[open] give me hope in the darkness;

[Brennen]

so give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
'cause oh that gave me such a fright

Once again, he has let time pass him by. For whole lifetimes he is painfully present, drawing each breath alongside the movers and shakers and doers. For other whole lifetimes, he is as good as gone. He has yet to see a whole centennial (though he's drawing alarmingly close), but even with the unnaturally long lifespans of Beqannians he is practically ancient. He has descendants so far removed from himself that they are practically unrelated, nowadays. Even tracking them down via magic as he is wont to do is now a purposeful activity, rather than a subconscious task. It's a strange world they live in, where the residents mature in a mere three or four years, but even those not gifted with immortality sometimes live for five or six decades. They were not meant to meet their own great-great-great-grandchildren, Brennen muses, and it's not the first time he's had such a thought.

Today's rise from the quiet hold of deep magic is sudden. On other occasions, it has been a slow ascent, like bubbles rising to the surface of the water, but not today. Today he is submerged in the calm depths of the ocean one minute, watching the magic flow along the currents, and the next he is standing beside the river, it's burble and laugh over the flat rocks not quite loud enough to mask the sounds of conversations carrying behind him. Brennen shivers and blinks; physically, he probably never left the surface of Beqanna but mentally it's still more than a little disconcerting. The sheer power of magic carried on ocean currents makes the glint of magic on the river seem like mere faerie dust.

He stretches; first his limbs, rocking back onto his haunches and sinking down in the front in a move more reminiscent of feline than equine. When he straightens again, Brennen extends both wings and gives them a good shake. It's not a proper preening, that, but grooming will have to wait for later. His mind provides a tantalizing memory of his partner doing the careful preening for him, and a part of him is holding out for that. If it comes down to it, he can do it himself with a little reaching or a little magic, but a live friend would be better. With that desire firmly in mind, he turns away from the river and faces the land behind, amber eyes scanning the scattered residents.

Will he see a familiar face today, or will he have to go seeking them in once-familiar lands? Or worse still, start over again?

but I will hold, as long as you like
just promise me we'll be alright

BrenneN