cold in the violence after the war
hope is a fire to keep us warm
She has never thought to question the magic of these lands, and so that she stands here fully grown seems almost natural in it’s abnormality. Somehow she had gained the heft and strength she needed to slay the beasts that had come for them, and in this moment, she can only be grateful. Still, her bright blue eyes troubled and shrouded, she surveys the carnage they had left in their wake, the beasts she and Dagen and one other had helped to slay. To save their more pacifist comrades.
But there is no time to dwell on what had been. Their path lay forward, one task left that they still must complete. She turns to Dagen, now grown as she had grown, but still so completely Dagen. He is stunning in his mottled red and patches of white, even flecked with gore as he is.
Brazen though? She is so very different.
It had take her by surprise at first, the sudden spurt of growth. There had been agony as bone had split and ruptured her skin, forming hard plates over the softness of her flesh. Growing and fusing until a nearly unrecognizeable woman had been left in her place, fighting the beasts alongside her brother. And now she stands here, a red and white and wholly feminine version of their father, her features shrouded by bone, the heavy weight settled protectively along her spine and ribs and shoulders.
Dagen had always tried to protect her, but now she had become the one made to shield.
She steps forward, wincing slightly as her skin pulls, dried blood cracking to allow fresh trickles to escape from where bone now ruptured from her flesh. This is how Dad must feel all the time, she thinks. And if he could bear it, so could she. Pressing close to Dagen, she inhales deeply, eyes closing briefly as she steels herself to complete their mission. They are so close. She couldn’t fail now.
Her expression is more somber when she opens her eyes again, her gaze falling to the girl (woman?) who had helped them defeat the monsters. She is speaking hesitantly, and Brazen offers her a faint, almost absent smile. She only a nods when Eurwen suggests they find their pebbles, tilting her head to peer at the stony beach. After a moment, she realizes she hadn’t introduced herself. “I’m Brazen,” she finally offers, a touch too late perhaps. But better late than never.
With a frown, she starts forward, doing her best to ignore the way her skin pulls almost sharply with each step. Doing her best to ignore the heavy, unfamiliar weight of the armor sprouting from her flesh. She keeps her expression still, trying to hide her discomfort from her brother. She could do this, she thinks. Daddy does it every day.
Only her eyes, so vibrantly expressive, give her away. But she tries not to look at Dagen (to avoid showing him how much it hurts), instead focusing on the task at hand.
Taking a deep breath, she steadies herself. Pebbles. She needs pebbles.
Peering at beach, she moves slowly, a frown unconsciously tugging at her lips as she considers the smooth stones scattered endlessly along the shoreline. She only stops when she finds one that catches her attention, smooth and glossy and impossibly black. Picking it up in her teeth, she raises her head, glancing around as she tries to decide what she might do with it. She can see the others, collecting their stones, wholly focused on their hunt. After a moment, she walks back towards them, places it carefully on a piece of driftwood. The first of five.
She continues then, seeking her stones, stopping only when one catches her eye. She carefully places each in a row on the driftwood, until five little pebbles sit innocuously on the weathered bark. Five little stones that could save the world.
It’s odd, she thinks, that these small, inconsequential things might mean so much. That they could save her home. Something so common and insignificant, a thing she might have barely given a thought to on any other day, is perhaps the most important thing in all of Beqanna right now. Just like three children, young and powerless, had slain beasts and saved so many lives.
It seems one doesn’t need to be large or majestic or powerful to be important. It’s humbling to realize, even for one as young and naive as she.
She blinks, straightening abruptly when she realizes her brother and Eurwen are beside her now, debating how best to carry the stones back to the mountain. She snorts, brow furrowing as she cranes her neck to peer at her armor. It is plated along her shoulders, the bones of her ribs protruding through skin, arching into the line of bones that march along her spine. Plenty of cracks and crevices where one might neatly tuck a pebble.
‘Mud!’ Her spotted companion exclaims, eyes bright as she expounds on her newest idea, hooves digging into the soft, wet substance as she speaks. Brazen steps forward, dropping her head towards the goo. Her nose wrinkles as the scent of brackish water and decay reaches her nostrils, causing her to jerk her head up.
“Mud?” she questions uncertainly, distaste evident in the single word. She peers around - thinking there must be another way to accomplish their task - when Eurwen drops to the ground and proceeds to roll rather vigorously in the sticky, smelly substance. Snorting, Brazen steps backwards, head coming up as she eyes the spotted (now mud-caked) filly warily.
After a moment, her frown deepens before she sighs. She’s sorely tempted to simply try carrying them in her mouth, but she’s not entirely certain she could make it without swallowing them. After a moment, she looks quizzically at Dagen. He seems about as thrilled with the mud as she. But when he suggests a slightly more logical way of utilizing the mud, it’s clear the sticky goop (as, er, fragrant as it is) is their best option.
After only a moment’s hesitation, she sighs again before stepping forward to help with their efforts.
Soon they have pebbles cemented in place along the hollows of their backs, along with what would fit tucked between the bones of her spine, held in place with glops of mud. Not particularly beautiful, but it would do she supposes. “Alright, let’s go,” she says, determination replacing her uncertainty as she turns her gaze to the mountains. To the direction from which they’d come.
Their journey back to the Mountain is slower than their journey to Silver Cove had been. She walks carefully, taking her time and learning the best ways to move without jostling her armor too much. The mud dries as they walk, making it that much more precarious. And as they begin their ascent along the steep path leading to the Mountain, the dried mud begins to crack.
Soon she collects more pebbles along her spine, placed in the crevices of her armor when the muddy holsters on Eurwen and Dagen begin to give way. Eurwen hunts them down relentlessly when they tumble from their perches, tucking them carefully into her spine for safekeeping. She has finally perfected her movements though, her steps as graceful and smooth as she can make them. To avoid losing any one of those precious little pebbles.
Only when the trail finally flattens and broadens, releasing them onto the mountaintop, does she breathe a sigh of relief. Drawing to a halt, she lifts her gaze, hope and relief and an incredible sense of accomplishment warring for supremacy inside her.
They had made it. They had succeeded. And maybe, just maybe, they had helped save Beqanna.
Brazen
Eurwen and Dagen powerplayed with permission from Toli and Vanilla
