tree at its bend. The tree that was ten times the size of any other its kind, the one that held a bit of magic in every leaf. He stood quietly beneath it, allowing its earthy aroma to consume his body and soul. His slate eyes fell closed and he took deep ice coated breaths.

One would have thought him to be asleep if they did not pay close attention. He assumed that is what his new company thought as they approached. In fact, maybe they did not see him at all. They continued to walk, while his eyes found no interest in opening, he decided simply to listen.

The soft crunch of snow was irregular, he guessed from its uneven tune the newcomer was impaired some way. He picked the moment when the other was (he assumed) directly in front of him, to speak.

"Hello.."

The word seeps from his lips like honey, rocky eyes sliding open to watch the mare before him. 

ahh. He was right. A malformed foreleg was the undoing of her harmonious pattern of steps. 

"whom are you?"

[wound]

hard liquor mixed with a little bit of intellect

Wound is no stranger to a life spent roaming the dusty corners of Beqanna. She’d slipped into those days, those weeks, of walking until her legs were shuddering in exhaustion. Her brothers pushed her to her breaking point each day during those hard times. Any scent of danger and they would be off, nipping at her heels and bluntly encouraging her to move faster. She knew their actions were formed from love and protection, but the nights when her muscles would spasm and quake from fatigue brought no love or protection to her young mind. She startles upon hearing the voice. It came directly perpendicular to her graceful (a delicate swath of Arabian heritage doused in the gentle heat of compact muscle, impaired only by the brutal alienness of her impaired foreleg) frame, causing her to shift her footsteps in the opposite direction. Wound’s ears pin in a moment of mingled emotion - confusion, surprise, and concern - as the sharp sound of her hooves hitting the thin ice shatters the silence following the words. Her feet land on the solidified water only for a moment before she stumbles into the chilly waters. Wound nearly tumbles headfirst into the river, but she quickly shifts her weight before she has completely gone for a swim. A rough snort jolts out of her nose as she hops clumsily out of the broken ice patch. Embarrassment swaths Wound’s skin for a moment before she regains herself. Despite being exceptionally brave, she has her own moments of shame. The silver bay twists toward the man who had spoken before and spooked her so much. “Do you always sit in the shadows and try to drown those passing through?” Her voice is scathing, perhaps the most heated thing in the vicinity. Her ears twists into the thick of her mane, further voicing her passion. “God, do you have any manners?”