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    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


    scorch;
    #1
    This, this is what he needed. This is where his strength stems from, where he can be himself again and shrug off the woes that have shackled him since his return. There have already been multiple days in which he considered taking flight and disappearing again if it meant not being scolded. His heart, always yearning to be held by a lover, has quivered beneath their derision. They have moved on and his children are less sympathetic. It would be easier to shrink back into the shadows, but it takes visiting Nerine to remind himself that he isn’t meek. He will never cower in a corner.
     
    Castile has since ventured beyond the barren walls of Nerine. A sparing glance saw Hyaline at his back, but his heart guided him forward into what is familiar, and into a place that he has only experienced joy.
     
    Habit is what controlled him and brought him to the cliffside. When he looks down, he sees the expanse of the beach and the waves lapping in a calm metronome. He sees his childhood playing back to him – mother, father, Isobell – and how he felt he ruled the beach. The caves were frequented by his family and he often frolicked in the salty ocean. What he feels, blossoming in his chest, is unimpeded joy. He wants it back, that sense of liberation and elation. It has escaped him as of late, but he is finding himself again among the rubble of his mistakes.
     
    A familiar face entices him from his thoughts – a name that he heard often spoken from mother’s lips. With a slow pivot, Castile abandons his rocky perch and finds a glimmer of Nerine’s past, present and future. She hasn’t at all changed despite the years, but neither has he. It has been in recent years that Castile had identified his immortality, cursing it under his breath as he anticipates his loved ones dying in front of him in the years to come. She, he supposes, suffers the same.
     
    With a final step, Castile draws to a stop and allows his mismatched eyes to slip briefly across her body before meeting her eyes, finding himself in awe of a woman that has known no other life than the amazons. A lopsided, boyish grin lifts his mouth as his head nods respectfully. ”Scorch, so nice to see you.”





    @[Scorch] I think they've met? Whether he was a colt or not... I could be wrong but oh well hahah
    #2

    WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

    For all that she wasn't Echion's true daughter, Scorch's life had been continuously subjected to the family that she still managed to build within said bloodline. From Echion (mother) to Myrina (sister) to Nayl (niece) and now to him - the man whose scent stopped her as she sought relief from the paranoia that staying in Nerine brought her currently. They'd met ages ago, when he yet stood beneath the shadow of his Queen Mother, a wonder-eyed boy just on the cusp of discovering that the adventures of life would more often be nightmares than daydreams.

    Despite the almost unnoticeable growth in the deep wraps of her womb that begged her to run from the kingdom's confines (and one member in particular), the fresh and traceable scent of Castile overwhelmed even that urge. Anxious, the well-respected mare skirted the eastern pine forests while heading south, moving skittishly like a thief in the night; every sound caused her step to quicken, and every male scent gave her heart a painful wrench.

    Though they'd shared everything, forever, for as long as she could remember (even to the point of him sacrificing his own freedom in the name of her last goodbye to her mother), the shameful and unarguably unfaithful nature of this particular secret left a gaping silence between Scorch and Hestoni. Where a flaming passion once glowed for all to see, embers now threatened to peter out, a fire left forgotten where it once warmed many.

    When her eyes - higher caliber than his - found his figure gazing wistfully down the cliffside, she paused. The stallion (so grown now compared to when she'd ruffled his forelock and wished him a happy first-month birthday) seemed enraptured by the roll of the waves below, lost in a haze of thought so nearly tangible that Scorch had to peer even closer to check if there was one condensing above his ebony head. Alas, he too must have caught her scent on the bitter winter wind, for as she stood in hesitation, Castile pivoted slowly and began his own approach.

    The snow gave way easily underhoof, a testament to the fluidity of their putrid existences.

    "It's been some years," she allowed in her gravelled tones as they came to a thoughtful halt. Her eyes moved to the leathered wings at Castile's sides, then to the gold colouring his mane and tail, and finally to the icy hue of his eyes. Her own simmered deep burgundy, a subdued version of their usual red-yellow lava; for as I said, her fire is petering out, and in the rising of the ashes, something akin to her chaotic teenage years birthed itself anew.

    "Why come back to Nerine? You've put down roots elsewhere." It was a guess, based on rumours; but she couldn't have the attention on her right now. Despite his adulthood, he still existed firmly as a colt in the depths of her memories; and perhaps by holding on to that image, she could maintain some semblance of composure and calm.

    Scorch

    Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle



    @[Castile] Angst Scorch is actually so much fun to write.
    [Image: scorch2.png]
    #3
    Castile stands placidly, drinking in the sight of Scorch as she does the same. He has grown so much since they met. He is no longer the gangly colt shadowing his mother’s every step, keeping his mouth pursed shut in observation. Back then, his conversations and relevance was minimal; what place did a young boy have in a matriarchal society?

    He has since found his voice, but his place and purpose are still fickle things.

    ”Maybe just a couple,” he jests, knowing well that it has been almost a decade since he was born in the cave during a storm. It has been years since he last saw his own parents, or even his siblings. Isobell, he reminisces, and her sweet grin and curiosity. Admittedly, he misses them and wishes they were tucked away in the caves still, springing out to greet him. Alas, the days he has spent here has thus far brimmed with solitude. The family he had and loved has disappeared; they no longer exist except in his memories.

    But Castile tries desperately to suppress what has only upset him lately, instead trying to focus on why, exactly, he is here.

    A shrug ripples through his muscular shoulders as he gropes for answers to offer her. As mother mentioned, Scorch is blunt, but this is something he is well-accustomed to. It doesn’t deter him at all. Actually, she reminds him of where he has come from and what he has strayed from lately. She, like his mother and father, are strong-willed warriors. How has he become so weak? ”Well, I can’t seem to stay away.” It’s an initially vague answer as he reflects back on his accomplishments, or lack thereof. A sigh passes his lips, but then he half-heartedly chuckles. ”Hyaline and Loess never brought me joy like Nerine. Even being a Regent was lame in a place I didn’t care much for.”

    And then, on impulse, he confesses, ”I’ve fucked up and this is an escape.”




    @[Scorch]
    #4

    WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

    It warmed the mare's heart to see the difference between Castile then and Castile now. He spoke with more confidence - or rather, he spoke at all - and his countenance, though perhaps troubled, reminded her of her husband's; calm, stoic, and calculated. Despite their being family, their lack of bloodly relation was glaringly obvious - for she'd been a hard-headed and loud-mouthed child, and that brazen, unabashed attitude had far from lessened as she grew into adulthood.

    He responded in jest, a handsome smile curling and then fading almost absently over his lips as she imagined him to be reminiscing on said planted roots. Memories were not always sweet, and in fact often carried the bitterness of never-forgotten pain; she knew this all too well herself, and could only sit in quiet observation as she watched him live through the same. As the coastal wind blew harshly against them, she considered Castile thoughtfully, wondering if perhaps the man had more secrets than he dared reveal.

    A shrug ripples through him, and she allows the thought to fade; despite being one intrusive son of a bitch, she'd learned over the years to be at peace with the hand dealt to her. Most of the time, anyway.

    ...Some of the time.

    He spoke of staying away, elaborating on the tail end of some half-hearted chuckles as to where exactly those roots had been planted. Images of Hyaline and Loess came to the mare's mind as he mentioned them, but in the same way, she found no joy in their perfectly picturesque beauty; her home was among the cliffs, just as it had once been among the ancient red woods and the vines and the leopards. As she watched her great-nephew chew on a final phrase which came spat out on impulse, she knew in her blood that he belonged here, too.

    "An escape, or are you returning home?" Her eyes, glowering like embers, sat on the man heavily. "I might not be the best to talk to as I never left the Amazons, not since my birth - but whenever my children were hurting or afraid, they sought solace at home. I suppose the distinction between the two lies in whether you're here with the intent to leave again, or here with the intent to stay." She shrugged a little as she said this, hoping that the gesture would communicate the fact that she knew that her argument had gaping holes in it; obviously there happened to be much more at play with whether one was escaping or coming for solace.

    "Either way, fucking up doesn't make anything the end of the world." She looked away, then back again, a frown creasing her forehead. "You know that, right?"

    Scorch

    Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle



    @[Castile]
    [Image: scorch2.png]




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