"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
11-04-2018, 02:52 AM (This post was last modified: 11-04-2018, 02:52 AM by Aysel.)
she's no saint but she'll take you to your knees try her boy but she'll still do what she please
The irony of her latter sentiment at their meeting was not lost upon her, and Aysel would have laughed wholeheartedly if she were not succumbed to pain and sudden tension of muscle.
Dragging herself away she walked, waded and moved through the foliage of the jungle, her feet dancing amidst moss covered roots and vines: body passing between trees and thick leafing. Moisture clings to the vast expanse of green and she tastes the tang of sulphurous volcanic ash on the wind- something that prompts her to look where crevice and crag have broken the earth and heat radiates from the depths of the caverns and grim passages.
In the low mist and steam she lays in a clear patch of soft ground, and she stretches as pain riddles her body and agony floods every synapse. Writhing and twisting, she sweats and huffs in anguish: she recalls this feeling, remembers and considers that it is not forever.
Hours pass, day turning to night, and she is still in pain: still burdened by the rigors of labour.
Stars give way and finally, in the first rushes of dawn she is able to know relief and a dull sensation as the girl is spilled onto the earth. Aysel cannot help but follow more primitive instincts as she carries on and cleans, frees,a dn eases the babe.
“Segolene,” she quips- murmuring and soft. “My darling little Segolene.” and the filly stumbles: it wobbles and falls, bouncing too and fro- struggling to stand.
Proud of the small girl, Aysel rises and stretches as she notes the way the spindly creatures finds its legs and leans against her own hip and limbs. Sniffing and kissing, she tenderly nudges the girl and lifts her head as the babe blurts out a small: “Blyah!” and begins to rattle off other noises.
“Care to meet her,” she calls out loudly- looking sidelong to heavy footfalls and moving branches: well aware of smell and pace. “Blyah!” the babe interrupts, and Aysel considers for a moment that perhaps she is a goat; but such a thing is alleviated as the child feeds and falls to quiet.
With her gaze side long she gestures to the soft grey-brown child and her spattered patterns that almost matched their mothers varnish. “She has your eyes.” statement, and something that ends in a chuckle.
I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound
Magnus had many failings in his life.
He had failed as a leader, failed as a son, failed as a father—but he would not fail for lack of trying. He would never give up his effort to care for his own, to look after those under his care. He would never give up. So when he sees Aysel excuse herself from the meeting and begin to make her way to a more secluded place, he did not waste time in following her as quickly as he could. His heart thundered in his chest at the thought of another child, of another chance to do good by his offspring, to raise them right.
The idea of raising an Amazonian within the heart of Tephra was thrilling.
Still, he gives her space as she enters into labor. He patrols the area around them, worrying as he hears her pain, as he hears her struggle. Frustrated at his inability to do little but ensure her safety, he continued to pace, unable to simply stand still and let the hours pass as, finally, the sounds begin to change.
When it becomes clear that the birth has gone smoothly, he takes a deep breath, relief flooding through him. When she calls for him, he quickly turns and enters into the haven that she has created for her and their daughter in the heart of Tephra. His gold-flecked eyes warm with delight as he takes in the bleating baby now tucked into the mother’s side. “She’s beautiful,” he breathes as he steps forward, pressing his muzzle into the crook of Aysel’s neck, breathing her in. “She’s going to make a fine warrior some day.”
He grins, slightly sheepish.
“Or diplomat. I’d be happy with either.”
I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine
she's no saint but she'll take you to your knees try her boy but she'll still do what she please
Dusted gray and gently spattered with color, patches of a dark brown seem to stretch the length of the newborn’s body and both mane and tail are a darker, fluffier sort of color. For Aysel the comedy of it really is the blanket of white dusting the body and the spots lining the back… something reminiscent in a vague way of leopard print. Still, she cannot help but study the smaller body of her daughter- peer at the thicker legs and wider frame- the well defined curve of her face. She mires in a way at the amber eyes and their golden flecks, at the expressive shape and the lining that, to us, would resemble a kohl-lined cateye.
Such is that, she notes Magnus’ approach with warmth and a certain pride: perhaps at the health of her child, or simply the fact that the youth was a would-be Amazon in her own right. No matter she knew he was there, she recognized it: the heavy footsteps and all the pacing- something she hadn’t minded. He touches her and she she chuckles: heartily and without malice, just the echoing purr and reverberation natural to her voice.
In return she places her own nose against his shoulder, gently brushing along the neck and allowing her breath to trace the lines of muscle and bone. It’s almost akin to a kiss, to the tenderness and affection plied and given to a significant loved one: though when she draws away she is quick to find her gaze leveled down as the young filly slips from her side and wobbles a few steps towards her own shoulder.
“Hard to say at this stage, but,” she is interrupted by the start of a noise- by the bleating that slowly becomes a single word. “Blyagolene.” and with that the girl is content to continue trying, slowly developing her name while Aysel looks to MAgnus with an appreciative nod.
“Segolene, yes.” Aysel corrects, and the small girl remains: her newly opened eyes all wide and staring- locked on Magnus as she lifts her small head and sniffs.
This is a smell she recognizes, one she knows; but, as her head tilts she cannot yet understand the adults and their speaking- so she listens and waits… flicking an ear and slowly curling in and around Aysel’s legs.
With no impatience and only the same pride from before, Aysel cannot do anything more than continue on with a knowing and empathetic gaze. “I feel like if you had a choice she would be much like myself and those before us: our beloved jungle cats, amazons. I would not mind either, but, the chaos of this world could very well help shape where her destiny lies.” she’d have shrugged but, rather, she reaches out against and gently bumps Magnus’ shoulder.
“Our closest neighbors inland are Sylva and the Taiga- I have not visited either recently but in time we may wish to send scouts to discover who has laid claim and what each land has become. Ischia and the Resort are both surrounded by water and likely we will not have any issue guarding those lands as claimers will need to traverse through Tephra or the ocean itself… possibly the air. Eh, but, I am here to serve in the capacity you require me as.” she begins almost lazily, like her mind had been prepared- ready and set.
Tactical and considering all things, she huffs- mulling over it as she peers down at Segolene who is just standing and watching- mouthing what her mother says and trying to imitate.
“Business aside, it is unfortunate what is going on- with the children being born now it is especially dangerous. This madness is a ladder and we are all only climbing down further into it… you’re doing what needs to be done. Magnus-” she is perhaps sentimental with his name, and it spoken with an emotion that cannot quiet be named… a sense of affection.
“She is beautiful, and you will do marvelously as a father- as a King. I believe in you.” confident, she nods- and reaching out Aysel nips playfully, yet fondly at him.
Segolene however finds this moment as time to try again, the filly’s mouth opening as she blurts an imitation of her mother’s words. “Believe in you! Father.”
I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound
It is a moment of peace carved out from chaos and he allows himself to relax in it.
What good was fighting the ending of the world if one could not appreciate the beauty of what still existed? He smiles at her, glancing down toward the child who sniffs and wiggles and weaves around her mother. His eyes warm with affection as she bleats upward, trying to move her lips in a way that will allow her to form her name. He laughs then, rich and appreciative, eyes dancing when they find her mother once more. “Segolene,” he repeats the name, testing it for a moment before nodding.
“It is a name befitting of any Amazon warrior.”
It is a name his mother would have liked.
Heart warmed, he flicks his ears forward as she immediately launches into plans and proposals for the coming days, and he laughs again, although not unkindly. He reaches over to pull gently on her mane before beginning to smooth it down, working through the knots. “You just gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, Aysel. The work can wait.” He pauses, pulling back to look her in the eyes. “It will be waiting for you when you have fully healed. We will have plenty of need for those with your experience and insight.”
But he doesn’t want to dwell on it now. Doesn’t want to think of the weight now resting squarely on his shoulders, the responsibility that he has taken on once more, the fate of Tephra in this tumultuous times now curled in his palm. He focuses on their daughter, hoping to keep such darkness from her for at least a while. His smile grows crooked as Aysel nips at him, her words reassuring, but it blossoms into something more when their daughter does her best to imitate them, the words cracking through the air.
He drops his head so he can look at her. “That means a lot to me, darling.” He musses her mane. “I promise that I will do my best by you.” He stands up straighter to look at his daughter. “By both of you.”
I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine
she's no saint but she'll take you to your knees try her boy but she'll still do what she please
She is a creature defined by her nature, by the fortitude and ferocity she displays in every step and word: in every actions she carries out; but even when she allows a softer side to show, there is a certain sharpness to it that is composed of perception and empathy. This awareness bleeds into her when she takes a breath, when Aysel relaxes and allows her mind to pushback against all the thoughts of strife, of challenge. More so as she stares at her child, watches and studies the spotty girl and her wobbly legs: the bouncy playfulness and freedom of childhood naivety. An ear flicks and she considers her grown son and his life as a colt, she thinks of the rigorous tests and challenges she gave to him… the endless expectation and intolerance of his failure; but those were mistakes of a younger woman, a less patient and more ferocious one.
Aysel, has grown. Instead she takes a breath and listens, brushes the fluffy and wispy mane her daughter has before watching her carry on and prowl about as if her legs had been hers for a thousand years. “It is hers, much like the legacy of her bloodline.” she states plainly, but softly. Her gaze on Magnus is not harsh nor cold, there is something appreciative and calm- a tranquility she presents in her older days… one developed from time and experience. The tugging is something that provokes her to sigh, to stare- and to listen with amusement while she considers the reality he presents and the ones they live in. Still, she is aware of the finality- of a promise and compliment in one.
“That may be so, but, I suppose it is my nature to be prepared: or at least to begin securing preparations and carrying on with work… no matter the world and its state.” she shrugs, impassively and mulling over it and the thoughts she has. “I will try to relax for now, after all, it will be there: waiting.”
In the moment she is not unaware of his his posture changes, how the child parroting her words prompts a response; but there is a slight train of thought she develops in all this- consideration of Magnus and of the her world. Aysel is quiet for a few seconds, allowing the filly to continue speaking and shouting words- playfully dancing around the large figure of her father with careless exuberance. It’s in these observations she finds herself mulling over the past and all the word, the present and its dangers; but more so the man at her side and she considers their words and passions: all the things said between them.
Sobered, but gentle, she moves to stand beside him and to speak, calm and subtly lined with affection and curiosity. “We do that, make promises: to do better, to always try. Soldiers often find themselves in that position when coming back to life, to family… sometimes it means we were not always our best. It is part of who we are: failures, and victories in all arenas. Step one is promise, now you simply have to carry it out, but- I cannot say I know your secrets nor your personal failings: I can only say that, trust you-me…”
Aysel pauses to think, to consider how she wishes to word this. “My shoulders are strong, and if you wish it: yours to borrow- the same with my ears. I make no demands that I be the only creature in your life; but I do demand that I and Segolene are in it… since you are in ours now. I support you, always, and I trust you- I just hope that you can trust me.” conflict is a strange feeling, and she looks to the spindly child rolling in the grass.
I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound
If only he was able to crack open his ribs. If only he was able to break it apart and show him the mess that lives underneath. The ways that he has been hardened and softened, broken apart like soil and then shattered like glass. If only he could show her the bruises that exist, spidering across his very flesh, or the lacerations. The places he has loved and the places he has lost, somehow always more numerous.
How could he ever show her his failures? His most broken spaces?
The image of his mother washing away in the flood.
The image of Joelle breaking apart by Trashlip’s hooves.
The image of Minette fading into the distance.
Over and over and over again.
He frowns as he glances away from his daughter, finding her eyes and searching the depths of them for a moment, silent as he takes in her words. He weighs each one, contemplating them, before he tries to find the right words to respond. “I trust you, Aysel. I am so grateful to have you here.” His words are slow, Magnus emphasizing each one of them. He wishes he could say more. He wishes he knew the words that would help him truly communicate how much her mere presence meant to him.
It brought a piece of home into Tephra.
Every time he looked at her, he saw the jungle and the vine, and now she was raising one of his own in the way of the Amazon. His eyes are expressive as he watches their daughter before looking back up her mother, fierce and intelligent and sharp in every way. “You will both always be part of my life,” he finally says, holding onto her gaze. “I couldn’t imagine not having you there now.”
If only he could promise her more.
I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine
she's no saint but she'll take you to your knees try her boy but she'll still do what she please
Without expectation, she stands and listens: waits and lingers by his side without evidence of jealousy or visible discomfort. Instead Aysel remains in her steadfast way, a creature spattered by gray amidst the deep red on her body, and one whose scars were not so prominent and yet? She carried herself as if she knew little more than scar tissue and wounds, as if the whole of her entire world was laid out on some impossible battlefield where the wars and clashing never ended.
Hardened, yet, capable of mutability when it was demanded or required. Still, she waited- and met his gaze. Had she the ability she might’ve offered a hand to cradle his jaw, a thumb to stroke the skin beneath the cheekbone: attention and affection; but also, understanding. His words are something of smoke and crackling embers, and she nods her head at the statement. “I still say I should be thanking you, for bringing me here.” she responds in kind and with subtle attempt to ease the air and the mood she has created.
Magnus’ voice is whiskey and cigar smoke, it is bold and honest and does not carry the overtones of subtly or some sort of manipulation, and Aysel finds herself nodding the beautifully sculpted face and head as she offers him a sumptuous purr and smile: a sparkle of wisdom and of trust. “That is all I ask, nothing more, I know the truth between us both.” she muses, but in a sobered way.
Segolene is dancing and drifting: darting between rocks and careless of the world; but she is never far.
“There comes a time in our lives when we are scarred and burned, aching and hardened: when caressing skin hurts more than a wound on our flesh. It is never easy to escape it, to get out of the void and the shadows in our minds…” she stops, looking downward with a pained and rueful stare. Her weight shifts and she passes her gaze over the small scars and all the ancient places where bones and bruises have healed.
Drawing her head back up, she reaches out to press her nose softly against the curve of his cheek, where his neck begins. As if to acknowledge something, she brushes over the area and breathes slowly before pulling back and meeting his gaze. “It’s a heavy burden, the crown and one’s own soul; but remember, Tephra chose you. Her people, the land itself… and you are not alone. You have us, all of us.”
Heavy and remaining still, she turns her gaze to Segolene who trots and cantors- the filly sliding between them and begins sniffing each nosily: bumping into them and sauntering around them with whimsy and quickness before idly laying herself down and resting against Magnus’ foreleg.
“Big run.” she chirps, tiny eyes closing as she fades in and out of sleep.
Aysel, chuckles, glancing at both and looking them over. “Ah, little jaguars tire so quickly sometimes.”
I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound
There are few times in his life Magnus considers truly peaceful and now, looking at the women at his side and the child that bounds around them, my be one of them. His gold-flecked eyes darken with appreciation and thought as he falls silent, her words washing over him. He has never been one to be particularly verbose, although his tongue can run away with him when incensed, and he appreciates that she allows him the silences now, filling it occasionally with her thoughts but not pressing him on it.
When she presses her nose into his neck, he leans into the touch, eyes closing on a deep breath.
“I will never forget what I have,” he says quietly. He would never forget the moment when he sat perched on the edge of the mountain, fear driving them higher and higher, seeking the face of hope. He would never forget each time his kingdom mates placed their trust in him, giving him the mantle and entrusting his scarred hands on the wheel. He was never not grateful for their continued trust in him.
He glances back at her, one corner of his scarred lip lifting into a smile. “All of us is more than enough.” The people of Tephra were strong, stern, and he knew that they could stand up to whatever challenges rose before them now. It didn’t matter what came to their doorstep. He would be there to greet it, and he had all of the confidence in the world that they would rise up to overcome any challenges.
Still, his attention is stolen when the child scampers up and leans down to brush his lips over her forehead before she slides to the ground. He smiles, features softening as he takes in the sight of his child sleeping by his feet. Making sure to remain still, he leans over and presses his cheek against her neck, taking a deep breath. “Big jaguars tire too,” he murmurs, voice thick with a tiredness that so rarely caught up with him. Closing his eyes, he inhales deep before exhaling slowly. “Perhaps I will rest for just a while.”
I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine
she's no saint but she'll take you to your knees try her boy but she'll still do what she please
Exhaustion is a beast that wrests and quarrels itself from nay and within any: it is a rapacious sense of fatigue that slows the limbs and stiffens the muscle- it provokes a sense of weariness and yet? While the girl feels it- while she winds down and lays in the grass… Aysel is left with the sensation of her mind wandering and considerations made. She dreams in the waking world, a jaguar considering its prey and its surrounding; but more so its fellow cats and the family now with it.
Segolene is a small creature, all limb and leg, all newborn muscle and the sudden burst of snoring that prompts Aysel to laugh at the sound produced by the filly. “Good,” she pauses- aware of the warmth and the softness of the moment: the laze and rolling exhaustion growing between the both of them. “Perhaps now there can be growth: the beginning of a different era.” she exhales, considering the past and present: the future, her ears swiveling as Aysel listens and waits- watches.
“Then rest,” she whispers to him. “I will see that no one sneaks up on us.” she’d have laughed, but, there is a sense in her mind of strain and of consideration: a dull ache still impacting her body that has yet to fade- and she finds herself looking between them- idly brushing the filly and her wispy mane- or simply taking precious time to graze or look around.
Whispers in her mind dwelling on cautionary tales and lessons from years ago.
![[Image: gqYjsHr.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/KjqNDKxc/gqYjsHr.png)