"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 air had been warm and full of life, nearly electrifying. Their hooves stamped together in unison, a quickening tempo that crescendoed through the entire landscape. It had been a rhythm so raw and enchanting that even he, a stranger and a foreigner in their midst, could not help but feel his pulse quicken as his legs begged to join their spritely dance among the fiery gold red of sunset. Their voices harmonized in songs that he had never heard, but somehow his soul recognized. In the throng of the herd his crystal eyes kept focused on the white and golden painted body of his Tangerine, watching with a gaze so soft as she danced with them, her voice clear and strong as it joins in the chorus.
For a long while he had only watched, but as their time with her family grew longer, the stoic and pensive stallion could not continue as a bystander.
His great wings spread out in a giant beat of navy feathers, broad and massive in the fading sun. As she passed him he joined her, side by side with his nose to hers, no longer worried about missing a step or embarrassing himself, navy lips pressed into a smile against bronze. The joy in her eyes had nourished him as he followed her lead to her ancestral dance, whoops and hollers from the other horses echoing around them.
It had been truly magical - unlike anything he had ever seen in all of his years in Beqanna.
The trials of life and the harshness of Beqanna had not been kind to Tangerine. When she had come to him to announce her return to visit her homeland, he needed no explanation of the newly found scars on her body or the obvious evidence of childbirth. He would accompany her, he would take her to have her soul renewed and her spirit refreshed - she needn’t even ask.
The seasons changed and the warmth of summer faded into the brisk of autumn, where winter was waiting with bated breath. The navy and bay stallion’s heart was full, but soon his mind wandered back to his children, his son and daughter, as well as to the volcanic tropics of his home.
It was agreed upon happily - Warrick would return to Beqanna and to his duties (and his sweet Solace, and hopefully see Svedka as well), and Tangerine would return by the next winter. It was painful to take to the skies above the rolling plains that he had grown so accustomed to and to leave her behind without his watchful eye, but his mind weighed heavy with thoughts of his children and Tephra, and into the pale blue he soared.
The sound of his wings against the thick and heavy air of Tephra is comforting. He is not silent upon his arrival as the large wings beat against his sides, slicing through the atmosphere with every push. The hazy horizon had begun miles out, the smoke and ash from the volcano brought out to the center of the ocean on the tradewinds. The smell of the sea and the salt and the hot sun on his back brings a smile to his navy lips and he flies faster, eager to reach home.
Tired and weary, Warrick lands heavily onto the black-sanded shore beside the volcano, spitting lava and molten rock in greeting. Pieces of ash fly through the air this close to the volcano, landing haphazardly on his auburn coat and cobalt feathers. Sides heaving as he catches his breath, he takes in the familiar scenery of his home before turning to begin to preen his feathers from his flight, stretching them out and in as he attempts to lay them straight.
I have the tendency of getting very physical, so watch your step 'cause if I do you'll need a miracle.
The quiet and solace of the ravenous, frothing tide is almost enough to chase the shadow of darkness away from her single eye – the golden flecks hidden within jade grim with a sullen dimness. The celestial starlight rippling over each crashing wave along the dark, blackness of the sand gives her an escape – a way to look beyond the tortuous memories, the anguish, the loss. Staring blankly ahead, she is soon lost in the low-lying haze drifting slowly along the shoreline, birthed by the pluming volcano rumbling in the distance. Her feathers lay neatly preened along each carefully tucked wing, bristling as the soft caress of the salty ocean breeze brushes over the length of her body, stirring her draping forelock of ivory away from her sunken, empty eye socket.
Time had been unkind to her, wrenching love from her twice (or what had seemed like love – she, ever the foolish one, had been deceived twice into believing she deserved any such thing). It had been cruel to her, plucking her eye from its socket, leaving her barren, vulnerable, exposed. It had been caustic, giving her the innate ability to draw diamond to the surface of her skin for protection – as Dahmer wore a diamond brand across his forehead, gifted with raven-shifting – the very avian creature that had tried to peck her to pieces.
The irony is not lost on her – she is reminded of it each time she searches the depth of his piercing blue eyes, and he is reminded of it each time the diamond gleams along the gold beneath. Forever a reminder of the hell each had been through at the hands of a ruthless, merciless and malevolent God – Tangerine was not the only one who had suffered; the nightmares never seemed to end.
She is not lost to her own thoughts for long. There is a soft, irregular rhythm cutting through the stifling tension of the humidity looming over the island, and for a moment, her heart is heavy. The sound is unfamiliar, and jarring, not unlike the crackling, flicking magma of the fire wolves that had taken her and Dahmer from their volcanic domicile months ago. Instinctively, the diamond is drawn from somewhere deep within, plating itself heavily over the surface of her spine and spreading out like glistening wildfire across her shoulders and down beneath the arch of each wing. All the while, her eye is searching – glaring into the darkness, but what she does see is not at all what she expected to find.
Draped in navy and falling from the starlight where his mind and heart had always seemed to linger came Warrick – lacking grace, but her heart is immensely heavy with pride that he no longer shied away from the power and prowess of his wingspan. Plucking at misplaced feathers, just as she had done to him so long ago, the weariness and dread seemingly melt away from her at the sight of him, though the sheath of diamond armor clutches still to her, weighing her down as her muscled legs carry her to him.
”Warrick,” she breathes when she is near enough to him for him to hear her, and her heart could not be more full at the sight of him – well, whole. ”you’ve come home.”
She does not hesitate, colliding her breast to his shoulder as her cheek brushes across his own, ivory feathers mingling with indigo, while the familiar scent of dogwood, of saltbush envelope her. It reminds her of the many sunsets spent alongside him while the seafoam lapped hungrily at their legs, staining their skin with the salty brine of the sea; it reminds her of simpler times – of times when she lacked the weight of Death upon her shoulders. Her chest is filled with the warmth of his presence, with the strength of a bond fortified and only made stronger by the time and distance placed in between them.
When she does draw back to consider his eyes, she remembers the emptiness in her own – that only one is staring back at him; that she is not whole at all anymore. A soft smile touches the corner of her mouth, as her lips warmly brush over her cheek, until the plane of her nose is pressed to his – welcoming him home; welcoming him to where he had always belonged.
”You look well,” she muses, almost facetiously, knowing that she, herself, does not. ”and Tangerine?” she inquires, searching his masculine features, seeing the light within his own gaze. ”So much has changed while you’ve been gone. We’ve missed you.”
I’ve missed you.
Her dearest friend.
You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone; you're not fit to fucking tread the ground that I am walking on.
He had never known his father. His tiny family had only been made up of his mother, Orani, and his twin sister, Beyah. He had never needed the masculine authority overshadowing him as he grew, never craved it or wished it to be nourished - his sister and mother had been enough. Perhaps this is why Warrick is, now that he is matured and grown (and now a father himself), a gentle soul; slow to anger and quick to comfort. By no means is he weak, but the winged navy-pointed stallion does not care for the frivolities of power and control, for he found his life’s treasures in his friendships and his children.
It is a blessing (one that he did not know he had received and probably would never know) that he did not know who his father was (is?). Learning his ancestry could quite possibly be the one thing that could break his very core, especially if he learns what his father has currently done to his closest and dearest comrades - torturing them beyond repair in a twisted and nightmarish world of the dark god.
The winds of winter do not carry to the tropics of Tephra, and the tradewind breezes are warm and salty as they brush against his fur, still sleek from his body growing accustomed to his homeland’s warm environment. For a moment he longs for the steaming caves beneath the volcano’s belly, gurgling and bubbling with heat and humidity - but this idea is quickly pushed from his mind when his brilliant cerulean gaze catches a familiar golden frame carrying herself towards him.
“Ellyse.” He says her name gently (for he has never been one to be boisterous or loud), his cobalt lips turning upwards into a smile. The voice of his closest friend soothes him; eases the worry that has built up on his return home, though his mind doesn’t wander too far from the golden and cream mare he left behind in the tall, swaying plains.
A deep laugh reverberates in his chest that causes his eyes to close as his friend collides with him, unable to contain her excitement as his arrival. The stark white of her feathers are brilliant against the dark hues of his, touching him with her nose as if inspecting him, making sure that he is whole and safe and real. “I’ll always come home,” he murmurs with a soft chuckle, brushing his own indigo muzzle against hers before the moment their faces pressed together.
She draws back and his slight smile never fades, neither does the sparkle of his blue gaze, but the concern he cannot hide. He looks unabashedly at his friend, his stomach dropping as he soaks in her new appearance - wounds barely healed, and only one hazel eye to greet him. He reaches forward (he has heard her words but he hopes she won’t mind his lack of response just yet), gently brushing the ivory strands of forelock away from the empty socket, tenderly unmasking the remnant of Carnage that now plagues her face, and surveying her thoughtfully. He presses his lips together, a sad smile following suit. He should have been here - for her, for Tangerine, for all of those who suffered under Carnage’s evil mind. How had he been spared? Surely he would take on all of their pain and fear if it meant they would not have to live with such a burden of reliving those terrifying moments over and over again.
He does not pity her (would Ellyse even allow him?), so instead an understanding smile finds his face, ever so slightly brightening the corners of his eyes. She had survived, just like Tangerine had - they are strong; probably stronger than he ever realized. “A force to be reckoned with,” he breathes, his smile broadening. He wouldn’t press her, but he hopes she knows he’s aware of her experience, he’s here for her.
“She’s doing much better,” he responds, his voice light. “Visiting home has been a wonderful remedy for her. It’s a lovely place, but I’ve missed my own home, and you as well.” He bumps her nose gently with his.
Changed? His nostrils flare inquisitively and he draws his head back quickly, lips pursing. “What has changed?” He snorts sharply, his mind flitting to Solace and Svedka, concern shadowing the angles of his face. Suddenly they were no longer two friends, but the heads of war and peace, and Warrick’s chest tightens at the realization that many, many things may have happened during his absence.
Don't say I'm out of touch with this rampant chaos; your reality. I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge.
She is so relieved to see him, it swathes her body and her mind in a tranquility she had only found with one other. His laughter is charming, and stirs nostalgia in the hearth of her chest – thinking again of all the time spent along the starlit shoreline, with the salty brine of the sea lapping hungrily at the stillness of their legs. Sunset to sunrise, she would stand beside him, each lamenting silently over their own heartache (different, and yet so very much the same). Confiding in one another. He had been her first and truest companion. Dahmer has taken her heart, since then – he has taken it and filled it to the brim with a joy she never thought herself capable of having, but her longing for Warrick and his companionship had never waned. She knew he would return to her, and he would return to Tephra in time.
His muzzle caresses her own and she cannot help but to smile. I’ll always come home, he says to her quietly, and her heart does believe it. The volcanic island was as much a part of him as it had been a part of Offspring – it had thrived with his tender care, with his kindness and presence. Tephra had remained safe under her watch, and she had guarded it fiercely (and would continue to do so, for as long as time would allow) – but she would go, she could go wherever the wind might take her – wherever the whim of her heart might desire to wander.
But Warrick?
Warrick is Tephra; he always had been.
She can see the shift of emotion in his gaze as he traces the empty, sunken socket of her eye, but she cannot bear the burden of pity, nor would she spare it for herself. Half of her vision had been stolen away from her, leaving a once seeping, now mended cavity where an eye had once been. A reminder of the love that had slipped away from her; a reminder of the love that had been broken and splintered and feeble from the start. Her heart had begun to mend too, but as with all things, it would take time. The wound of Ledger and his betrayal had caused a catastrophic wound of uncertainty to fester in her chest. It would not go away so easily.
(she always loved, foolish girl – for one so headstrong and biting, she is a fickle thing)
A low chuckle rises in her throat at the mention of all he has missed. If only he knew the half of it.
”Much has changed,” she murmurs again, drawing strength from the sound of the crashing tide against the jagged egde of the island shoreline. Her single eye traces the terse muscle of his cheek, and then observing the glimmer of concern in his eye. ”Hyaline is an ally of ours now,” she muses, ”and Sylva, an enemy. Taiga has fallen, and Loess and Nerine have been much the same as they always have been. Ischia is .. questionable.” Her gaze is cast out to the wide and open sea, then, contemplating her wording with each pause for breath. She had heard rumor that her son, Canaan, and his beloved wolf had taken presence on the island, but it was only a rumor.
”I have taken a Sylvan named Karaugh captive; Levi is keeping watch over her. Offspring set half of their forest on fire, when he found Gryffen – the King of Sylva – holding his partner, Tantalize, hostage.” She pauses, finally searching the lines settled beneath his eyes and across his forehead, where a tangled lock lay draped over his eye. Quietly, softly, ”Offspring stepped down – and I have been made Overseer in your absence,” she says solemnly. She is tired, and weary – she is the Head of War; an advisor at best – as the brawn behind the beauty; she longed for the simplicity of her battalion again. Power no longer held any allure – not when she had so much more fulfillment than that (Dahmer is never far from her mind). ”but you have always held Tephra in your heart, Warrick. I know that Offspring wanted it to be you. Tell me you would consider being the Overseer that Tephra deserves.”
For some reason, being with Ellyse brings him an unexpected feeling of comfort; the anxiousness has left the once taut muscles of his shoulders and haunches, relaxing as her presence engulfs him, as the air fills with her familiar scent and the sound of the billowing feathers of her great wings brushing against the cobalt of his own. It also helps that she is happy to see him (part of him worried about the length of his absence, and what had gone on during it, and what the reaction would be when he returned), for he doesn’t think he would be able to bear it if the pale golden woman ever turned him away.
Her smile elicits one of his own, spreading warmly on his mouth until the expression alights in the cerulean blue of his eyes, which dance with the reflection of crinkling seawater and sparkling stars overhead.
‘Much has changed,’
She repeats it, with a certain tone that causes his smile to slowly fade.
He cannot hide the expression of solemnity that finds the auburn angles of his face, moonlit shadows pooling into the crevices of his jawline and cheek, a bit of a frown finding the corners of his navy lips as he pointedly listens to Ellyse’s voice as she brings him up to date.
Hyaline, an ally. A good change, and not surprising. The bond that the blue-winged stallion shared with the golden dragon king was not a secret, and he is not shocked to have found that their friendship would now cross over into diplomatic ties.
Sylva. An ear flips towards Ellyse in interest, a flick of his navy tail against his haunch as the word enemy leaves her lips. Not a good change. Taiga, gone. Ischia, Loess, and Nerine - silent. The stallion snorts sharply, blue-tipped ears flipping backwards into the darkness of his mane, the ever-growing frustration easily seen in the way the muscles in his jaw jump as his teeth grind, as well as evidence of a building terseness in his stance that is slowly easing its way back into his body.
She mentions Sylva again - a captive, and the name has a face and it is prominent as it reaches his ears - (“Karaugh?” he had breathed in a hushed whisper at the sound of her name, though he does not interrupt Ellyse or implore her to explain further just yet) - and then Gryffen; an unfamiliar name that comes with the familiar taste of acid as it rises in his throat. It’s an innate response, the dread burrowing into the pit of his stomach and the bile boiling rancidly in agitation - Warrick is of peace and gentle-natured, but the idea of Gryffen and his Sylvan residents (and his thought of the white-winged mare fallen on the beach, with a broken body and a broken mind) causes anger to flash beneath his eyes. A rare sight, but the blue-bay stallion is bristling beneath the moonlight, his wings flexing with agitation at his sides.
But after a pause Ellyse continues, pressing forward (always forward) into other matters. Offspring has stepped away from his role as Overseer and Ellyse now plays the part. This part of her explanation causes the anger to wane momentarily, turning his neck towards her to glance at her from beneath the thickness of his forelock, brows rising curiously. He remembers being humbled in front of Ellyse at their first meeting; he was merely a resident and she, the head of war. And for the longest part of their friendship they were the diplomatic heads of Tephra, and now she stands above him once more, but the intimidation does not find him like it did so long ago - instead, he realizes his respect (and love) for her has suddenly deepened - she carried Tephra because she had to, because much like he would have done, she would not let it fall.
He opens his mouth to speak, to further delve into the matters that have arisen within his absence (where is Solace?), about what they are to do and how does Kolera’s mother find her way back to Tephra after so many years, about whether Offspring still lumbers at the edge of the volcano or if he and Tantalize were gone, or even to tease her about her ‘coronation’, but the solemnity in her voice and the way her hazel eye falls to him almost helplessly, the stallion falls silent.
As if to encourage her, he tenderly presses his lips against her cheek, nostrils huffing softly against the gentle gold of her skin.
“ - but you have always held Tephra in your heart, Warrick. I know that Offspring wanted it to be you. Tell me you would consider being the Overseer that Tephra deserves.”
The statement brings his muzzle from her cheek, nearly to his chest, as his brilliant blue gaze stares into her, a mixture of surprise and contemplation finding the shadowed edges of his face. The wind stirs as he is stunned into silence, his mane and forelock twisting haphazardly in the sea’s wind that hauntingly howls through the empty shoreline.
“Since I first arrived here, I have always said I will be whatever Tephra needs me to be.” He pauses, thoughts flickering through his mind at an unreasonable pace, so quick that he could not even understand the words as they flow out of his mouth. Offspring had mentioned the title to him before, so he is not so surprised that he is completely shocked, but he understands how accepting this role, especially now, would not be an easy feat and nor would it be a lofty title - but his heart flares with protectiveness of his homeland, and his spirit is not dwindled by the enormity of the task she offers him. “I don’t break my promises, and I certainly don’t plan on starting now. If Tephra needs an Overseer, and both you and Offspring find me fit to do so, I cannot find a reason within me to say no. I do, however, ask a favor from you.”
Warrick steps forward so that he embraces her chest to chest, curving his neck around her own in a solemn and sincere embrace. “I will lead and guide Tephra until my dying breath or until the stars fall from the heavens - I need to know that you will always be there to lead and guide me. ”
Don't say I'm out of touch with this rampant chaos; your reality. I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge.
No expanse of time could dim the flame that remained lit and burning in his absence; she had found a kindred soul in him, and he had brought out the best of her (the softer side of her) when she had thought it lost to the abysmal despair of her broken heart long ago. He had been uncertain and unsteady himself, then, but he had given her a distraction – a way to forget about her own worries, by focusing on his own. He drew her out of herself - a feat unto itself! She had since seen him break out of his own shell, no longer tethered to the weary, broken heart that weighed him down like an anchor to sea.
Age suits him, as it does her – maturity, it would seem. She cannot stop from staring at him – from tracing the darkness beneath his eyes, nor can she keep from examining the way each muscle lining the strong features of his masculine face twitch and crease as the heaviness of her own burden is settled onto him. So much has changed, and yet nothing has. A plethora of emotion flickers within his gaze, steadied upon her with ire, with dismay, curiosity, and finally, disbelief. Astounded, as the gravity of what she is asking of him swathes him in a cloud of thought.
”There is no one else that can see the vision that is Tephra as Offspring did, nor as Magnus did –“ (the name is bitter across her tongue; time could not heal all wounds – not completely) ”– not as you can.”
She moves closer then, aligning her shoulder with his own as the bristling ivory feathers lining her own wing interlock with the deep cobalt of his own, as her gaze is turned toward the vast and ravenous sea. She is lost to her own thought for a moment, but then she is clutching to his every word, while the golden flecks of her hazel eye seek his own. She held no doubt that he would take the role, and bear the weight of it with head held high. She had always known that if, that when Warrick returned to the volcanic island, it would be his and his alone, and he would carry it with the grace and warmth and humility that she, herself, lacked.
And she would be his backbone – his strength; the power and might behind the façade of diplomacy and peacekeeping. She would be whatever he would need her be, for as long as he would need her.
(yet she knows that one day, he will not need her)
(he would become strong, and confident, and he would be revered and respected by so many)
(and when he no longer does need her, she would slip away beneath the salty ocean brine)
But for now, with her cheek pressed beneath the crook of his jaw, she is content to promise him what she can. ”I will be here for as long as you need me, Warrick,” she says quietly, and if not for the closeness shared, he might not hear her over the crash of the high tide against the jagged precipice of stone below. ”I cannot promise you always – surely you have seen the wrinkles beside my eye,” she teases, feigning lighthearted banter, but there is a darkness and a certainty beneath the careful lacing of her words. She would not live forever. She could not promise always. ”but I will serve you to the best of my ability for as long as I can, in whatever capacity you need of me. Long live the Overseer,” she muses with a soft nip to his jaw.
