I've walked close to Heaven's gates, I've tasted the sweet air above, felt the soft cloud lull me to sleep. When you have been cradled in the soft grip of death, of life's forgotten mercy. You long for it, the soft clouds that wrap you up in cotton and keep you safe. Those trumpets, those dear golden harps. If only, if only I could hear them. Could hear their beautiful song that beckons me to them, to the end, to the final.But there is no final, and there is no end, at least not yet, not for me. The sky says that I am too young, the earth, tells me I'm too weak. And the wind, it whispers into my deafened lobes that I, I have something to do here. And I am meant to understand this? Stricken in the earthy loam of autumn's grasp. Cold, against the frostbitten winds of a promised winter. My ghostly pelt shivers, fine, against the chill. I feel far too old,and yet I am far from. I can feel the age creep in my bones, knitting together as one.
Every movement causes ache, every shift of my crown, to gaze at the birds above, hurts. And yet it shouldn't. three summers I have seen, three years of looking and staring, and now being allowed to hear the voices of the world, speak the tentative words upon my lips. Three summers, and yet it feels like three hundred.I see them, those delicate avian creatures. They sing, I am sure, but never, never have I heard their beautiful song. I try and imagine it, feel the tune through my thickened skull. And it hurts, it is a spear, driven into my very core. And it buries itself there, deeper and deeper with every aching thought of it. to feel useless, to feel a burden upon the world. I motion through the field, each fine limb knotting with the leaves.
The self-indulgent, loathing thought sits behind my eyes, like a burning blister. Hot, rampant as it takes to torrenting down my spine, every nodule releasing a sharp torrent of memory.My pace is slow, laboured, as I seem to crawl with weary limbs over the dying grass of the field. My form almost illuminated in the sunshine as it shines down upon me, picking out the creamy gold tones splashed across my pale for. The sun, is the only thing that has been ever present in my life, the only thing that has stuck by me. the sunlight. The warmth. It truly never gets to the cold, frozen depths of my heart. Never. My blue eyes lift up to watch as the silhouettes of the birds fly above, I can only imagine their sweet song. I could never mimic it either.
My songless mouth opens, wishing, hoping that one day I could release a song of my own. but the hope is fruitless.I've not know much, except the ringing, the tolling bell in my mind. The cursed sonless tongue of mine, that sticks against the roof of my mouth. The hope tries to bathe me in a blanket of reassurance. It will be different here, surely. Perhaps.. Perhaps it would be different now. Perhaps indeed.
elyvian you don't remember me, but I remember you
 the ones that love me, i tend to leave behind I’d left at daybreak and taken my time getting to the Field. There is no rush, not on such a lovely fall day as this, and I enjoy the feel of the warm sun on my pale back and the breeze as it blows back my black mane. I’ve kept my tail as it is most comfortable: thick, well-muscled, and tipped with four long golden spikes that match the scaling pattern on my muzzle. There are far stranger things in Beqanna than a three-year old mare partially shifted into a stegosaurus – aren’t there?
I’ve told myself that anyone not put off by my appearance is likely to be a good candidate for the Amazons. I repeat that to myself as I stand at the edge of the Field, looking over the well-populated area and slowly realizing that absolutely no one seems to care what I look like. I’m just another body here (at least not a homeless body) and I blend right in. It’s relaxing, almost, and I take a deep breath before pressing forward.
The brightness of her coat is the first thing that catches my eye. She’s lovely, like sunshine and clouds at the same time, and I switch my straight path to come closer. I bob my head and smile warmly, my green eyes bright and curious. “Hello!” I say brightly, “My name’s Ephrelle. What’s your name?”
e p h r e l l e
if you know about me and choose to stay
then take this pleasure and take it with the pain
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GRYFFEN
Somehow Aoki had slipped through their fingers. Either she had been consumed by wolves or destroyed by that Crow creature she constantly babbled about. Either way she was missing. Now he had to find a new gift for the Chamber to play with. He would rather be here to add to his own private collection but sometimes sacrifices must be made. Watching from the cool shadows, crimson eyes betraying his presence. Searching for something that might draw his interest. Something broken that can be rebuilt the way he wanted it to be.
He had been watching the champagne mare for awhile, her bright coat making her stand out of the crowd. What drew his full focus was her labored maneuvering, every step she took seemed to bring her close to collapsing. Easy pickings that one. Another mare, strange looking thing at that, approaches to greet her. The Chamber ghost had started to amble over in their direction, ears swiveling and muzzle extended to catch what this one would offer. His nostrils wrinkle in disgust. Ugh, a jungle girl. He wasn’t quite fond of the Amazons with it’s humidity though he didn’t despise them as he did the Gates.
Ephrelle or whatever her name is greets the mare and the mare says nothing. At this point he has reached them and he settles before them, red eyes blazing as he bores into the quiet female. ”Cat got your tongue?” He asks tauntingly. His head tilts slightly, glancing at the Amazonian before looking back to the girl he was intent on taking. ”Very rude if you ask me, not saying hello to someone so intent on recruiting you.”
The Chamber Ghost / Big Bad Wolf
Shimmering gold ears flop uselessly atop my crown, flickering with every movement I make. My steps hardly swallow the earth, they are dainty and sure, the only thing I am quite certain is how my hooves sink into the soft ground, lost by the knolls of dying grass and soft earth. My eyes, they drink everything in. the brightness of the day, even for approaching winter's cold reign, it was brighter. But everything was brighter when you relied on one sense.
Teal eyes find someone approaching; I was certain she was going to pass me, they always do. They must sense the dormant ears and the wordless tongue before I even cast them a single look. But she doesn't, she strolls over. And my eyes find every part of her as alluring as what I am sure her voice is. I study her face, watch every motion of her lips. Name. Oh, she wants my name. Her smile is exuberant, it matches her strange additions. Like gnarled roots that intertwine with the mother oak, she is sturdy, strong. And young, still limber enough to traverse greater than most.
Then another joins. His eyes are what pierce through me; crimson and impenetrable. I shiver then, finding his gaze most mistrustful. I try and capture his lips, but they move too fast and from what I gather, it isn't the pleasantries the first mare offers. I shake my head, dormant ears twitching, lost within the mounds of cream and gold. I open my mouth, salmon tongue moistening lips, before I word, silently, every syllable attempting to roll off my tonge.
Elyvian. silent, it is always silent. Always the whirr of nothingness. An oblivion. Perhaps, perhaps this is what death would sound like as someone took the final blow. I shiver at the thought, just as the cold breeze knots my mane and caresses my thin skin. I am Elyvian. I mouth, turning my bright teal gaze to the ash mottled girl. Trying to smile, trying to do. I feel the ghostly man's gaze dig ever deeper, as if trying to stretch errant fingers into my soul. Proving into the throes of my heart. His stare is troubling all the same. I stare at him, pointedly, teal eyes like glass, fragile and reflective. I mouth, purposefully. Very rude to stare.
elyvian you don't remember me, but I remember you
the ones that love me, i tend to leave behind I can feel a flush coming on, the uncertainty of my own appearance coupled with the piercing eyes of the gold and white mare. Is there something wrong with me? Something worse than I’d thought? I glance down, momentarily concerned, but I seem the same as I had a moment ago. By the time I look up again, her focus has shifted to the red-eyed stallion. She stares him down just as seriously, and as I follow the direction of her blue eyes I see that she is watching his mouth. I glance up and see that her ears are not flicking like I am so used to, and I realize that she must be deaf.
I don’t have time to think about how a deaf mare might fit in the Jungle, because I’m distracted by the pale stallion. Something about him seems off, and makes the hair on my spine shift. I do not like him, I’ve decided. “It’s okay,” I say when he calls her rude, not wanting her to think that I feel the same way. As soon as the words fall from my tongue I wince – she can’t hear me anyway. Then she speaks – or I assume she speaks, her mouth is moving even though there is no sound. I have no skill with lip reading whatsoever, but I’m astute enough to pick up that the first word she’d said was probably her name. I try to recreate the motion of her lips with my own, but the only sound I am sure she has made was a “Vee”. Something Vee, I presume.
When Vee mouths something at the cremello stallion, it’s easy enough to tell from her body language that she’s equally put off by him, even if I have no idea what she’s saying. I’m not entirely sure how to proceed when I can’t hear her and she can’t hear me. I suppose she did seem to understand my asking her name, so perhaps yes-or-no questions are a safe bet. Even I can tell a nod from a head-shake. “Are you here looking for a home?”
e p h r e l l e
if you know about me and choose to stay
then take this pleasure and take it with the pain
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