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i trust my life to ghosts, any - camellia - 06-30-2021 she looks like sleep to the freezing
This, the natural progression of things. She could not have survived in the heat of Tephra. No, she is made for and of winter; she belongs here in this land of snow and ice. She does not (cannot) say goodbye to the sisters she leaves behind. As much as it pains her to abandon them, she cannot risk returning to Tephra to do so. So, she only hopes that they know that she loves them and begins her journey from the dark, cold heart of the forest. Even in autumn, she leaves a trail of snow in her wake as she travels. For days she travels, through Taiga and Nerine. Up to the coast, where she calls upon the cold to freeze the stretch of water separating the Isle from the mainland so that she can cross. But there must be some mistake because the stretch of beach here is barren, black and bare. There is no ice here, no snow. She glances over her shoulder at the rapidly melting ice behind her, watching as it dissolves into the sea. Had she somehow gone astray? Where could she have strayed off course? Is this not the northernmost land? Snow collects around her, as it is wont to do, even without her having to call upon it but this is snow that belongs to her alone and has nothing to do with the landscape itself. She resolves to rest here awhile before she returns to the mainland and tries to figure out where she made the wrong turn that led her to this strange land that she had thought would be the Isle but cannot possibly be. camellia
RE: i trust my life to ghosts, any - Nashua - 09-08-2021 telling dreams from one another The cold no longer bites against him as it once did. @camellia i know this is from a million years ago but i wanted to get something up <3 RE: i trust my life to ghosts, any - camellia - 09-08-2021
She is never truly alone.
There is the wind and the ice and the snow. The storm that she calls to rest on her shoulders, the storm that bends around her, kisses her softly while it ravages the landscape around her. There is no storm now, though. Only the snow that collects at her feet, slow and lazy like a dream. It melts faster than it can accumulate, which makes her feel as if it is endless and all the more beautiful for it. But she loses track of how much time passes with only the snow as her companion. Hours? Days? It’s hard to tell. Not that it matters much, she reasons, because she will be gone soon enough. Or so she thinks. She spots the pegasus from some great distance because he is the only thing that moves. And she waits, the snow still falling slow around her, collecting in the tangles of her mane, the ice-kissed ropes of her tail. He does not greet her as a threat so she does not react like one. Instead, she calls off the snow, so it is simply the two of them there on the beach. And the smile is cold, if only because she is a thing carved from ice, when she nods. But she does not speak until he offers his name and she responds in kind, “Camellia.” At his question, she turns her gaze down the beach and lets loose a soft breath that twists out of her mouth like vapor. “I had hoped to make Icicle Isle my home,” she explains, “but I fear I must have made a wrong turn someplace.” She shifts her focus back to the pegasus, shackling the glacial blue stare to his face when she says, “I hope you don’t mind my resting here until I have the energy to make the journey back.” @Nashua RE: i trust my life to ghosts, any - Nashua - 09-09-2021 telling dreams from one another Nashua is used to the cold, so it is familiar when he sees it in the aloof smile of this stranger. RE: i trust my life to ghosts, any - camellia - 09-09-2021
She makes no effort to hide the surprise that flickers across her face.
This is the Isle? She turns her face from him then and studies the beach as it stretches toward the horizon. Barren. The only snow that exists here is the snow she has brought with her, the snow that collects along her spine and melts at her feet. The only ice that exists is her skin. There is hope yet. And she shifts her cool focus back to him, Nashua, when he speaks again. The other side of the Isle, is that where she will find her beloved winter? Is that where the ice beckons? She nods her understanding but does not ask the questions that immediately come to mind. Instead, she glances at all the bare, open space that yawns outward away from them and asks, “what happened to it?” The landscape, the ice, everything she had come to find. He invites her to stay but she does not react. (Had she expected those in the North to be so welcoming? How could she have known to expect anything at all? She had not grown up with stories. No, she had grown up chasing the cold. She had left Tephra as early as she could to escape the oppressive heat there. She had returned only briefly to visit with her sisters, only to steal away again just as quickly as she had come.) It’s almost as if she has not heard him at all. (And maybe she hasn’t, distracted as she is by the way she mourns for the winter that must have existed here on this beach sometime ago. It could not have always looked like this. And the thought of snow melting, of ice shrinking, it bruises her heart far worse than anything else ever could.) Finally, she draws her attention back to him and exhales another wintry sigh. “No, I suspect not,” she says and tilts her head, the cracks in the ice growing the same glacial blue as her eyes when she studies him. “Not everyone is built for the cold.” RE: i trust my life to ghosts, any - Nashua - 09-12-2021 telling dreams from one another The storm that graces the Northen island looks around, and appears mildly surprised at what she sees. His pale mouth twitches, tempting to quirk into a lopsided smile. Nashua wonders what she makes of this place, but then refrains from asking, thinking it might be an impolite and perhaps prying question when they have only just met. RE: i trust my life to ghosts, any - camellia - 09-14-2021
Spring (and she thinks of Silene) and then summer (and she thinks of Aestas and he makes no mention of fall, but she thinks of Lyali still).
Of course she understands the passing of seasons, she and her sisters had each been crafted to represent each one, but she’d been led to believe that the Isle knew only perpetual winter. She does not speak, only considers the mountains and then what he says lies beyond them. There she will find her perpetual winter and she takes some small comfort in knowing that it is there, that she is close. She shifts her weight and shifts her focus back to his face, the corners of her mouth tilting upward in a cool smile at his appraisal. “I was not always so well-suited,” she tells him, remembering the earliest days of her childhood when she could still rest comfortably in Tephra. The days when she had chased the cold simply for the thrill of it, when her travels to the common lands had nothing to do with survival. “But my soul has only ever been winter,” she continues, “and the body has ways of adapting.” As she’s certain he must know by now, a thing like him living in perpetual cold. He must have his own ways of dealing with it. “What drew you to the cold?” she asks, never shifting her glacial stare from his face. RE: i trust my life to ghosts, any - Nashua - 09-24-2021 telling dreams from one another He finds his own smile lifting in response to her cool one. RE: i trust my life to ghosts, any - camellia - 09-25-2021
He smiles at her and says loyalty and she understands on some level.
(Is it not loyalty that has driven her north? Loyalty to the storm, the snow, the cold. The ice. She had pledged her allegiance to winter even before she’d taken her first breath. Their mother had carefully crafted each daughter to represent the seasons and she, the fourth daughter, had taken winter into her soul in the womb. And she would remain loyal.) She shifts her weight and nods. She wonders if he’s died, this father figure, but she does not ask. It’s none of her business and she’s uncertain if it matters at all. The pegasus standing before her is the commander of the north, she understands, and this is all that matters. (How strange it is that someone not built for the cold would come to call it his.) She draws in a long breath and glances back at him at his question, pulling the glacial stare from the mountains and shackling it to his face again. “Yes,” she says, plainly. She is not demure, Camellia, she does not grin and ask him if he wouldn’t mind showing her more of his home. It is blunt. She belongs to the cold, the winter, and she wants to see the part of the Isle that might nurture her cold, cold heart. Had she more energy, she could have brought the snow to herself. She could have blanketed this stretch of beach in ice, but she is tired. The snow continues to fall on her back, but only to protect the ice from the sun beating on them from overhead. “Lead the way,” she says and then, perhaps remembering her manners, smiles again. @Nashua RE: i trust my life to ghosts, any - Nashua - 10-02-2021 telling dreams from one another Nashua has no loyalty to the cold. (And if the legends were true, Winter itself had once been the enemy of his bloodline. His ancestors had been born golden and blue-eyed like his mother, like his brother Yanhua. Descendants of the Summer line. He had been born strange, green-eyed and striped. Even his pale grandmother had remarked how different he had been from them.) |