• Logout
  • 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


    [private]  baby, please don't go; scorch
    #1
    I've been running through the jungle,
    I've been running with the wolves;
    It’s quiet, save for the rustle of leaves carried off by the wind and the whine-and-creak of branches overhead; the air was cold, made colder still by his presence. Kha watched the air billowing out from their noses and longed to touch his nose to theirs in the Old Way of greeting. “Hello?” He said, though his voice carried on and on—off with the wind and the leaves—and they did not turn to look at him, though the little red girl traveling with the band glanced over her shoulder and smiled in his direction.
     
    Kha knew she couldn’t see him, he could feel her warm brown eyes staring holes straight through him and his chest ached something fierce. She sighed, wistfully, and turned to catch up with her mother and the others and he was left all alone again.
     
    Sighing in turn, the wispy outline of a colt turned away from them and headed back into The Forest. He passed through the bases of trees, unseen, and ducked and hid himself away when a less-than-friendly ghoul slipped right on by; careful, he poked his head out from behind a tree and then skittered forwards. The farther away from that thing he was, the better.
     
    --
     
    A few days later and he had, perhaps, gone a bit too far in his endeavors. He had certainly put distance between himself and the ghoul and could not quite remember how to return to the Meadow from… wherever he was. Cliffs above him, like walls trying to keep out the sea, and he imagined what the sand and the pebbles would sound like under his hooves if he could have touched them.
     
    The waves rushed the shore, spraying seafoam; there was a storm brewing further out, one that would eventually make landfall, and he paused just long enough to admire its darkness and ferocity. Lightning crackled, striking out against the sea and thunder growled a warning to Beqanna and her children to let them know it was coming. Whether they liked it or not.
     
    Kha was alone, whether he liked it or not.
     
    The thought struck him suddenly, as it often did, and he frowned before pressing on.
     
    Perhaps it was time to start looking for her again.
     
    --
     
    “Mother?” He called, as night drew ever nearer and the stars shined through the blackness—the storm was coming, it would swallow them whole soon. But for now they kept him company and lit his way while he searched. “Mother, where are you?”
     
    His voice echoed on, carrying over the sand—until at last, someone heard him.
    kha
    son of ramiel and ea
    #2

    WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

    For once, in the godforsaken sea-side hell, Scorch felt as if maybe it could be the Jungle. The winds snarled and snapped at the ankles of the shelterless, urging Nerine's creatures into her many caves. The rustling of the leaves was what reminded Scorch of her forgotten home; so fearsome and great, strong both in numbers and sound. When she closed her eyes, she could almost be there again.

    But there was no time for eye-closing.

    Turning to her daughter, the mutilated mare added to the wind's insistence, hurrying the painted girl on through the sparse forest. Eventually, as their hooves clack-ssshhhlid down a slope of pebbles, the little band found themselves in a cave. It was high enough that they would not get washed out at high tide - which was good, because by the looks of the clouds coming in, this would not be a quick splash, but rather a drowning.

    The lightning crackled, the thunder boomed. For hours, the two stood in companionable conversation, thinking nothing of the oncoming chaos.

    And chaos, it was.

    Philomena had fallen asleep at the fall of night, but Scorch stood guard at the mouth of the cave, shoulders rolled back, chin tucked to neck and ears pinned against the spray of rain that reached her from outside. Every time she considered retiring next to Mina, something inside of the woman braced itself, rooting her to the spot, saying wait, wait, wait, just wait, not yet... A misunderstood panic that, should she turn away now, something would go amiss.

    --

    Mother...

    It's nothing. You're hearing things.

    --

    Where are you, mother?

    Her brows furrowed, dripping water across her eyelids. No matter how hard she scoured the landscape, searching for any heat signatures that would indicate a lost child out there, taking on the brunt of the storm, she could see no one. Mina snored softly beside her - but somewhere out there, a different child did not have a mother to stand guard at their cave. Never mind that; they clearly didn't have a cave at all.

    When she heard another call, unearthly and needing, she turns. Pressing her lips to Mina's ear, she whispers that she'll be right back, and that under no circumstances should she leave this cave until the storm passed. Her daughter nodded dutifully, if not with some fear and anguish - but Scorch soothes her anxieties, kisses her forehead, and leaves the yearling to worry.

    --

    The pelting rain stung her bare hide, and the wind harassed her eyelash-less eyes. Minutes had passed, but no figure has apparated before her. Frustrated and chilled, Scorch stopped beneath a birch and focused for a moment. She could not find the lost soul like this, distracted by pain. Closing her eyes, Scorch encased herself in a softly glowing light, like a lantern - the armour created a barrier between herself and the rain, and would guide whoever she looked for to her.

    Inhaling deeply, the lighthouse mare set out again, feeling lost and hopeless. What if the child had died? She grit her teeth at the thought. Sending gentle shafts of light out into the raging storm, she called:

    "I can hear you, out there!"

    Scorch

    Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle

    [Image: scorch2.png]
    #3
    I've been running through the jungle,
    I've been running with the wolves;
    The storm makes landfall sooner than he expected.

    It slams against the cliffs, sloshes down the rock and rolls across the sand towards the waves that rush the shore. He walks alone against the tempest, untouched, unbothered by the chaos of the storm that pushes the horses of Nerine deep into their caves. His edges waver, they waft up like smoke, but he does not bat an eye when a huge wave comes crashing down on top of him; Kha looks around curiously, perplexed, unsure of just how he managed to get underwater in the first place and he ponders this for a split second before the wave washes back into the ocean.

    “I can hear you, out there?”

    “Can you?” Kha asks, tilting his little head to one side. The words come out of his mouth without him realizing it and he starts walking towards the light, intrigued; it calls to him, draws him in like a beacon of hope, a moth brought forth by a flame—he reaches out to touch his nose to hers, unaware of the way his body solidifies before her very eyes. His amber eyes widen when he makes contact, when he finally notices that he can feel the wind and the rain, when for the first time—in a long, long time—the ground actually feels like its beneath his feet and he can feel the urge pull-and-tug of the waves as they roll in and out.

    “I… can you… see me?” He blinks, looking up at the hairless mare with wide-eyed wonder.

    Experimentally, Kha brushes her nose again then jerks back in surprise. The wind is howling in his ears, running its fingers through his stringy mane—he’s real, he’s alive, he can feel her and she can see him. “Do you know where my mother is?” He takes a step closer, using her body to shield his from the stinging rain. “I… I really want to see her.”
    kha
    son of ramiel and ea
    #4

    WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

    Can you?

    Scorch turns her head in the direction of the tiny voice, nearly lost in the chaos of the storm that has only just begun. Her eyes flicker all across the area from whence the boyish voice came, but still, no heat signatures are recognized - everything, everything is hiding from this storm, except herself and the damned idiot of a child that still remains elusive, even to her keen gaze.

    "Gods fucking damnit!"

    It's not every day that a storm-demonchild materializes at the tip of your nose. At least, not in Scorch's experience. She'd already been on edge considering that her heart aches for the child she knows is lost out her, and then he goes and lights each of those very flammable nerves on fire. Her heart is slamming. It is a moment before the mare realizes that, if she doesn't act quickly, this foal will get hypothermia and die.

    "Of course I can see you child, what kind of question - never mind." The boy is busy blabbering on about something, about a mother (a daughter, if she would slow down enough to listen), but Scorch concentrates her powers elsewhere. Her powers are weak in such terrible darkness, and she must sacrifice her own protection to lend him some - she cloaks the boy in tangible light, leaving herself with a flickering barrier that fails more often than not, but which will have to do the trick.

    "Never mind that, boy, stay close to me and don't wander off. I'm taking you to shelter." She bares her head against the storm, gritting her teeth as the wind knocks her a pace to the left. "Then we can talk about anything you damn well please."

    She grumbles under her breath about good-for-nothing kids for the rest of the way back.

    --

    Her hairless body is glistening by the time they reach the cave, but the moisture won't stay long with nothing to cling to. The boy, on the other hand, is dry and safe, a miracle - and Scorch's sour mood has lifted in light of a new soul to place her mark upon. Her loving mark, of course.

    Philomena is immediately aware of their presence and leaps up from where she had laid in a pile of gangly legs, but Scorch ignores her for the moment, turning instead to the familiarly-coloured little colt. "I am Scorch, and I may as well be your mother now. But tell me, do you remember your mother's name? Perhaps we can find her."

    She looks to her daughter then. "This is Philomena." Stepping forward, Scorch begins grooming the tiny fellow, an odd size for the season - most children were almost yearlings at this time, but the boy looked barely born. Her lips work methodically down his neck and across his bony spine, ears perked to catch all that he has to say.

    Scorch

    Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle



    @[Philomena] jump in either now or after Venge's next post. Smile
    [Image: scorch2.png]




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)