"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
Beyza is distracted enough by her search that she does not notice she is being followed for a while. Not until just before he speaks, her ears twitching back just a fraction of a second before there is actually sound to hear. She stops in her tracks and turns her head enough to see a shadowy figure. For the space of one single heartbeat, she thinks it is Jamie who has found her. A world of reactions swells within her during that heartbeat before they all fade away like mist as her white gaze slides over the stranger with red eyes. This is not the reaper she knows - but she would not be surprised to discover he is one all the same.
She glances down to a small collection of ribs she has just unearthed and replies casually. “I’m looking for some particular ones.” And then a frown creases her crystalline features when she looks back into those red eyes. “But I can’t remember where I left them now.” It felt irresponsible of her, not to remember. Killing that filly had been a pivotal moment for Beyza but she can no longer remember which patch of the forest it was where she had eased the disease-rattling breath, or where she had parted the trees just enough so that sunlight could reach that sweat-dampened skin. She couldn’t even remember if it was that dead filly who she saw when she had met Este, or if she had seen her sister in the nameless girl whose bones she has now lost. All she knew was that both had broken her heart, had changed her path.
Though troubled by these thoughts, Beyza packages them away - unwilling to deal with them or allow them to cause so much as a frown on her face. “Are you responsible for any of these?” She asks, turning more completely to greet him. Her tone is much the same one she’d used to ask about a name or a home - nothing but curiosity.
