[open] you're going home, you're rag and bone; any

[sochi]

there is a swelling storm and I'm caught up in the middle of it all
and it takes control of the person that I thought I was

 
Youth has begun to bleed from her bones.

Not entirely—but enough. Enough to lengthen her body. Enough to elongate her limbs and harden the angles of her face as the softness of youth begins to sweep from her cheeks. This same change, the maturity that settles into her as she breaches the edges of womanhood can be seen in both of her forms, both of her homes. In her equine form, she is taller, more angular and softer all at once; in her feline form, she is studier, her body filling out, the rest of her body reaching the potential of her massive paws.

Although her mother’s warnings ring in her ears, she has long since relinquished her guilt for being what she is. She appreciates Sloene’s cautionary words. She appreciates the worry of a mother concerned for her well-being, but she cannot deny the natural joy of slipping into the black and orange striped body, the power of it flooding through her as she tips her head back and shifts, hooves bleeding to clawed paws.

It’s this body that carries her today throughout the forest, slipping soundlessly behind the horses, her tail curved and silver eyes bright. For a long time, Sochi has learned to appreciate her own company. A bright and cheerful girl as a child, she has grown into something a little more somber, a little more serious. 

There is still something of that effervescent youth within her—quick-witted and quick to laugh—but she does not open her up so readily anymore. Instead, she is more prone to watch from the shadows, mouth solemn and silver eyes intense beneath the knotted mess of her long forelock. 

She still haunts the edges of Hyaline, honoring the exchange that she had originally agreed to, but it does not have her heart—not yet—and she does not feel bad for slipping away, finding nooks and crannies in the various common places to rest her head. Perhaps one day she will find a home that will sink its claws into her fully. Perhaps one day she will pledge herself to a cause, to a ruler, to a land. 

But not now.

Not when the wildness of the tiger races through her, the natural urgency of the predator sending her springing from her paws into the wild yonder, the wind whipping at her as she races through the trees. 

Freedom, she thinks as she sucks in the cold autumn air.

This is freedom.

sochi

it comes and goes in waves; it always does, it always does
we watch as our young hearts fade into the flood, into the flood

[Dayé]

when i run through the deep dark forest long after this has begun,

Dayé had been raised in silence.

There had been no soothing words to spill from her mother’s soft lips; only croonings and the soft purr of the lioness’ throat against the wolf pup’s bristling neck, or the warning click of a growl when the young girl grown too independent too quickly. There are few words shared between her and the other equines she has met as she has grown into a young woman - her voice is soft yet sturdy, using it only when absolutely necessary. The horses of Beqanna were not too keen on using body language to interpret inner thoughts and Dayé had quickly adjusted when her solitary life with her mother became one of numerous others in a small kingdom.

It is why she runs from Loess now - trekking into the autumn-glazed forests that are alive with cold mists and bitter wind; the bustle of a kingdom sometimes proves too much for the young woman, and she finds herself searching for the silence of the great woods to soothe her aching mind.

The dusty-rose wolf is large (nearly full grown, and much like her father) but slender - lithe, nimble. There is no heaviness in the way her padded paws gracefully find their way through thicket and bramble, leaping over strewn roots and scattered logs, the smell of damp forest air already permeating into her skin. She can breathe easier here when she is alone and Dayé is thankful that Wolfbane seems to understand that part of her. Her half-brother knows that her disappearances are short-lived and always purposeful - the Ranger of Loess sneaks through shadow and tree, catching whispers of conversations or sight of things meant to stay a secret. She never found her information to be truly interesting, but it always seems to help with the politics of her kingdom and she enjoyed the smile it brought to her brother.

Today, however, Dayé comes across a sight she finds interesting. The wolf’s dark nutmeg eyes catch a flash of sunset orange - a brilliant shade amongst the green and black of the forest. She lifts her snout, shining black nostrils widening. The scent is somehow familiar (it reminded her of mother, in some distant way) and that is all that is needed to propel the canine forward, giving chase to the larger animal that had only just brushed past her. Dayé settles into a speed that keeps her far enough away from the large cat (it was not a hunt, after all) but close enough to keep a curious eye on her. She did not attempt to hide herself as she trails quickly behind the feline, because part of her instinct begged to be found out. A certain kinship keeps the wolf close, despite the difference in species.

Dayé can always recognize a shifter.

Dayé

where the sun would set, trees are dead, and the rivers were none.

@[Sochi]
I couldn't resist

[sochi]

there is a swelling storm and I'm caught up in the middle of it all
and it takes control of the person that I thought I was

She feels the charge in the air when the other animal gives chase.

She can hear the sound of padded paw joining her own, the rhythm of the wolf just close enough to feel her energy without truly feeling the danger of it. Her heart thuds in response, her pulse rising in her predator body as she increases her speed. Her rangy, muscular body stretches out, her head dropping as she sinks into the increased speed. She so rarely gets the chance to let herself completely loose like this. She so rarely gets to indulge in it, but she does so now, body collapsing onto itself and then stretching out, the tigress bounding forward, eating up the land before her as she weaves amongst the trees.

She would live here, if she could, in this moment where time suspends and she is nothing but the tiger with nothing but the dirt beneath her claws and the wintery sun dappling her back. She would live here in the freedom, in the suspension of reality and responsibility. Here, she did not need to be anything but what she was. She didn’t need to be anything but herself, anything but Sochi.

If only she could live here forever.

But she can’t, and she knows that, so eventually she slows, pace dropping, her breath coming in quick pants. She drops from a breakneck run to a gentle lope to a quick-paced walk and finally she stops.

They stand in a break of the trees, the forest opening up to a clearing where the sun barely reaches.

Sochi, interested in spite of herself, curves around, feline eyes watching the wolf as she draws near, her features stern and eyes bright. For a second, she says nothing, just watches the canine runner, a pink tongue escaping to lick her chops. When she does speak, her throaty voice rumbles, “Do you always give chase to strangers?” There is no malice in the question, but it doesn’t soften on her tongue. She considers following it up with another question, or an introduction, but she holds it back, choosing to watch instead.

sochi

it comes and goes in waves; it always does, it always does
we watch as our young hearts fade into the flood, into the flood

i'm glad you didn't! <33

[Dayé]

when i run through the deep dark forest long after this has begun,

The tiger is much larger than Dayé - bulky and massive with each pound of her large paws into the damp, cold earth that the wolf can feel the very ground shake with the strength that emulates from the sienna creature. It fascinates her, keeping the Loessian Ranger on her target with ease. The shift in the environment around them is palpable as the stranger quickens the pace, the wolf’s ears training forward and a soft huff of air leaving her lips. What the feline has in sheer power and build, Dayé makes up for in cunning and swiftness, shifting gears in her once lazy lope into a full out run - leaping over the bramble and brush from the shadows, her coffee eyes never leaving the bright and mighty form of the striped tigress. 

The two shifters seem to feed off each other’s energy, instinct and innate senses growing ever stronger as the unfamiliar duo dive further into the impossibly cold forest; both content to remain silent in their run as if they were already comfortable with one another.

Time stretches on for an amount of time that Dayé does not keep track of. Suddenly the air changes once again, the rhythmic pulse of their feet slowing almost simultaneously as the wolf matches the tiger’s pace, intelligent eyes unwavering. A clearing has opened up before them and the soft rays of winter’s sun attempts to touch their heated skin, though Dayé remains partly hidden within the shadows. Her head is low - unassuming and a display of harmlessness - while the blackness of her snout shines in the sunlight with moisture as she sniffs at the air curiously, watching the captivating tick of the tiger’s twitching tail.

Dayé’s chest rises and falls as she catches her breath, her head lifting as the tiger’s jaws open to reveal a pink tongue and the casual flick of it over sharp, menacing canines. They stare at each other for a handful of moments, their breaths a cloud of white vapor leaving their open mouths. The wolf then huffs, stepping forward with silent paws as the tiger speaks - a shifter, as she had previously guessed.

“Only when they are worth chasing.”

The wolf’s voice matches the tiger - unthreatening, yet robust in its delivery. She offers no other explanation to her, merely giving her a slowly-blinking look with a rather straight face. There is a tilt to the dusty-rose of Dayé’s head as she comes to a halt within the clearing, her normally ivory legs caked with tangles of leaves and twigs, stained a muddy shade of brown all the way to her chest from their break-neck run through the forest. “I’m called Dayé.”

A pause accompanied by a slight tilt of her chin upwards:

“Are you running from something? Or to something?”

Dayé

where the sun would set, trees are dead, and the rivers were none.

@[Sochi]
<3

[sochi]

there is a swelling storm and I'm caught up in the middle of it all
and it takes control of the person that I thought I was

It is difficult to shake the adrenaline that has begin to build in her bones.

It’s tough to abandon the natural instinct that rises like a wave within her, beating against her chest and tempting her to let loose, tempting her to give into the desire. She can feel the put of it, low and lingering, the desire to engage in more than conversation, to feel teeth against hide and the tearing of flesh. She is not a violent creature, but she is predator, and the chase awakens more within her than she cares to admit.

Still, the wolf that stands across from her does not strike her as intimidating or foe and so she leashes such desires, instead choosing to watch her with a careful, calculated gaze, her feline eyes sharp. “Both,” she answers, the syllable curt on her tongue. The truth was that she has no idea. She is rootless, floating in a land that is steeped with history and alliances and politics, and she still does not know where she belongs.

She doesn’t know if she’s meant to live this vagabond lifestyle with no connections. She doesn’t know if she’s meant to tie herself to a land, choosing to hand over her loyalty to the highest bidder.

She doesn’t know.

She doesn’t know.

It irritates her, and her lips rise in an unbidden snarl for a moment before she battens down the hatches on her emotions, wiping her features clean of them. She takes a deep breath before taking a step closer to the wolf, studying her expression, the dirt that stains her legs, the angular angles of her canine face.

“My name is Sochi,” she finally offers, letting it hang in the air between them before she finally shifts, shedding the tigress to embrace her equine form, deepening to obsidian and cerulean. She blinks quietly, the invitation for the other to do the same clear but the request never formally leaving her tongue.

sochi

it comes and goes in waves; it always does, it always does
we watch as our young hearts fade into the flood, into the flood

[Dayé]

when i run through the deep dark forest long after this has begun,

The wolf steps closer. There is no ill intent in the way the predator creeps forward, obviously used to being covered in the cloak of darkness and shadow (rarely seen, rarely noticed). Today she has been pulled from that normalcy, something stronger than her own willpower thrumming incessantly against her soul, ringing a bell that she remembers suddenly she had forgotten the sound of. Her mother is a shifter and her father, too (though not anymore, she idly corrects herself), and though Loess is the home of her brother and what she calls her ‘pack’ there is none like her that reside in the hilly landscape.

None like the one before her.

Nutmeg eyes swallow the tiger eagerly, broad ears flipping back into the thickness of her dusty winter’s coat, shaggy and plump and matted. Both, the tigress answers and there is the slightest ripple of Dayé’s lips. Running away and running toward - two steps forward, one step back. It’s familiar and all Dayé knows: balancing a life (can it be called that?) between predator and prey, dancing precariously on the edge of that dangerous precipice, never losing herself completely but finding herself wanting desperately to do so. Instead of replying, the wolf only snorts softly in muted agreeance. Both. For how else would a shifter live? In both worlds.

Dayé’s idle gaze widens quickly at the step of the tiger towards her, expecting both nothing and something from the massive creature before her. She cannot help the way the hair on her neck and upper-back immediately stand on edge, but the wolf does not advance nor shows its teeth. My name is Sochi, the tigress finally offers, a pause stiffening in the air between them before black and orange fall away. Dayé watches curiously at how easily she sheds the tiger (as if taking off a cloak, or peeling off a softened layer of skin), her cream colored fur smoothing itself against her skin. Ebony (dark as pitch) though blazing with the brightest of blue, the mare stands before her in what Dayé would consider to be bare, matching Sochi’s blinking stare with one of her own.

The wolf follows suit, though it is not without clumsiness and snarling lips. Dayé would liken it to stripping off a wet bathing suit - clearly something that did not want to move yet is forced to do so anyway. Her shift is not beautiful as she sheds her thick rose-colored fur for one of honeyed-gold that iridescently shines blue in the winter’s light. The paleness of her forelock and mane frame the wildness of her face with the same brambles and tangles from her wolf, making the young mare seemingly still as wild as the predator that once stood in her place. 

She sighs when the shift is complete, wanting to note that shifting to her wolf form is much more beautiful, but remaining silent. 

A pause once again trembles between the two, still as palpable as it had been previously. 

“Do you hunt?” The question spills from her pale-gold lips before she can remind herself to stay quiet, but the only sign of regret is the way her mouth tightens in to a thin, pressed line.

Dayé

where the sun would set, trees are dead, and the rivers were none.

@[Sochi]

[sochi]

there is a swelling storm and I'm caught up in the middle of it all
and it takes control of the person that I thought I was

Sochi is not completely socially inept, but she has kept to herself for long enough, that such conversations do not come easily to her. She was warned as a young girl that horses would not look favorably upon her when in her feline form and so she shied from them whenever she bore it—which, as the years began to wear on was with increasing frequency. So although she is capable of carrying conversations and holding her own, she struggles with it all the same and has few friends to call her own (none, if being honest).

It is almost a relief to be in the presence of another shifter.

It is almost a relief to be matched with a kindred spirit, the wildness of the mare beautiful and pure.

Her solemn eyes soften slightly and then sharpen, tracing the edges of the mare’s face, studying the blue-tinted gold of her hide and the nutmeg eyes. At the question, a laugh escapes her, husky and infused with all of the warmth that she is capable of. “Yes,” she admits, and she wonders at how nice it is to be able to admit that, even though she has no idea if the mare before her shares her penchant for it. It was a relief to be with a fellow shifter who walked the knife’s edge between predator and prey.

“Do you?”

The question comes unwillingly, and she almost restrains herself entirely. She isn’t sure that she is ready to hear that the other mare refrains or finds it distasteful or anything else. She isn’t sure that she is ready to break the bubble of companionship, to pierce the common ground that they have found themselves on.

But, for all of her flaws, Sochi is also disarmingly honest and blunt and she doesn’t stop herself.

She needs to know.

More than anything, she needs to know that she is not alone in this.

sochi

it comes and goes in waves; it always does, it always does
we watch as our young hearts fade into the flood, into the flood

@[Dayé] i loooooove her.

[Dayé]

when i run through the deep dark forest long after this has begun,

It’s not their separate species that draw the two to each other, nor is it even their equine bodies that seem to latch onto each other.

It’s something much deeper (ancient and unnamed) that had caused them to cross paths, and it is something that Dayé is familiar with - it is the same necessity that gave her the closeness with her own lioness mother, and her wolf father. Whatever it is, the wolf-woman could not name it and would never try to do so; the only thing she would do is follow it blindly, like she did today.

The tiger’s laugh (even coming from the dark obsidian and electric blue of Sochi’s mouth) sends a quiet shiver down Dayé’s spine, settling neatly onto her back with a roll of her shoulders and hips. Fearsome sounding yet at the same time commanding, the palomino’s ears flick back slightly in an instinctive manner despite the radiation of warmth that comes from the ebony mare. 

Yes.

“Good.”

It is all that comes from her pale honeyed lips in response, her dark brown eyes unwavering as both of the wild women continue to stand before each other. The moment passes quickly and Dayé’s ears return upright, a slight tilt of her chin as the question is now posed to her instead.

Do you?

“Yes,” she replies in seriousness, her long and slender legs pulling her a few steps closer to the tigress, “I do not fight the wolf and in return the wolf does not fight me.” She halts then, lowering her head slightly to view Sochi from the veil of tangled, flaxen tendrils of forelock. There is a few slow blinks, as if Dayé is considering something, before she finally adds: “It is also when I feel the most alive.”

The hunt, the snapping of jaws around soft skin, fresh blood pouring onto her lips and into the gums of her teeth and buds of her tongue, tearing tissue and tendon from sharp, ivory bone - even satiated the mere idea of the hunt begins to increase her heart rate, the sheer thrill of it all enough to flutter the crescent-shape of her nostrils.

Dayé

where the sun would set, trees are dead, and the rivers were none.

@[Sochi]
I love them. :| Sorry, not sorry.

[sochi]

there is a swelling storm and I'm caught up in the middle of it all
and it takes control of the person that I thought I was

There is something beautifully electric about the wolf-girl before her and it thrills through Sochi, her solemn eyes tracing the vivid face, framed by bramble and brush. She has never had an encounter like this before. She has never known what it means to have someone understand you so completely, unpacking the secrets of your heart without the words ever needing to touch your lips. It is almost overwhelming, and she takes a step forward unbidden, the gravity of Dayé drawing her closer without thinking.

I do not fight the wolf and in return the wolf does not fight me.

The words sit like heavy stones in her chest, radiating out through her veins, lighting up wherever it touches. How long as she spent fighting the tigress within her? How long did she fight her very nature? Trying to keep it on a leash, muzzling the predator that roars in her chest to be more normal, to be more palatable for the masses. The thought lights up her face, her silver eyes nearly as bright as her blaze.

“I spent a long time fighting what I am,” she confesses, although she’s unsure why she feels like she can share such raw, honest emotions with the other. “I am tired of feeling guilty for it.” She is tired of trying to fit into a world that was not made for those like her; she is tired of conforming and amputating the most vital parts of herself. She is tired of feeling like she can only live a life half lived.

The smile that curls the edges of her mouth is wild and challenging, the mare biting her lip in thought.

“Would you like to go for a hunt now?” her teeth are the first to shift, the blunt edges of them sharpening into a predatory grin. The rest of her quickly follows, Sochi shedding the equine form as quickly as she had pulled it on. Her hair stands on end as her limbs bend and contort, parts of her slimming while others fill out, the muscles shifting to accommodate the stockier, shorter frame.

When it is complete, her tail twitches and she rolls her shoulders, waiting for Dayé’s signal.

sochi

it comes and goes in waves; it always does, it always does
we watch as our young hearts fade into the flood, into the flood

@[Dayé] ugh saaaaaaame

[Dayé]

when i run through the deep dark forest long after this has begun
where the sun would set, trees are dead, and the rivers were none

It’s not often that Dayé allows a genuine smile to flicker across her golden-blue lips. It is something she has only ever found to have occured as the wolf and there is no denying the fierceness that flickers across her tawny face as the corners of her mouth curl into a rapacious smile. It’s a curious feeling that tightens across her lips, but the smile reaches the dark coffee of her eyes as a mischievous sparkle shimmers in their depths. 

As the obsidian mare steps closer, Dayé matches her with her own slenders steps of goldenrod. Sochi’s confessions fall from the dark ebony of her lips and Dayé’s reaction is merely the wrinkle of her nose and the gentle glimmer of knowing in her irises. “The tiger does not feel guilty,” Dayé reminds her with a dignified tilt of her chin upwards, emphasizing the prowess and ability that shifters truly have. They are better than, not less than, for their other skins.

The wolf-girl can sense something is igniting within the other (something that Dayé had luckily been born with knowing - their wildness, their predatory instincts, and embracing it wholly) and it sends a delicate shiver trembling across her spine. 

The air no longer is heavy with tension but ripe with excitement. Fearsome, shining fangs slip from Sochi’s dark mouth, tantalizing and sinister. Dayé steps up to meet her with no fear in her movement, closer to the tigress than she had ever been. In the blink of an eye the sharpness of a tiger gazes at her with expectancy, the bright angles and thick muscle of her stripes illuminating the darkened forest. Dayé’s mouth turns into a sly smile that remains until that smile rests upon the ivory wolf’s snout, where shaggy fur replaces the golden-blue of sleek horseflesh, and claws dig into the damp earth and the thickness of her tail lazily wags behind her; all the while the pink of her tongue flickering between the cavity of her mouth where incisors and canines gleam.

Thenher muddied chin tips to the sky and a low howl reverberates throughout the thin air of their forest. The wolf then dives into the darkness with a breathless smile, dark eyes already searching for what would become their dinner.

Dayé

@[Sochi] <3