"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
A hush has fallen over the island, and Sibyl has been left to her own devices. No one will explain to her what is happening. In their search for the solution to their terrible problem, they have looked right over her head - not because or any ill will, but because she was inconsequential. She could help best by staying out of the way, by keeping an eye on her little brother. By diapering when things got bad.
Or at least that's how she saw it.
But tonight she needs someone, and her mother has eyes, tears, and words only for him. So Sibyl is forced to look elsewhere, to find the one soul she knows will never turn her down, who feels her pain as deeply as she does. As she steps into an otherwise dark meadow, she is drawn the the glimmer of starlight reflecting off her sister's pale coat.
"Marble," the word comes out of the yearling in a whimper as she approaches, and for once her steps are soft. Sibyl knows it isn't right to ask for this from her; the older girl had always been so delicate. But Warrick's youngest daughter is lost and confused, and the only thing she understands is that her father, he is dying.
And still she can not bring herself to his side. Even with this knowledge, she is afraid to touch him; to come into contact with the blood that will tell her the rest of his story - the awful, terrible, end.
@[Jenger] I was going to write you happy words and then this happened???
Also, I have always played her precognition as being "activated" by blood
She feels like the ghost of their little family, always knowing what she should not know, hearing things not meant for her ears. But it makes it easier on a night like this when she can see the pain etched into her sisters face from across the starlit meadow and know that she is needed. Marble, she hears the whimper, and that voice is so small and so soft, even to such sensitive ears. “I’m here, Sibyl.” She answers in a whisper, crossing the grass and lifting her chin so that her little sister can curl safely against the gold of her chest.
Her wings unfurl around them, huge and billowing, all soft creamy feather and velvet down. She wraps them around Sibyl’s small blue and white body, pulls her close because she knows (even if she does not understand) that this closeness is a thing of comfort. That her skin is unique in the way it prickles and feels like lazy little nettles wedged sharply between them. But it does not matter, because she is so good at pretending now. At nuzzling the soft skin of her sisters withers, making those gentle crooning sounds that are so odd and echoing to her own, flattened ears. So good at pretending to be normal, to be anything but herself.
What she is less good at, has so much less experience with, is knowing what words she could possibly string together to ease this awful ache that stretches between them. She hesitates, flicks absent ears at the noises all around them. The waves like thunder crashing at the rocks, the grumble of lava in the tunnels deep beneath their heels like the growl of a wild animal in her ear. Always so much sound, so much everything. “We found healers, Sibyl.” She says at last, ducking her head lower so that her thick feather wings can be a buffer against the roar of the night around them. “They’re sisters just like us, they’re gonna take care of dad.” So soft and hushed, that perpetual whisper her voice never seems to climb past.
And she wants so badly to tell her not to worry, that this will be okay and dad will be fine because mom is literally never going to let him die and leave them, but it is too much of a promise to make for a girl who just spent the evening rinsing her fathers blood and spittle from her skin. So instead she lays her cheek against Sibyl’s shoulder, closes her eyes to lock in the fear and keep it hidden safely away, and says, “I love you.”
Those three words work to soften the tension which constricts her small shoulders and draws heavy lines across her young brow. By the time the blue splashed filly reaches her older sister, she drops smoothly into space which has been made for her. Unaware of the toll physical touch takes on her lovely protector, Sibyl savors the feeling of wings stretching over her, shielding her, and the reassuring rhythm of another beating heart. The vibrations of Marble's voice, light as it is, rumble against her skin where she leans into her chest, reminding her that they are together - that they will always be together.
The meaning of Marble's words nearly pass by unnoticed, as Warrick's youngest daughter nestles in closer to her comforter. But they are too heavy to simply slip away; they are everything Sibyl could hope for.
They’re sisters just like us, they’re gonna take care of dad.
It takes a moment, but the implications registers with force in her mind, causing Sibyl's heartbeat to quicken as her delicate face shoots up from its comfortable resting place. Her searching gaze lands on her sister's amber eyes with intensity.
"Really," she breathes in reverent agreement, and her deep sapphire eyes sparkle despite the cozy darkness of their wing-fort.
"They are going to make him better. Everything is going to be like it was." Her hushed voiced is brimming with hope, never questioning the fact that her wise sister has all the answers, and all to ready to jump to conclusions.
"Oh, Marble, I love you too," she says in a passionate whisper, as her head falls back into Marble's golden chest.
![[Image: sibylsignature2.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/21ThsjTP/sibylsignature2.png)
