"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
12-02-2017, 12:11 PM (This post was last modified: 12-11-2017, 08:03 AM by AuroraElis.)
AuroraElis
With each changing season her son grew bigger and stronger. His first days, turning to weeks. Before long he was racing along with the other foals of Tephra. Exploring new sights and smells. She smiled at the exploration of their world.
Finally he was old enough they could travel to the playground, where he could meet foals from all over Beqanna. To broaden his horizons. So with a whicker she calls him to follow her and off they venture.
Winter is fast approaching. Which also means their first Christmas would come soon enough. Her honey eyes look to Phoebus, who is happily prancing by her side with excitement. Where are we going momma? He questions. She sweetly replies, “On an adventure.”
He is evermore curious as they cross into the playground. Foals of all colors and sizes are running about. Some he recognizes, others he does not. She stops and looks out to the crop of young. “Go gather your friends… I have a story to tell,” she whispers to him with a hint of mystery to her voice. He quickly bounds off, calling to his friends to gather around his mother.
Once they are seated around her, she quiets them. They fidget and giggle as all children can't help but do. “Ok. Quiet now. I have a story about Christmas to tell you all.” She grins as they look to her, eyes wide with wonder, “Each year, when the snow begins to fall, we celebrate Christmas. It is a time for friends and family to gather. To share gifts and stories. Bring tasty treats to a friend… but most importantly, if each of you are good boys and girls, Santa will visit.” She emphasizes Santa with a raise in her voice and surprise in her features. Her gown of feathers shuffle slightly before she continues, “Santa lives at the North Pole and he keeps a list of all the children of Beqanna. He is also always watching, and he knows who has been naughty and who has been nice… Then… on Christmas Eve he visits all the good children to deliver the gift they wished for…” She pauses as a tiny hoof extends into the air, “Yes? Do you have a question?” She asks the springy foal.
“How does Santa know what we wish for?”
She smiles, “Well that's a good question. There are a few ways… Some wish very, very hard and Santa hears them. Others go find Santa to tell him their wish…”Tiny faces turn to one another in thought. She waits a moment before she interrupts their curious minds, “Well… What are you waiting for? Go on an adventure. Find Santa and tell him your wish.” Honey eyes watch as they scramble to their feet. Some head in a familiar direction, some to places they have never been. Others form a group, perhaps with a sibling or friend. They scamper off, one by one, in excitement on what is in store…
Rules:
-Entries limited to foals born/joined in November and September
-One entry per player
-No word count min/max
-No defects. Just eliminations. *If you missed the deadline/didn't follow instructions you are essentially out. There is no penalty.
-The players that won the TOP 4 prizes in Cryptid Quest are exempt from participating. *Since the Demon Quest is still active the players still in that quest can participate in Xmas Quest*
-Winners will be chosen for originality, creativeness, fun to read, and of course grammar
Round One:
-Start your character in the playground then gathering, listening to the story. What do they do, think?
-Describe where your foal goes.
-Are they alone or do they join up with a partner(limited to one partner). Please post separately but you'll have to collaborate ooc so the posts make sense when put together).
-Be descriptive of the area around them. What they do, see, hear, smell. This is creative writing.
-End your post with finding a creature.(Do NOT describe it yet)
-This is the joining post so any participating must enter below
Deadline 12-10-17 @11:59pm cst
*There will be three rounds. Each five days apart*
His mother is relentless. His thin body is already scattered with a plethora of puckered, fresh scars and healing scrapes and new, wet cuts. The bruises blossom under his smoky silver coat and make his young, thin face curl into expressions of ache and distress. She feeds him, but only enough to keep him away from the brink of death (he is alive but still starving, drastically thin but still growing). There is still something whispering (“He is your son” and “Don’t be a failure as a mother” and “At least until he needs your teat no longer”) in the depths of her mind that allows him to suckle from her.
It is one of her many sour moods that sends him plodding toward the playground. As he’s gotten older, Babadook has been able to sense the growing storm within her. He’s watched the way her eyes darken with a surreal sort of gloom, he’s heard the mumblings under her breath that he knows will cascade into screaming, he’s seen the way her hips swing in a thought to kick and her ears pin and her tail cracks against her heels. So he leaves, without so much as a whisper of a goodbye in her direction, knowing that she might barely notice his absence.
The skinny boy is surprised to see a mother among the crowd of youngsters. He’s been watching from the shadows as mothers and fathers drop off their children with a grateful look toward the fairies. He can see the way their shoulders seem lighter as they leave, away from the babbling questions and constant guidance. But he’s also seen the mothers and fathers return. Babadook has seen the children come running back, seen the way the parents’ faces light up with happiness, seen the way they trot away with their shoulders brushing.
This mother is one of the gentle ones. He is drawn to her warmth. Even as she whispers to her son and watches him scramble away, he is close by. His muscles are sore (from racing away from her biting words, from getting shoved into the tree a week ago, from trembling during the cold spring night when she would offer him no shelter against her belly) so he does not chase the fillies or play-fight with the colts.
Babadook watches as the kind mother’s son gathers children from all around the playground. Although he wasn’t invited — he rarely has been invited to anything, with his ribs poking through his sides and his wounds dappling his body and his thin, angular cheeks frightening the girls away — he finds himself settling on the outskirts of the crowd.
Her voice is soothing.
He finds it hard to stay awake.
But then she is speaking about someone new, someone he’s never heard of before. Santa. His ears prick up at the unfamiliar word and then his eyes latch onto her face more fervently when she says Santa gives whatever the child wishes for. Hope glows in his abused little heart. All he’s ever wished for is his mother’s love (the love that covers his bruised face in kisses, the love that pulls him close when the wolves howl, the love that feeds him until he is full and bloated).
The mother challenges them to find Santa and tell him their wish. Her urging voice and the desire in his heart causes his skinny, bleeding little body to leap to its feet before he can comprehend what’s happening. Santa could make his mother love him. If only Babadook can find him.
Babadook doesn’t scamper back into the forest, like some of the more adventurous might do. He knows what’s waiting for him in the shadows (a fierce mother who might rage that he is back to annoy her more than he has already done) and an instinctive shudder crawls along his spine. Maybe the next time he returns to her, she will welcome him with warm huffs and gentle cuddles.
He turns toward the small stream curving along the playground’s border. If Santa has to travel all around Beqanna to deliver all the gifts, he must have to stop at some point for something to drink. Babadook plans to follow the stream’s path until it ends or converges with something mightier. He wades along the shallows, enjoying the coolness of the water on his fetlocks. Eventually the stream curves past the playground’s borders and he moves out of the sight of the fairies.
The current is happily bubbling as Babadook walks, and he finds his mood lifted for the first time in a long time. Nature has always made the skinny boy happy, especially when it comes to wrap its comforting arms around him following an abusive episode with his mother. He finds himself babbling back to the stream.
“I hope you don’t mind me following you, stream. I’m looking for Santa! He’s supposed to grant me a wish and I want him to make my mama love me… She isn’t like other mama’s, but that makes her even more special. I just want hugs sometimes, and maybe for her to not get so mad when I’m hungry. Oh no!”
His thought process is abruptly cut off by the sight of a tree having fallen on its side to block the path. During his walk, the stream had grown wider and deeper. Babadook is mature enough to know that he won’t be able to swim across the expanse, not with how sore his muscles are and how weak his strength is. The roots of the tree twist and tangle with the undergrowth a few feet away from the path the colt has been following. The curve of the trunk comes to Babadook’s shoulder.
Maybe he can jump over it? Maybe he can scoot across it?
He decides to try and jump over the trunk, though it results in a bit of a combination of the two options. He almost clears the bark, but it roughly scrapes on the soft underside of his belly. A cry rips from his mouth as he slides down the other side of the tree’s trunk. He can feel a few cuts on his belly, but the sting is familiar to him by now. The injuries are deep but superficial (though full of splinters nonetheless) and blood begins to drip onto the moist soil beside the stream not long after he begins moving again.
Babadook chooses to wade through the shallows once more, allowing the blood to darken the stream’s clear waters to a deep red before melting away. He’s bled in the wilderness alone long enough to know that a scent trail of blood would lead the predators right toward him. The scenery around him has changed following the tree obstacle. Where before the trail had been cheery and inviting, this new one is more tangled and shadowed. Babadook feels anxiety itching along his spine and he begins to talk to the shadows to calm himself.
“Hi, shadows. You’re kinda scaring me and I really don’t want to be scared. I’m on an adventure given to me by the nice mama and I’m trying to be brave. Please don’t bring any wolves or scary monsters to eat me, because then my mama will never, ever love me.”
He quiets, then. The deeper portions of the stream curve closer to the shoreline and Babadook is forced to step onto the muddy bank. Roots and vines entangle the trail as he winds along. Although he is looking for Santa, Babadook makes sure his eyes don’t peer too deeply into the darkness. He’s seen what lingers in them before (it had been one of the few times his mother had allowed his quivering frame close to her breast) and he doesn’t want to see ever again.
There’s a snap of weight on twigs and Babadook jumps, twisting toward the sound with a scream of fright already bubbling on his lips.
12-05-2017, 03:11 PM (This post was last modified: 12-05-2017, 03:22 PM by Provoke.)
provoke
She was unusual.
She knew her mother, but she did not know her father. Maybe that was normal in this place... This place they called...Beqanna. Everyone looked like her, or so it seemed. They were built like her. Their faces bled together, and she recognized features that were similar to hers in the eyes of so many others. And yet, as Auntie Aurora told them all the story of a man name Sandee Claws.... and how he brought toys to all the good little boys and girls, she could not help but let her mind wander. She was probably the only teal and purple one here. Her eyes wandered over them, in their beautiful shades of brown, black, and grey, and found herself wanting.
She'd give anything to be normal.
So Auntie Aurora called them all and continues her story, her eyes bright and full of promise and wonder. Provoke was in another place entirely. To another world where the place where Sandee Claws was a terrible monster, with long black claws, snatching children from their mamas. A place where the stars keep spinning. Her body left behind, she is on a great journey. Her little teal body shivers, and the echos of the story are still in her mind, but her eyes give way to her greatest fears... fears she never knew she had.... but was sure she'd have these fears the rest of her life. And so, as the story comes to an end, she feels her essence sinking back into her body with a thud, and she shook her head, and then shuddered, her ears going back and her tail between her legs as she cowered close to the ground.
"NO SANDEE! DON'T TAKE ME! I PROMISE I'll BE GOOD!"
There is no noise. A beat, and then she opens her eyes. Auntie Aurora blinks twice.. Are you okay, little one? And all the other kids started to laugh. Loud, long howls of laughter and cruel snorts and squeals as they turn to her. Provoke blushes, turning sheepish. I did it again, didn't I? She does not know where she goes. She has always been absent minded. Her mother always told her so. She does not know why she can leave her body and look at down at herself... or peer into other places. But whenever she appears to land back inside her body...It's always so embarrasing!
She'd give anything to be normal.
"I'm sorry, Auntie Aurora. I didn't mean to interrupt."
This time, she pays attention, staying quiet as a mouse, her bright blue eyes trained on the story, sitting at the back of the group, determined to stay inside her body—trying to forget the scary Sandee Claws image she had seen on her travels... Sandee Claws was a good creature... He was not a sand monster.
Was he?
And so, when Auntie Aurora concludes the story and sends the children to actually go FIND Sandee....Provoke shivers. She doesn't want to go. And after all of the children have left, she finds that she stays put, looking at Aurora with knowing eyes. Knowing that Sandee is not all that Auntie Aurora said he was. Aurora turns kind eyes to the little teal girl, her heart in her eyes. What is wrong, little one? Why haven't you left with the others?
"I'm afraid. I don't want to go."
Aurora smiles at her with kind eyes, and gently, she nudges Provoke out of her place in the dirt. You cannot always be afraid, little one. Go on an adventure. See where it takes you.
Provoke smiles weakly, and nods, her ears going back and her tail going between her legs as she carries her brightly colored body down the path, and into the woods.
Because she left so much later than the other kids, Provoke knew she was so far behind the rest of the other foals. The sun was setting, and the fingers of the trees were reaching down into the branches, obscuring her way. Shadows were casting their ghosts across the forest, and the eerie sounds of the dark soon became louder. Provoke slowed. She was too far to turn back now... but there was no way she was going to make it to the end. She was on her own tonight. And for a little girl who was already afraid...
She continues on, more slowly, taking measured, careful steps, careful to stay on the path that Auntie Aurora set out for her. The path that would be safest. Looking around, she starts to whimper, ever on the lookout. Across the way, she hears a dragging of leaves. A crack of a thick tree branch.
Provoke stops. Squealing, she tucks her tail and runs like crazy, bumping head long into.... It. She shivers, and screams, dropping back down into the dirt and covering her head with her legs.
"Please, Sandee Claws....Please don't eat me! I promise I'll be good!"
» death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily «
He grows stronger on his new mother’s milk, bolder, though the nightmares have not abated quite yet. He dreams of his birth mother - her scent, her feel, her dark coat. And he is uncertain of his new siblings, these brothers and sisters Femur provides for him, so on this particular winter day the colt slips away, steps and wingbeats carrying him swiftly to the playground. He watches the other foals, delighting in their games and successes, but he does not join in. None of the little play groups feel quite right to him. So he is still watching, longingly, when the big person wanders in, a colt at her side.
Gansey’s eyes go wide - adults are not allowed here! - but he edges closer, keeping to the periphery of the group as she begins to tell her story. He is quiet, does not forget like the rest, looks like the perfectly behaved little boy; but his mind wanders. He looks at her wings, admiring the pretty feathers, he looks at the other children, trying to mimic their more childlike behaviors; but he cannot bring himself to speak out of turn or to ask any questions. Not like the others, who are bright and noisy and mosey. Gansey is serious, considering with a frown on his face, tryin to decide what he wants for this Christmas. All too soon she is finished with her store, and she sends them away.
He sets off on his own, still uncertain of what to ask this Santa for if he finds him. Probably his mother back - but that seems beyond even Santa’s power. Still. Or perhaps - and here he shudders - he has not been a good boy. Maybe that is why his mother had left him - or at least, that’s what the creatures in his nightmares keep telling him.
Gansey knows he’s never met ‘Santa’ before, so he can’t live any of the places the colt has been before. Setting off on his own, he heads to the Meadow first. Approaching several different horses, the little pegasus oh-so-politely asks if they’ve seen Santa. Some laugh, some are gentle, some are mean but the answer is consistent: they haven’t seen or met anyone named Santa.
He perseveres, even though he is starting to get tired, and wanders across unfamiliar territory for long hours, asking everyone who will listen. The ground is grass, and the loan, and finally sand beneath his hooves. The air here is still and quiet and uncomfortable, the beach he landed on silent except the crashing of the not-so-distant waves on the shore and the occasional seabird. None of them couldpoint him in the right direction and he’s tired, and hungry, and Femur is sure to have missed him by now.
Gansey is just about to take flight and try to get un-lost by air when there is a rustle in the sand, and he spins around to look at the creature behind him, gasping out “Santa?” in a nervous voice.
gansey
and I've become unequipped with the ability to disarm them
12-07-2017, 01:37 AM (This post was last modified: 12-07-2017, 01:45 AM by Valensia.)
Valensia
She wants to learn to fly, but a part of her is a little scared that it won’t work because of the bone wing. Standing still, holding her breath, and squeezing her eyes shut tight; she flaps vigorously lacking all grace and elegance in doing this. So far it hasn’t worked, but this could just be lack of training. It’s in the middle of her attempts that a jumpy young colt urges her to join in the bustle of children gathering around a mare. Startled by his sudden appearance her feathered wing slaps his face. I’m so sor... The child doesn’t let her finish the gasping sentence. Instead he urges her to listen to the story that is about to be told.
Val doesn't exactly remember why it is that mama sends her to play in the playground. Leaving Tephra isn’t exactly something she planned on doing any time soon. The delicate filly has been spending most of her time becoming familiar with the land she is being raised in. Nibbling on her lip she debates on this for a moment, she didn’t want to come to the playground in the first place, but hearing a story? It’s a tempting moment. Shifting in her indecision soon she finds herself edging into the excited group.
Glancing over the faces one in particular stands out her, and for a moment her ears perk up, a goofy grin lighting up her face. Before she reaches him, she is jostled backwards away from Gansey and drowned within the sea of bodies. Disappointment sinks her stomach to the depths of earth, she is pretty sure that he hadn’t even noticed her presence. In a way it stings her, and she doesn’t quite understand why. She wants all her siblings to be happy, to get along, and love the life they have; just as she, herself, does. Now that the story is starting it’s too late for her to get his attention. She half listens to the mare, not fully paying attention, to focused on Gansey and the look on his face. The filly knows that look on her sibling’s face all too well; he hasn’t been sleeping again. No matter how hard she tries to work up her courage though she hasn’t been able to bring herself to reach out to him yet.
Val tries to focus on the woman’s words, maybe this is why mama wanted me to come here. She knows that mama worries about Gansey, and loves them all; but they are still learning to be a family, and for some of them adjusting isn’t a walk in the park. The story ends, and while others ask questions she remains silent hoping against hope that Gansey would see her. It doesn’t happen though, and she forces herself to focus on the woman’s command. If, after, her attention diverted back to the mare he happens to notice her; Val is to wrapped up in deciding where she will go to return the favor.
Somehow, after a bit of aimless walking she finds herself by the riverbank where several adults are gathered. She looks from to another unsure quite how to politely interrupt them. She nibbles her lip once more before clearing her throat timidly. Please, can you tell me where to find Santa? Wide eyed and hopeful, she looks from one to the other as they stare back at the filly in shock. It’s only when she warbles her ears nervously that they burst out with laughter commenting on how cute kids can be, and oh isn’t it precious that they believe so easily. Asking where Santa Claus is appears to be harder than she originally thought.
She begins again, choosing another path to follow, and this one leads up the side of a mountain. Here she picks her way carefully through the sharp rocks along the craggy cliffs. As she goes up, the air thins. It’s cold but clear, nothing like the cloying scent of lush vegetation in her home of Tephra. Pausing halfway up before the fog cover completely obliterates her vision she takes a few huffing breathes. Taking time to look around below her; Val notices that it’s a long way down, and the black roan filly begins to question her sanity in coming up here. A clattering stone tumbles past her, and when she looks to the source of it her eyes squint trying to capture the shadowy shape emerging from the fog. Her eyes widen, this time it's surprise rather than the hope and innocence of a youth. Santa? S-she said to look for you, I hope that is alright? Val shifts nervously ears perked forward.
“And there was you - your fair self, always delicately dressed, with white firm fingers sure of touch in delicate true work. I loved you then.” - Charlotte Gilman
12-07-2017, 03:25 PM (This post was last modified: 12-08-2017, 02:59 AM by Margaux.)
These are a few of my favorite things.
There was just something about winter that she loved. It was cold and slippery and at times unforgiving. But it was also full of white shiningness and transformed landscapes. The little red filly loved following the tracks of others in the crisp snow, trailing after deer and rabbits, learning how they spent their days. Stay right here, baby, mama's got to be alone for a little while. I'll be back later. Be good sweetheart, I love you more than you'll ever know. It had been a few weeks now, since mama had whispered those words in her tiny ear. She hadn't seen hide or hair of the sad-eyed lady since then.
She had done as mama had said, though, she had stayed put. The playground fairies had seen to it that she didn't starve, and there were always new foals to play with. She had mastered hiding at the end of the day, when their mamas and papas came to collect them. It had gotten tiring after the first couple days, having to smile up at well-meaning faces, and explain how "yes, mama would be here soon, she must be running late." It wasn't a lie, exactly. Mama said she'd be back later...
It was another snowy day, the sunshine making the trees sparkle magically. She had been attending to the half grown fox cub she'd found yesterday. The poor baby had been half frozen, curled up beneath a yew bush. After a night thawing out, sleeping on the girl's fluffy flank, he seemed to be doing much better. She was following the bushy red creature around the clearing, watching him sniff for mice at the bases of trees, when a colt came to the playground accompanied by the most beautiful mare she had ever seen. She stopped in her tracks, in awe of the brilliantly caped lady. Not wanting to be rude or draw argon to herself, she quickly turned back to the foxling. She was just quick enough to see him catch and wolf down a wriggling brown mouse. A grimace passed over her face, but she shrugged to herself. He could feed himself, so she didn't have to worry about that...
She was taken by surprise when a few minutes later, the colt that had come in by the stunning mare's side walked up to her, and invited her to come gather with the rest of the children. "Oh... alright then!" She decided, smiling at the younger boy. Playing with the others was still fun, even though she was more focused on her canine companion at the moment. Trotting off towards the rest of the group, she noticed a flicker of red out of the corner of her eye. Her new fox friend was following her now!
They made it to the little cluster of children who had gathered around the peacock lady. Margaux was phased to discover that her voice matched her lovely appearance, and when she started her story, it was easy to pay attention to. So involved did she get in the tale of mysterious Santa Claus, that she squealed a bit when the fox cub leaped to perch on her back. She snorted at him in annoyance, then looked around nervously, hoping she hadn't interrupted too badly. It didn't look like it. Soon, too soon, they were being dismissed.
Margaux looked around. Though she was the smallest one there, she could see that she was a bit older than most of the foals here today. The red pony filly watched as they wandered off in different directions, chattering excitedly about finding Santa. It was a cute story, but were they actually meant to find him? She glanced back at the fox, who had made himself very comfortable in the soft curve of her spine during the story. "Well... I guess it couldn't hurt to look?" She said to him, not expecting an answer. She got what she expected, which was a toothy yawn and a blink of golden eyes. A giggle escaped her, and she set off across the playground, searching for Santa.
The fox decided he wasn't keen on her stumbling through belly high snow drifts, so he hopped down, and trotted off in another direction. "Hey! Hey come back!" She hollered after him, suddenly afraid that he was going to leave and never come back. Like mama... no, she mustn't think like that. Swallowing back the hard lump that had sprouted in her throat, she cantered after the white tipped tail. If he wanted to lead the way, then fine. But he wasn't leaving her. The pointy nose looked over it's shoulder, making it clear that this was his intention all along. Margaux coughed somewhat wetly, embarrassed at her reaction to a dumb fox walking away from her. With dainty steps, they wandered through ever thickening trees, until she knew they were no longer within playground boundaries. Snow was thin on the ground here, and it was much colder. Suddenly the foxling stopped, staring hard into the shadows. He had caught sight of something she hadnt seen yet. Heart pounding in her ears, she looked this way and that, trying to figure out what he saw. They hadn't found Santa Claus, had they? A wolf seemed more likely, but she was really hoping it was Santa. Santa probably wouldn't eat her. Probably. A sniffle fought it's way from the red girl. Mana wouldn't be able to find her if she got eaten by a wolf.
We cast a long shadow, sucking all the cold beneath
He is not like the rest.
He is not riddled with whimsical fantasies and unrealistic expectations like they are. He was brought forth into a world both restless and cruel, and he held no resentment, and no bitterness. From the moment his lithe and awkward body split apart from the membrane sac that had nurtured him in the womb, he had been forced to know a life without love – without affection. His mother held no love for him (her heart is callous; a shriveled and ugly thing), permitting him to suckle from her swollen teat only when it suited her, to keep the tissue and muscle lining his angular, bony body from falling away. To keep him from falling asunder. When his round and supple belly became too full to sustain the flow of her milk, a swift kick to his ribcage was often enough to stop the rivulets of liquid gold from trickling down his ravenous jaw – but could Thana be blamed?
He is not at all like the rest.
Where blunt and yellowed teeth often lie beyond the parted lips of equine, his were lined neatly with the teeth of a violent predator along a pale pink gum line, sharp and dangerous. Pristine. Too often did he pierce the flesh of his mother when his hunger became voracious, and it was only made worse by the taste of her blood. Alas, he is unshaken when she rebukes him – he does not yearn for her warmth and comfort as all the rest do, perhaps in part because he does not know any different.
Still youthful and unaware that his upbringing is at all unusual, his long and gangly limbs carry him through the thickened brush, without a care and on a whim. He does not carry himself as prey, but as predator – each slow and languid stride uncharacteristically slow and deliberate; lacking the spirit and energy of a child. Across the subtle slope of his dull gray spine, delicate scaling ebbs away at the soft and supple flesh of his hip and legs. Each dark scale lays over another, sheathing him in an iridescent sheen along the lower-half of his body, and each stride forward catches the pale and waning sunlight, as his curiosity is piqued by a gathering.
A gathering no one invited him to; a gathering of what should be those like him -
But he is not like this rest.
They are
(prey)
And he is –
What is he?
He is quiet, moving closer with nary a sound to give him away, and his two-toned gaze of burning scarlet and dreary gray peer over each face, a soft and subtle smile curling at the corner of his lips. Not at all insidious. Not at all threatening. Merely .. enthralled, having never been so close to so many as once, having never been far from the breast of his mother before. He is quiet, and attentive, his focus rapt upon the gleefully woven story of a false prophet and the promise of a gift – with the promise of a wish granted, if only he could find the one dubbed Santa Claus.
He does not wait like the rest.
He is gone, muscle-bound legs bounding through the dense woodland, with the scent of dying hickory and rotting pine to envelope the darkness of his skin. He does not hesitate upon discovering a fallen birch; his speed is only increased, and with a hitch of breath caught in his throat, he is bounding over it, soaring as if a cloaking of winged appendages had sprouted from his muddied flesh, soaring! When he does land, it is anything but graceful (tall and gangling, his legs cannot keep up with his enthusiasm, and he does stumble – but it is a quick recovery, and he is off again).
He would find him first. He would find him before all the rest, to take what is his, to plant the seed of his deepest desire into the heart of the Giver, to make it blackened and cold as all the rest of him was. His lungs are heaving with the frigidity of the air, clutching tightly to the delicate tissue of his alveoli, but he is too captivated by the allure of what could be to stop and rest. When he does finally slow, satisfied that the rest would be left far behind him, his crescent-shaped nostrils tilt toward the dreary sky – inhaling slowly, carefully. Drawing in a breath as if it were his last lifetime; engrossing himself in all that the trail might have to offer. There is something –
Something, so close –
He is not alone.
His pupils dilate as the dry and brittle leaves and fallen bark crunch beneath the weight of another that is not at all like him (not prey, not him), and his heart does palpate roughly inside of his chest – thump, thump, thump, it goes! A wry smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as his ears flatten tightly to the crest of his skull, a wickedness filling his rapidly beating heart. ”There you are,” he muses, without fear, without uncertainty – he is raw energy and pure adrenaline, turning toward the sound. ”I’ve been looking for you, Santa Claus.”
DANTE
but there’s a reason a killer is a lover with a knife in its teeth
Anxiety rattles in her bones and clouds her mind. Fear hung over her head like the darkness of her cave.
This is not entirely her fault, however. She was born to two overbearing parents, who felt a primal need to protect her. From what, she is not entirely sure. All she knows is that she is the least adventurous of their two children, and that her sister always seemed to get her into some kind of mischief.
Today, for the first time ever, she is traveling away from the safety of their cliff-side cavern. Mama is bringing them to the playground, on the suggestion of dad. You need a break, Kuma. He had said.
And Mama did. Dark baggy circles formed under her emerald eyes from many sleepless nights, her body dragged when trying to keep up with her two rambunctious fillies. Somehow, he had convinced her, and she brought the girls to the playground with strict, unmistakable instructions:
"Stay within the sight of the fairies. Do not go into the forest. And whatever you do, stay out of trouble." Embark and Deiti had nodded their little heads, and with two kisses goodbye, she had left the girls in the care of the fairies.
Embark had never seen so many children before. In fact, the only child she really knew was her sister. All of them shared different shapes, colors, and personalities, and the golden girl is enthralled by the magic of it all. Most are running around, boisterous things with the whole world ahead of them. Deiti is quick to join in on their fun, but Embark chooses to stay behind, content to watch them romp and play.
Not a mere five minutes later, a tiny red boy bounds over to her side. He is grinning, and Embark tilts her head curiously. Had she seen any other male than her father before? "Come over here! My mom is telling a story!" And then he hops away, relaying the same message to all the other children in the playground.
Embark finds her sister seated amongst the rest, and plops beside her. She can't say she isn't excited when she sees the beautiful caramel mare before her - a gown of peacock wings flutter to the ground in beautiful shades of sapphire and violet, a contagious smile plastered on her lips. Embark leans in for a better listen.
She tells the tale of Santa Clause, and Embark is instantly intrigued. In her head, she can imagine all his magical wonder: a red colored man with snow white spots, delivering the wishes of Beqanna's children on snowy Christmas evenings, making every dream come true.
Embark turns to Deiti. Oh, how she wanted to be like her sister, so unafraid, so adventurous, so unworried about anything. Where her own world was filled with fear and turmoil, Deiti's seemed to be filled with fun.
"...Find Santa and tell him your wish." The toffee mare speaks. Embark looks back to her, crimson eyes bright with excitement...she knew exactly what she was going to wish for.
She wanted to be brave.
Deiti is already hopping from foot to foot beside her. "Let's go, Embark! Let's find Santa Clause!" She squeals. They do not wait for the other children, and they don't ask more questions. They simply canter away, towards the forest around them.
At the edge of the trees Embark stops, staring at the vast green wonderland before her. As Deiti continues ahead, her mother's warning echos in her head (BAD things happen in forests, Embark!).
But she wanted to be brave.
"Sissy, wait up!" Embark calls after her, pushing herself into the fastest gallop she can muster. Soon, the golden filly finds her sister, dead still in the middle of the woods, staring at something within a thicket of bushes. "What's wrong, Deiti?" She asks in a timid voice. Her sister does not respond. Embark looks up to the quivering within the bushes, and her once slow heartbeat begins to rapidly pulsate beneath her chest.
"...Santa? Is...is that you?" She asks, backing away as the fear consumes her.
AuroraElis
