"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
06-30-2015, 03:35 PM (This post was last modified: 06-30-2015, 03:36 PM by Eld.)
★ ☆ ★
Winter is on it's last legs, but as most dying, they do not relent until the very last breath. The winter wind is cold, harsh against my strawberry frame. The thick blanket of ivory sinks beneath me, soaking my auburn feathers, matting them with mud and spindles of twig. I walk with ease, vast body sinking with weight, hefty legs pulling me across the loam like a plough through the thick currents of snow. The flurries on the wind still break my vision, like intricate cobwebs they fall over my emerald eyes, blocking my view along with the thick, wet curtain of red hair. I'm soaking through, every fibre of my vessel is wet and cold and I can now feel the iciness pinprick my bones, tear at my muscles with vicious teeth. If I had have known this is what wandering was like, perhaps I would have waited until summer's touch. I am certain traversing the land would have been a lot easier. But things never worked out like that, did they?
Throughout the cold, my eyes remain bright, even behind the veil of sodden wet hair and snow drifted body. I am quite content as I walk through the middle of the meadow. I have a freedom that is long overdue. Three years seemed rather a long time to be under a tight rein. I just wished my mother would have understood, instead sent me off with the darkest of glares an the nastiest of tongues. My ears rest against my crown, as I meander with a thoughtfulness in every step. Lost in my mind, a labyrinthine maze that could lose many hours within, I do not see the small outlet of a river in front of me until it's too late. It's thick, thick drifts of snow and I misjudge my step, heavy feet sinking quickly until I hear the characteristic crack of ice. the splintering earth gives way beneath me with loud splits and blossoming cracks. It is like the earth is swallowing me. White foam engulfing me.
The icy waters hit me, cold, suffocating as they claw at my throat. My heavy frame bounces, trying to float, trying to crawl my way out, but I'm stuck, the floating ice shards knocking into my side and pushing me further down. I call out, a gargle of icy water and fibrous fear. I've never been frightened in my little life. Fear was something I often saw in my sire's herd members, but not one emotion I had come across. I decide then, that I never want to feel it again. The blossoming ache in my chest expanding, reaching out to my very core. A sting that coils into my very depth. I call out again, thrashing heavy limbs until I finally manage to break free of the icy prison, the waters chilling me with a blanket of frost. My breath hazes before me in ragged clouds as my breath comes sharp and harried. My forelegs arch and pull myself out, dripping icicles from my abdomen, my neck, even my knotted mane, I am a frozen strawberry in the brink of winter's grasp. I give in then, to the ache, to the coldness that numbs me to the bone marrow. And I lay there, silent, cold and alone.
Hours seem to go by. I cannot count them, my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, frozen in place, like every inch of my Shire body. I am stuck to the ground, laying there silently, sprinkled by the flurries of snow as they continue to fall. Like hushed secrets shared, they fall and melt against my skin, freezing almost immediately into tiny ice sculptures. By the time i manage to shift my head, I have little snowmen resting on my neck, my back. I whicker, hoarse, strained. No one's out there. I'm alone. I should have been stronger, my sire was right, I am a burden, a burden to myself. A burden to all. Even burden to the ground. Oh, forgive me river for polluting you with my being. Forgive me snow for crushing you with my hefty weight. And oh, forgive me meadow for slowly dying in your cold, bitter embrace.
★ ☆ ★
the truth is you could slit my throat,
and i'd apologise for bleeding on your shirt; wanderer
OOC: o_o Don't know where that came from. Poor Eld.
kreios don't you tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash
I don’t come to the Meadow often, but when I do it is almost always in winter. There is something about snow that I cannot shake, despite my love for the ever-present heat of the places that I choose to live. I have too many fond memories of a snow covered Dale to leave behind the winter entirely.
And so from time to time – on days like today – I wander through the freshly fallen snow for an hour or two, and then return to the warmth and glow of my orange canyons.
I am turning towards home when I hear the crack, and it takes a moment for me to recognize it for what it is. Shattering ice, and from not so terribly far away. Perhaps a branch had fallen into the river, I think, or maybe spring is coming early and the ice has started to melt. It’s not until I see someone emerge from the river do I realize that it had been a someone and not a something that has fallen into the water.
The other horse is quite a distance from me, and despite my size and strength the snow is deep and it takes some time to reach her. She’s not moving when I arrive, but I bump my pale muzzle against her shoulder, hoping to rouse her. There is ice in her coat, and while I am inexperienced with winter dangers I do know that this is not safe. With a frown of concentration, the short summer hair coat that I keep year round changes. It grows longer and darker, a dense silver-brown. I do not need such a thick coat for my brief wanderings, but since my adventure in the Quest Forest I’ve had a set of changeable feline qualities, one of which includes the thick winter coat of a lynx.
Pondering for just a moment, I fold my legs and lie down in the snow beside the chestnut horse, pressing my side against her back and laying my now thickly-furred neck across her body. I’m not sure how much I can help, possessing only a normal equine temperature, but at least she’ll have my body heat. “Can you hear me?” I ask, trying again to nudge her shoulder. “You need to wake up. It’s too cold.”
In the blissful world of dreams and sleep, the thin line between life and death is but a mere faltering step. In those blissful moments I see the sun, I feel it's warmth burrow into my depths like probing fingers, warming me to the very core. It's in those precious moments I wonder if I've ever been alive at all. My mind plays vivid tricks, it's the cold, the harshness of the wind burying me in more snow drifts and more frostbitten aches. I hear things, far off things like the tingles of bells, the tolling of some distant chime. Those chimes grow louder, louder, until I feel a real warmth connect to me.
I stir, emerald eyes flickering, groggily open. Hazy with the desire to sleep, and close my eyes forever against the cold, I make out the shape of another. It's the warmth that he generates, like a furnace on a winter's evening. The fire crackling and spitting whilst children roast marshmallows and spin tales. I reach out my muzzle, the soft salmon of my nose so cold, broken in places by the cold ice that has splintered deep into my skin. I reach out to touch the figure. He's a daydream, a reverie on my moment of death. I'm sure. but then his voice echoes, resounding like bullets, hard and sudden in my mind.
'I'm.. sorry?' my throat grates words like course bark, 'Did I break... your river?' my eyes blink, twice, thrice. I ache in places that sinew and muscle never have ached before. the cold has buried deeper, deeper into the marrow of my bones and the knots in every lace of sinew. I quiver then, which means that the cold is shifting, fleeting as the warmth of the stranger starts to thaw me. Groggy and still half comatose, I stare up at him, or equal as my vastness is still quite apparent even when lain like a broken doll. 'But sleep... sleep sounds so good right now...' red tipped ears flicker and fall back as my head lowers and rests against the pillows of snow. I breathe in, sharply, breath like nails digging deeper into my lungs, painful with every gasp. I shiver more, trembling like autumn leaves falling from naked limbs. I turn my eye then, meeting the stranger; he is still there, still quite sturdy in appearance, so he is definitely not some daydream... they normally fade off by now.
'You're... still here?' my mind trickles with thoughts, good, bad, always pessimistic. I try and smile, cracked lips bloody and chapped.
★ ☆ ★
the truth is you could slit my throat,
and i'd apologise for bleeding on your shirt; wanderer
OOC: o_o Don't know where that came from. Poor Eld.
kreios don't you tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash
Though I’ve no idea what signs of improving health are, I’m quite positive that the fact that she’s moving is definitely better than stillness. Rather than pull away, as I would have in any other situation (we’re much too close for strangers) I remain as close as I can manage. I go so far as to try and breathe more heavily on the snow and ice, but it doesn’t do enough for me to bother continuing. I can feel her shift beside me, and where her eyes open I do my best to appear as non-threatening as a stallion pressed up against her can possible appear.
“It’s not my river,” I say, unable to keep a good-natured smile off my face despite the gravity of the situation, “but I do think you definitely broke it.”
I meet her gaze for a moment, at least until her head falls back to the ground. I nudge her shoulder again, and am relieved when she shivers. At least she didn’t suddenly die. There’s no point hurrying her, I decide, perhaps she needs more time to warm up. Were she smaller I might have tried to move her, but she is close to my size and would be impossible. It is a novelty, especially given that so many of the mares in my own herd are petite little things.
She drifts again for a moment, and when she asks if I’m still here, I nod. “I’ll be here till you stand up and get to somewhere warmer.” I tell her. “Most places are cold this time of year, but I could take you to the Jungle or the Desert. The Desert’s much closer though. It’ll warm you right up, I’m sure.” I’m not sure what else to do. Staying here in the cold doesn’t seem a very wise choice. At least she can warm up in a place with no seasons. Perhaps after she does so she can return here, if the snow is more to her liking.
07-01-2015, 04:58 AM (This post was last modified: 07-02-2015, 08:48 AM by Eld.)
the truth is you could slit my throat,
-☆-
Eyelids feel like lead, heavy and cumbersome to keep open, but I try nonetheless. I feel the splinters of ice gnaw away at my insides like raging teeth, harsh frostbitten teeth grinding deeper and deeper. My strawberry mane falls over my face in sodden rivulets, straining the weight against me, I lull my head back down, resting my chin on my bowed knee. Just for a minute, I feel the lullaby drift me off, the cold enchantress weaves spells of never-ending slumber, and it is so very enticing, but I refrain. feeling the warmth of a body beside, hearing the faraway accent of his words lull my mind into some strange security. I keep my eyes open, just so I can see him, in a faded picture of white and speckled water, he is a shattered stained glass image of chestnut and white, there's a stones in his skin, a furriness like the rugged tree bark. But it is oh so comforting.
'Sorry river.' I turn an eye to the collapsed ice, already freezing over in the low temperatures. I then turn my head, ever so slightly; all of me feels like lead, rigid and stone like to move, so heavy, but i do manage to lift my neck, arching it with every inch of what I have left. My pink tipped ears twist, catching the fray of his words, jumbled, like puzzle pieces, but I knit them together the best I can, and with a strained smile I gaze up at me. 'The Jungle? hardly sounds safe to me... what of snakes and lizards and dragons lurking in the depths? I'll take my chances with the scorpions and spiders...' I chuckle, it comes from my lips like a ragged choke of breath. I heave myself up, trembling limbs struggling against the burden of weight, but I'm up and even though unsteady, I manage to stay upright for the next passing moments, right until I feel the urge to collapse, knees starting to buckle.
'The Deserts sound warm. warm is good, right now.' I wobble back to my feet and turn my blinking emerald gaze upon the stranger. 'You are real, right? You're not some blizzard induced fantasy?' at my words, I reach out my snow burnt muzzle to touch him, his soft, warm flesh. just making sure.
-☆-
and i'd apologise for bleeding on your shirt; wanderer
html by magpie77 - photo mani by magpie77 - character by magpie77
kreios don't you tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash
She apologizes to the river then, and though I’m not sure if she’s joking or not, I still smile. I doubt it minds; in another few weeks it will be melted through, flowing wide with snowmelt from up in the mountains.
Her description of the jungle brings another smile to my face. I’ve heard the place is full of danger, and would rather not go myself. It must be habitable, for the Amazons have lived there for centuries, but it is certainly not place for me. They’d not have me anyway, not with my chromosomes.
When I feel the shifting of her muscles that hint foretell her attempt to stand, I pull away. Unencumbered by frostbite, I’m fairly quick about it, at least for a horse my size. I nod encouragingly as she stands, and then start forward as though I can catch her when she collapses again. At least she clambers right back to her feet, and I hold back my natural reaction to bump her shoulder encouragingly. I might have been pressed up against her only a moment ago, but we are still strangers and I’ve not wish to infringe upon her space.
She reaches forward though, making the first move, and I tap her chestnut jaw briefly with my pale nose. “I was real the last time I checked,” I tell her with a grin, “My name’s Krieos. What’s yours?” Now that she’s standing I feel infinitely better about her survival. Laying in the snow was hopeless, but standing is a vast improvement. “how’re you feeling?”
'That's good then. I think. Because if you aren't real then.. it would mean I'm.. it would mean...' my words trickle, like wayward leaves flying on the breeze, getting lost in all directions. My skull throbs with unease and it feels like a thousand knives cut deeper and deeper into my brain, burrowing into the vault of memories. I blow a quivering snort, it flutters my warm nostrils with a hot breath. My viridian eyes draw up to meet those of the steed. 'I'm digging myself a hole, aren't I?' it was like I already had a shovel and was digging the hole further and further down into the deep darkness of the earth. But the chestnut mottled stallion wears a smile like a badge with pride and it makes me settle a little, my own lips tugging into what would hopefully appear as a smile, not some strange grimace of a frown.
I steady myself, managing now to stand upright; his body heat was the little nudge I needed in the right direction. That thought made my eyes run over him, a majestic knight swooping down to come and rescue the damsel in distress. My mother had woven such glorious little tales when I was a babe, but I found out her whimsy had been misplaced and her deception as hurtful as the look she gave me when I left. There were not really glorified knights saving damsels. Or if there were, then I surely was not a fair-haired maiden. Thickset and chunky with errant red hair and feathers, I was something else entirely. My thoughts fracture then and I shake my crown, dishevelling the thick, yet drying lumps of strawberry mane. 'Krieos. It's very nice to meet you, Krieos. I now have a name for my saviour.' I tilt my head again, slightly to the left, my eyes trailing over him. the smile creeping larger on my lips. 'Oh. My name?' I had been encased in what seemed like a frozen prison, for what felt like an eternity, my mind, be it a little foggy, was starting to thaw just like my red roan body. 'I'm Eld.' I pause and flick my ears forward in unison, like wet squirrel tails. 'I'm feeling grand -- well, as grand as can be. Thank you kindly, Krieos. I think.. I think I'd be a giant icicle by now.'
-☆-
and i'd apologise for bleeding on your shirt; wanderer
html by magpie77 - photo manip by magpie77 - character by magpie77
