"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 small male wakes startled, a flash of white noise barreling through the land as she stands on his trembling feet, shaking his pelt as he looks around, the earth is shaking, groaning as it is hit by sparkling lights, cracks in the ice forming as the small colt begins to run, a flash of fire breaks through the grey sky, a large dragon speaks loudly, his breath the smell of coal and rotten flesh.
The dragon's wings loom over the land, covering the whole surface with darkness as it lands, his head slithers close to Ilan, a puff of smoke appearing at his nostrils as she smiles, red stains appear on his teeth as his scaly lips quiver, a rumbling noise shattering the colt's confidence as he falls to the ground. The dragon laughs as he pushes himself forward, his neck draped over the Colt as his head comes crashing down, engulfing the colt in fire.
He wakes from the dream with a shiver, lightning strikes close to him as he stands up, attempting not to shiver and stand still for a moment.
His breath is heavy as he begins to walk, looking up to watch the grey clouds above, flashing lights creating a show of blue and white colour.
No dragons yet, thankfully.
The storm is loud but weirdly comforting, the enormity of it all creating a sense of hope and peace as he swims around in the ice, his soft legs hovering above the freezing mass as he moves into a trot.
Ilan halts quietly as he breathes in the cold air, the scent of rain filling the entire void of ice as it comes down as hail, hitting with strength as it falls.
The colt bathes himself in the cold weather with a smile, the lightning now amplifies as he twirls around, his eyes sparkling with joy.
This type of weather was most beloved to him, the noise and atmosphere creating a perfect ambitious habitat.
We got older and I should have known that I’d feel colder when I walk alone
It’s been a while, he thinks, though it’s not the storm that he refers to. But if one were to look closely, it would become apparent that the scaled roan stallion has been away mentally - even in his daily wanderings across the Isle, where no visitor dared to come last summer - none but one, who hadn’t stayed long enough for him to greet her. He’d found his yearling son’s tracks near the bear-and-horse ones, and had concluded she, like all visitors, had only briefed the cold Isle out of curiosity but hadn’t wanted to stay. In fact, nobody but the ice dragon himself seemed to really enjoy the place lately. It’s a good thing the Isle isn’t a kingdom, for it would not be able to host all it’s supposed members anyway. As it is, a territory, sometimes the silver bay roan could wonder if it wouldn’t just end up being a herd, but even for that, there are too little of his family remaining.
It’s those that have nowhere else to go that he welcomes here, it seems to him.
But with his mindless wandering has come some form of acceptance. Sure, he also misses the days in which he roamed the world himself. Starts to even miss the days in which several others had tried to lay claim on this island, because back then he’d had people around him to help claim the place. Not that he really needed it for himself, even though back then he did. Nowadays, he just relishes in the cold, and is sad about the loneliness the cold seems to bring.
He still has a family to care for though. Eurwen and Oisín might be in Nerine, Breckin having retreated as well - it starts to worry him, but he simply doesn’t know what to do about it either; he’s not that good with expressing his feelings, ironic as his explosive emotions may be - but Aodhán and Ilan are still here (the latter is, at least… fae know where the gold-spotted boy runs off to every other day).
They’re like him, and not. That’s a good thing, for the world probably can’t handle too much of him. In fact, with Chryseis, Ophanim, Naia and Thorgal around as well, it’s good that they all take enough after their mother to not be a constant burden on the world like he is (was?) himself. (Oh, if he knew what they were actually doing these days.)
But in Breckin’s absence, he becomes a single father as well as a leader, and it is as such that he beelines for the 6-month-old spotted boy soon as he sees him, nuzzles his head in greeting, and grins at the spark in his eyes. “You’re never gonna find this sight anywhere else.” he promises; it’s true that the Northern Lights combined with the lightning storm are unique for this place in the world, even if in other places, lightning is not uncommon.
And uniqueness, is something Leilan appreciates the most in everything and everyone - forever he’s tried to not be boring, even if perhaps some youths may think he is now.
Leilan
no. 7 | ice forged in fire
So I finally replied, I’m sorry it took me so long
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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