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  • 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


    the past, it haunts us; PENGUINS
    #1
    His nightmares have been chasing him since that day. He had tried to hide amongst the tangles of the Forest, amongst the tall grasses of the Meadow and everywhere since. Since his sister has not yet found him, he supposed he was doing an okay job of it. He lingered along the edges, careful to keep as still as he could and as hidden as possible whenever he saw the color of his sister’s coat moving along outside his spaces. He knew if she found him, likely he would laying alongside their mother’s remains not long after.


    Syn did not like loose ends.


    So he hide, it became his life. Even as he tried to work through the guilt at being unable to do anything to help their mom as his sister killed her. It ate at him the guilt, ate and ate, until it had burrowed and hollowed out his insides. There was nothing left to him anymore, nothing left but that guilt.


    His body was thin. His ribs were pressing against the sides of his skin, pressing out until each one was visible. He was not trying to starve, sometimes he just forgot, sometimes he just decided to sleep. His body wasted away from his lack of effort, from his lack of ability to do anything damn thing other than guilt himself to death.


    He would be sleeping when they found him, curled up like a foal amongst the thorns and brambles digging into his skin. The white along his body, almost as dark as the black splotches, and everything about him spoke of neglect.
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    #2
    In all the wild truths of the world, of the deeply chaotic space around them, there were undeniable facts that penetrated a layer of being so sharply and burrowed well within both skin and soul- that in those precious second Tindalos and Tithe were forced the accept the reality of all of it. They traveled together, in a pair, entwined and side by side: bodies never absent one another’s touch long and every so often there were stops wherein they would nibble and groom- fuss and fidget over hair and body. Perhaps it was their supposed time alone and together that prompted it, affections and kisses spent without the company of or prying eyes; but the forest before them offered that sort of privacy.

    Both recalled the ancient Taiga and the first steps into Sylva, and both recalled the vast land of Pangea; but neither cared much for now to return to those- instead they walked along paths that were carved by the many hooves of those before and chattered away about this and that: about their soon to be born son and the woman who provided them an opportunity to possesses what they wanted: a family.

    Such it was they minded the illuminated floor and patterns of light created by the thick canopy, and they enjoyed the breeze that ran wild through the trees and brush. The scent of loamy and mouldy earth was heavy, and more so was the metallic-mineral smell of rock and wild. Nettle and free growing herbs carried a spiciness that tangled with floral fare, and Tithe mimicked the sounds of birds cooing and singing through the branches.

    Tranquility, of course, did not end when they caught sight of of the patchy white and black in the brush and nettle. Instead Tindalos was the one who came forward first, bulkier and taller than Tithe- and more silver to his lover’s ruddier and golden body. Those his eyes were red, he looked sobered rather than malicious and he gestured his head to bring Tithe closer as the other stallion crept and slunk behind him cautiously. They observe the small injuries from things like thorns and splinters, and note the boniness of his body and whatever physical development had been slowed as a result of his life. 

    “Shush, shh, quiet- he seems to need rest.” Tithe speaks, calm and already maternal. Like a peacock his chest puffs and the beautifully curled tail sways as he peers at Tindalos with almost pleading eyes.

    Unmoved by what sentiment, it is Tindalos whose muscular neck is curved to bring his soft velveteen maw towards the sleeping strange. Low and with a grumbling in his throat he tries to calmly wake the other, pulling back and offering him a weak smile when the eyes opened. “Open your eyes, slowly, you’re sleeping in ivy and nettle: neither of those can be terribly comfortable. I am sorry to wake you, but, if you need I can show you a lovely patch of clover and moss. Much softer and less painful.”

    Patient and slow, he steps back to give Anani room, and Tithe- worried and fretting, does the same but with a sort of hesitation. “Forgive his rudeness,” the more androgyne of them speaks. Tithe’s expression softening and his voice almost cooing. “He is Tindalos, and I am Tithe. We saw you and worried that you might be harmed.” truth and genuine intention, he continues fretting where Tindalos is more together and cautious.

    @[Anani]  they love him already.
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    #3
    He blinks awake when the rumble of a masculine voice speaks to him. His eyes blink open, slowly, though only because he felt like he had just fallen asleep. The rumble of the words is almost soothing and because it was not her, not Syn, he could almost relax. It takes him a moment to blink the sleep from his eyes to find the two sets of peering eyes watching him quietly. There was an ease in the manner that they lingered next to one another that reminded him so very briefly of when him and Syn were young. But no, that was different, these two were different. It takes him a moment to shuffle back through his memories to realize what the first had said to him.

    “But she won’t find me here, no one likes the prickly things.” He says quietly. The first stallion had stepped back and now the second slightly smaller one was speaking. He saw the genuine truth in his eyes, and he could have cried. The grown stallion unused to someone caring for him in any capacity.

    He lurches to his feet in the room that they had given him, uncaring of the way the brambles and nettles cut and stuck to his body, making it itch and burn in some places. It takes him a moment to respond, his eyes sunken and dull, without the spark that made someone care. “Anani.” He says, and then realizes that the golden one is looking at the small rivulets of blood that had beaded up from the scratches. “Oh. No, it’s okay.” Reassuring, he turns his head to look at the small scratches, revealing the silver lines of scars across his neck as the fur spreads. He smiles a small weak smile when he turns back to them. “I can do a little.”

    Not enough to save his mother. Not enough to keep Syn from scarring him.

    His smile fades. “I don’t want her to hurt you. You should probably just go.” Oh but doesn’t the thought just tear him apart inside. He had a taste of someone who cared, just a tiny small sample but it was enough to make him long for more. “I’ll probably be okay.” He shrugs, careful to step from the nettles and thorns anyways, not wanting to worry the golden one, Tithe, anymore than he had.

    There’s a longing in his eyes as he watches them, he can’t help himself. He wanted what they had, wanted the ability to stop fearing and watching and worrying. He sighs though, tearing his eyes away and finds a particular interesting spot of dirt on the ground. He can’t watch them walk away from him.
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    #4
    “I am not rude.” Tindalos protests under his breath, the stallion’s nostrils flaring as he snorted and swiveled an ear. Thought listening to Tithe he turned his attention to Anani and watched the man rising slowly to her feet. His eyes are strange, a brilliant red suggestive of albinism but lacking that physically, and he speaks in a way that is older and more accented: something from a different period of Beqanna’s life. “No- no one does. You are very right about that.” confirmation, but also truth, and so much so that he notes to step back at the suggestion of a thorn jamming into the thinner skin on his leg. Away, however, he has not stepped and he remains with Tithe wrapped around him.


    Like a worried mother the shorter of them, tithe is quick to break away from his lover: to drift to Anani as he stands and to tentatively reach out to pluck away leaf, bramble, and other hitchhiking flora that decorates the other man’s face or neck. He does not seem to hesitate at all, if ever, when looking him over and observing the wounds and their newfound scarring. “Ah! So,” he states with a bit of a mother hen’s concern. “You have a bit of the magic in you, manifested. Interesting, see as I understand it not everyone does; but everyone does have it in a fashion. Yours must have taken shape in this healing, it means you must come from a bloodline that has roots here.” purposeful; but not malicious he coos and looks to Tindalos who is miring in some self-introspection.


    “Tindalos comes from a nomad named Ilyena, and the former King of the Taiga and the Sylva regions… Gryffen. He has quite the history here in terms of his blood, and it goes the same for myself. My father is Shiv, the son of Carnage; but who isn’t related to him…” he sighs at the latter, dramatically for effect; but with a smile, as if to try humor. “We do not have manifested gifts, but, our children have some I believe… so never fear, we are more than familiar with the magic you possess.” affirming and clam he continues to fret and fidget, to look Anani over with the same maternal concern a child might have for a babe.


    Unashamed and unbothered, Tindalos shifts his weight and remains- extending his neck to (if allowed) press the warm and velveteen soft nose against the other stallion’s forehead. “You could hurt us, anyone could; but you won’t. I have seen my share of malevolent and violent souls; but I don’t see it in you, I see someone who needs some food, water, rest, and a bit of care. You might not be a child, but, do not worry- all the same Tithe will continue to be a hen-mother for as long as he can. It’s his nature,” he chuckles, looking to his lover with a wink and Tithe in return sighs.


    “You will absolutely be okay, but, let’s just work on making sure you are.” he quipped, Tindalos’ gaze softening.

    @[Anani] bluh sorry about the time delay!
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