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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    little drops of anguish will all run together; Kreios
    #1
    "Mandrake?"

    She says his name questioningly.
    Eerie stillness greets her and a tremor seizes her spine, stiffens it with fear.

    "Mandrake?"

    She calls again, growing frantic by the minute.
    Still no response and she chokes back a sob that clogs her throat, leaving her spluttering and gape-mouthed. Panic sets in - they've never been far apart from one another - ever. He couldn't be far but she cannot catch his scent on the air, what remnant haunts her nostrils is from yesterday and not now as it has always been - it smells old, only by almost a day but she is afraid that the smell of him will fade faster until forgotten.

    Burr turns around and around in a tight circle that seems like it cannot possibly grow any smaller unless she trips over her own feet and she does just that - trips, a hind catching a fore hoof and the pain lances up her leg and stops her momentary madness blind. She almost calls his name again to the fog that has crept in to match her forlorn mood. How could he have left her behind like this? They were womb-mates, and he had sworn he would always be there...

    The bay sighed dejectedly; she made no decision to seek him out further beyond the few plaintive cries of his name but some stray instinct spurred her to motion, knowing she could not stay there, stagnating. Her bizarrely striped head (courtesy of the zebra blood in her pedigree, attributing also to the same wider zigzag bands on her belly) cast about uncertainly; she knew not which direction to take, only that she must be away from here and the memory of their last sleep together, her side already colder for the lack of his pressed to it.

    Finally she sucked in a breath, shut her eyes and blindly stepped forth. Trusting to an instinct for water or grass (it mattered not which need was the greater, because it was her inability to cope with the sudden loneliness that she inexplicably felt that made her shiver), she found herself leaving the fog and their borrowed thicket behind. The former soon burned off the stronger the sun became, and despite the heat that warmed her flank, she found herself spooking at shadows, both timid and hopeful all at once and so easily disappointed to discover that none of those that she passed bore his likeness or his scent.


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    little drops of anguish will all run together; Kreios - by burr - 12-05-2015, 10:14 AM



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