[mature] there's a black bird perched outside my window; the prologue - closed

[a demon]

One night, you suddenly feel very compelled to visit the ocean.

It isn’t clear what brings you here, it’s just where you know you need to be and after many a days’ travel you wind up on a beach. You are alone when the clouds sneak in, when the sea starts seeming a little darker than before; lightning crackles, thunder roars, you start seeing faces of dead loved ones in the monstrous whitecaps. Some look angry, some look sad, others simply appear resigned to their fate—none of them, however, look happy to see you. If anything, their mouths are screaming silent warnings that you cannot hear and it pains them to know what is about to happen.

(‘Run,’ ‘Get away,’ ‘Leave, hurry!’)

But it’s too late.

Everything goes black.

The next time you wake up, it’s bright and cheery; the sky and sea are calm clear blues, the whine of seagulls drives off the silence and there is a thick smell of citrus in the air. You are far from home—wherever home was—though it’s not clear just how you got here. Perhaps the storm took you, maybe you fell victim to the waves and floated off to parts unknown; maybe you walked in on your own, eager to join your friends and relatives. It matters not now.

At least you are not alone.

There are others here, others that fell asleep and somehow woke up on this vast beautiful island; you make friends, you become something of a family—you learn to love them in more ways than one.

But love never lasts.

The very first friend (very best friend) you ever made on the island goes missing and now it’s up to you and the band of misfits you have befriended to find them.

• Describe your trip to visit the ocean; the thing about this quest is, new characters are thoroughly encouraged—feel free to make up your character's place of birth and have them start from there if you wish, everyone will still wind up back in Beqanna later.
• Describe the monstrous storm rolling in and seeing your dead loved one(s) in the waves; the storm is of supernatural origin, so make it as big and nasty as you want. If your character doesn't have (a) dead loved one(s), make some up. We're all about that backstory here. You may also use dead enemies.
• Describe waking up on the island; build your tropical island as you see fit, create friends for your character to interact with, their best friend is especially important; the group you create may consist of no less than 10 (not counting your own character). You may name them whatever you wish, but nothing vulgar.
• Finally, describe your character finding out that their very best friend has gone missing and how they and the others set out to find them.

1. This is a roleplay-based quest.

2. There will be three choices per round (excluding the prologue, you're only signing up right now).

3. Pay careful attention to each rounds’ instructions (prologue included) or risk being eliminated.

4. Two choices are correct, one choice results in elimination and a temporary defect that can last up to a maximum of 1-BQ year. Defects become milder the further you progress with elimination from the first round resulting in the longest-lasting and most severe.

5. Each round will have a minimum word limit of 500, longer replies are encouraged because I like reading your responses!

6. First place will receive a 4-space trait. Second place will receive a 3-space trait. Third place will receive a 2-space trait. Runners-up will receive either immortality, wings and/or (a) horn(s) of their choosing.

7. These traits will be genetic.

8. All traits from this quest will come with conditions that you must play out for x amount of time before the characters will be allowed to master them. Pay attention to what they are.

9. There is a limit of one character per player.

10. Only characters with a 1-space trait/no traits are allowed to participate. If you ever wanted to join a new character/drag an unplayed baby out of the closet, now is the time.

11. The answer to each round (excluding the prologue/sign up) will be sent to Kyra before the round is posted in order to ensure fairness.

12. You have 48 hours (board time) to join.

[Nikoline]

Amidst the mists and coldest frosts
he thrusts his fists against the posts
and still insists he sees the ghosts

It is unusual for the forest mare to yearn for the ocean's salty breeze. She much more preferred to wander the tall  trunks with their peeling hides, small wooly worms crawling diligently up their spines to only what they knew. The  bay and white mare enjoyed the feel of their little feet as they brushed against her nose when she would curiously  investigate the and ask where they were going (but only to be answered with silence of course).

The sound of the ocean soon replaces the lull of a winter crow's cry, the air shifting from bone cold to a warm  breeze that defrosts her joints and the edges of her fur so that it lays matted to her sides along with the slow  froth of sweat at the tender creases on her lithe form.  She rests only when her nails are dipping into the water  and the sound of the water's siren song has ceased. Pale eyes flick to the horizon as a low illumination is off
creeping to her right. Niko enjoys the rain and the feel of a warm shower seeping into her fur and washing away the  sins in her hair but the thunderhead is black and angry.

This storm threatens her very existence.

Nikoline does not notice the way the fog curls around her legs from the water's surface. It breathes against her  and offers to covet her against the storm's roaring breast. She shivers, one...twice. The air is alive as the sky begins to boil like a hot spring. The sky becomes bruised with black and purple, green threatens the edges and  Niko stands like a mad woman against the wind as it tears at her white hair as though she were a lost ship at sea. The sea glass eyes water against the wind but she cannot look away from the waves as they begin to churn and rise, threatening to batter her if she were to give into their hypnotic beckoning.

Water licks against her ankles and it shakes her from a daze that she has not realized has taken over her. She feels like a straight-jacketed woman and cannot seem to move. There should be panic but instead a sickening placidity soothes her feverish brow as she looks over the water. The waves crash, the scent of something rotten lives close by...

She closes her eyes.

"Nikoline." A voice is whisperijg her name with split lips and rolling eyes. A ragged voice she had recognized from her foal hood. The voice of a dead woman.

She squeezes her eyes hard like she did as a foal.

Her breath catches in her chest, choked by the fearful gurgling scream that threatens to retch just below the surface. The dead woman has a grip on her throat as the form emerges against the waves, a voice given only to a body as the tide swells and the thrashing white of seafoam emerges. (the water licks against her knees) The black and white form of her mother (she never loved you) is in the waves as she desperately struggled to swim in the seafoam before the wave crashes and the woman is gone. "Nikoline!" The wave slams her chest as fat rain is falling hard against her painted skin. Hadn't she only blinked? The salt is in her mouth, on her tongue, in her eyes. her heart pounds like the surf around her. She can hear panting in her ear despite the thrashing waters and the break of the storm over head, thunder cracking like bones. Niko grits her teeth as she attempts to calm herself, attempts to move, attempts to fight the hold...

She opens her eyes just as Syntyche is hurling towards her, riding the wave like a witch's broom, screaming with her hair in gnarled patches and curling lips to expose rotted teeth with her eyes rimmed red with blood. "RUN, LITTLE BITCH, RUN!!!" Niko screams just before the wave mare smashes her to the sand to fill her throat with too much water. She struggles but the darkness of the fading light and the burn of saltwater soon bury her in a smothering embrace.

----------

The tug of something awakens her. Her mouth feels dry and her lips are sore.

Everything -hurts-.

Lids slide open to look up to see a seagull tugging at a tangled knot of her once pristinely white mane.  
"Ow." She croaks and the bird stops to look at her with its beady glass eyes...doll's eyes. It turns it head to the side before taking wing as if to show it was not scared.

But Niko is...

She draws her tired and battered legs beneath her. The strings and pulleys that work her joints, move her flesh with bright flashes of pain and gritted teeth. A century passes before she is fully erect despite the quake of her body. The sound and scents of others flood over the small embankment to the pale silky sand of the beach. More horses like her with vibrant coats and glittering eyes. Niko swallows, her throat burns, a single horse steps forward. Nikoline shivers but she is not sure if it is because of the sand or her ravenous thirst (later she will know it is both).  The horse, a ruby stallion with gold eyes, stops not far off from her. He tilts his head (much like the seagull) but instead of fluttering away, he grins.

"I'm Jack."

----------

Niko wakes in the same way every day since water brought her. She rises from her thatched lean-to, walks to the sweet spring, splashes her face and then drinks deeply. It was all the same since Jack and the others found her and nursed her and made her one of their own.

They had become family. The very first she had ever had since she could remember.

The bright scent of the calamasi tree near her domicile always woke her with a smile...but there is something else in the air. The brightness of the citrus is dulled and tinny. It tasted like acid on her tongue. Something was wrong...very, very wrong. The painted mare lifts her head (now healed except for tiny pink scar on her brow) to call. Ears are forward as her legs become higher, her fear rising with each pace, the 'whoosh-whoosh' of blood nearly deafens her.

Another call- "Anyone?"

And another, "Esme? Lola?! LEO?! Her chest rises and falls in heaves as no one is answering and there is blood in the thin mist of the morning. It saturates her skin, driving the fear deeper into her pores and scarring her bones. The painted woman calls shrilly, animalistic like days of her ancestors as they summoned the herd. But-

(hush, hush)

The voice is weak, "Niko..." She nearly steps on Penelope, the amethyst mare, in her panic. "Oh Penny!" Niko exclaims as she has woken the bright mare. "Something's wrong..." Dread fills her voice and nearly spills into her eyes as the other woman is soon to her feet. It does not take long for the pair to find the others.

Peter. Lana. Abigail. Leo. Lola. Esme. George. Penny. Veruca.

Niko counts- (Where's Jack?)

"Where's Jack?!" The ruby stallion. Her closest friend, her  very BEST friend. The same stallion who had found her, befriended, cared for her and stayed with her. She looks from one panicked face to the other...they mirror her own as she looks to the horizon in hopes the familiar red form would show.

But he doesn't.

"We need to go! We need to find Jack!" Lola exclaims and the others nod. Niko agrees with them and turns  east toward the rising sun in hopes to find her best friend. She can only imagine how scared he must be to be alone and so far away from her and the rest of the family. The jungle lay ahead of them in it's darkness and oddness but they can pick the minute traces of Jack along the banana leaves and damp soil. He must be here! There was no turning back if the equines were to find the red man. They exchange worried glances only briefly before they all disappear into the thick of the jungle and all that may lay in wait with Niko leading them all along to find her closest friend with nothing more than worry for his wellness to drive away the ghosts that lurk just beyond her sight in in the corners of her eyes.

nikoline

barret x syntyche

[Balto]

Beneath the darkness of a full moon and an oncoming tempest is the only possible way the cave-dweller successfully could make it to the shoreline. He cannot remember the last time he had seen the sea, and it beckons to him, its black waters whispering to him with each frothing wave that crashes against his legs. The sound is familiar and he is drawn to it; it’s the call of his caves, a deep and haunting song that normally reverberates in the abysmal chasm of blackness that he lives, and now he hears it in the sea - guttural and ethereal in his ears.  He is not afraid, not even when the wind begins to shift and change, or when the thoroughly black sky begins to illuminate with the flash of lightning, nor when the thunder growls threateningly in rhythm with the sea’s mantra. The wind begins to tear through the blackness of his mane and tail, ripping wildly at him as if attempting to rake his blue mottled skin with invisible claws, sharp and unforgiving against his flesh. It makes him only feel more alive, especially when the pelting rain begins to splice into his skin - he only stares thoughtlessly into the heavens, the raging seas beneath him coiling around his legs with every rolling wave, tempting him to step out into its dark, familiar depths.  “Balto.” His brilliant blue gaze flicks downwards, his attention on the sordid, festering waters. No emotion graces his face, merely a look of inspection as he curiously stares at the frothing, groaning waves.  “Balto.” The voice finds him again and his eyes narrow - the darkness is more real than it has ever been, for the full vocalizing of his name has yet to grace his ears. But there is something horribly wrong with the voice - it is not the sultry, coaxing song of shadows and darkness that calls his name. No, it is a much sweeter voice, one that is misplaced within the tempestuous and raging storm that threatens to blow him into eternity. The voice is familiar, like a dream within a dream… Then, within the constant crashing and breaking of waves, he sees the voice’s owner. It is not shadow, it is not darkness, it is not emptiness that calls out to him. It is his own mother. He merely stares at her intensely, her face warbling in and out of focus with each crash of the waves. He hesitates for a moment - is it his mother? Can he even remember her face? Did he even remember her voice? But there is no mistake - there she is, beneath the water’s frenzied depths. She says nothing else, merely a sad stare looking out from black, churning water.  Suddenly he is not the cave-dweller, but he is the wolf-prince in the tall pines of his homeland, running through the forests and splashing in dark waters of the lake with his brother. She need not say his name as third time. The stallion thrusts himself into the ocean, shoulders breaking through the first few waves successfully but quickly growing weak with every leap forward. It does not take long for the sea to take him, to sweep him off his feet and whisk him away into never-ending darkness, a fate that is familiar and is greeted warmly - from darkness he came, to darkness he’d succumb. ---------------------- With a gasp his eyes open, and he stares out at a brilliantly glittering sea. Gulls float lazily overhead on the warm currents of wind, the sea’s salty spray spatters him gently, the crystalline waters wrinkling like elephant’s skin. At first he’s frantic - the sun’s light on his body should cause burns across his skin and his eyes to blind - his instinct is to scramble to the safety of the shadows, out of the warm light of the sun. He flutters wildly, his dark legs churning up the white sand beneath him, attempting to get his body upright and to flee into the darkness.  However, his body does not comply. He is weak and battered from the ocean’s rampage, and for a moment his heart wrenches wildly as he thinks of his sweet mother’s face, blinking quickly as he tries to place where he is and what is happening. He must find shelter, he must hide, he must find Faulkor, he must... “Hey, hey,” a quiet voice breaks his concentration, his eyes rolling wildly as he finds the source - a pale golden mare, with a striking blaze down the bridge of her nose, meets his gaze. “You’re alright,” “No I’m not,” he desperately wishes to say, but words do not come. The years within the cave limits his voice and he finds himself speechless, still laying haphazardly along the white shore. She frowns at him a bit and his gut sours. His head is throbbing, and in defeat, throws his head into the sand with a great sigh. He can hear her retreating and his heart pounds violently in his ribcage.  A few moments pass and he’s found the strength to pull his legs beneath him, curiously brushing his dried and cracked lips against his skin, wondering why the sunlight did not bother him like it normally does - he can see just fine, and his body is not aching from the exposure. Now, the aches and pains in his joints and ribs he’s feeling are from his tumultus trip beneath the waves, as well as the welt just behind his ear that causes him to feel just a bit woozy each time he moves.  “He’s over here,” Balto’s ears flick towards the sound of the voice that he had heard just a moment ago, eyes moving in the same direction to meet the palomino girl once again. She has returned, but there are more with her this time. With widening eyes and flaring nostrils, the bruised stallion flicks his ears back cautiously as the group comes closer, uncertain and apprehensive beneath their stares. They circle him, the palomino standing before him with a concerned look on her face. A red roan stallion with kind eyes breaks the silence, stepping forward and lowering his muzzle to inspect Balto with a gentle whuff.  “You must stand, brother,” he says, his voice robust and deep, and Balto knew he must. “Eridi,” the roan says to the palomino, and she obliges. Frightened and with help from Eridi and the red roan, he shakily stands. His blue eyes fixate on each of the horses that stand around him, desperately wishing he could fall back into the ocean’s waters and disappear beneath its surface.  “Take him to Aravis,” says the red roan. With a solemn nod, Eridi presses her white muzzle against the blue of Balto’s shoulder (to which he shudders but is too tired to move from her touch) and begins to lead him away.  “Ambrose,” he hears someone say behind him as he allows Eridi to guide him, “he’s the third one this month.” A pause, and then a deep sigh. “I know, Corin.”  -------------------- Aravis, Balto learned, is the small herd’s medicine mare. A frail, gentle bay (who reminds him much of his mother), who spends her days at the mouth of a nearby cave, nurtured him and two others back to health from their mysterious dance from the sea. She would fuss over him and the others (Caspian and Jadis, who had also washed up on shore in the same fashion that Balto had), hushing them when they balked at her herbs and medicinals, forcing them to rest with a quick click of her tongue. Balto found her presence charming and despite his predicament, enjoyed the warmth that she shared by taking care of him. Still without many words, Aravis quickly learned how to understand the quiet blue roan stallion, and most of the time spoke for him.  “Caspian, do shut up,” Aravis grumbles, eyes rolling as she checks Balto’s head, “Blue-eyes hasn’t been here for even a week and I can tell he’s already sick of your loud mouth!” Balto says nothing, but a grin finds the charcoal of his lips and he flashes a smile to Caspian, who only laughs in response. Soon, the three horses would be allowed to leave the nurture of the medicine mare and venture with the rest of the herd, but Balto is not so sure he would leave the comfort of Aravis’ hearth.  -------------------- He’s lost track of time. Aravis quickly became Balto's guide into this new world, nurturing and caring for him as if he were her own son. Each day he would walk with her to gather herbs and plants, and on days when she was too tired to do so herself, he would do it for her. He would spend long hours in her cave, listening to the stories of when she was just a filly, enthralled by the magical way her stories were spun. Most nights (because that is where he truly is most comfortable) he would sleep in the cave - though it is not the same darkness here he had always been used to. Here, it is warm, it is loving, it is nurturing. One morning, Eridi greets him at the mouth of the cave, quietly whinnying to him in the early light. Aravis is still asleep, snoring lightly as he creeps past as not to wake her.  They walk together through the jungle and towards the beach, speaking gently with hushed tones and tiny bits of laughter. As they near the coast and the sound of waves fills his ears, he hears the thrumming of hoofbeats. A flash of red passes him, and with a grin towards Eridi, he leaps forward. He gallops down the shoreline, Eridi close behind him. Her laugh is electric as she flies beside him and he whinnies happily, kicking his feet up in the surf. This is how he imagined it - the day he leaves his cave and never returns - and he finds all the happiness he can dream of. “Balto, we’re losing them!” she cries gleefully, her legs working beneath her quickly as she speeds up. He does the same, his blue eyes fixated on the two figures before them - yearlings, testing out their speed. The chase continues down the long stretch of beach, the two chestnut twins finally stopping only when their trail was met with the large and craggy face of a mountain to stop them. Breathlessly, Balto and Eridi join them. “You’ve improved,” Balto says, obviously winded but with a smile gracing his lips.  “Or maybe you’re losing your touch!” Bree teases, while her sister Hwin giggles in response. Balto pins his ears against his neck playfully, wrinkling his nose as he pretends to be offended. Eridi laughs in unison with the twins, and Balto nips her shoulder gently - though he doesn’t mind her laugh. A sharp neigh pierces the shoreline and Balto’s smile fades from his face. Ambrose’s voice splits through the air and all four of them look at each other quickly in confusion, before turning to race back up the beach towards their herd’s normal meeting place. He joins the crowd, leaving Eridi and the twins (who join their mother, Shasta, the doe-eyed bay) while his eyes fixate onto Ambrose - the leader of their small family. Beside him is Rilian, the stern black stallion who is beginning to gray around the muzzle, his second. Corin finds his place beside Jadis and Caspian, the tri-colored paint looking unsuitably worried. Balto quickly scans the crowd for Aravis, though his stomach drops when he does not see the older bay in her usual spot. His brow furrows, his eyes clouding as he turns to watch Ambrose. He holds his breath, his gut wrenching for the first time since the day he washed upon the beach. “It’s Aravis,” the red roan says solemnly, his kind eyes finding Balto’s sympathetically - Balto’s jaw clenches - has death already found him again so soon?  How is it that his gentle caretaker, the motherly and stubborn mare, had passed? But Ambrose’s next words surprise him. “She is missing. It is possibly the same thing that brought us all together in the first place.” Balto’s eyes glance upwards in surprise, though anger boils beneath the surface.  “I’ll go find her,” he says quickly and decisively, already heading out towards the shore.  “No!” A sharp cry causes him to stop and turn towards Eridi. “No,” she repeats, quieter this time.  “We’ll all go,” Ambrose finishes, with murmuring replies of agreement around him.  Balto nods to him, and Eridi finds her place at his side, her ivory muzzle brushing against his cheek. “Together. Always together.” she says, loud enough for everyone to hear, for it was the mantra for their tiny knit family. Then something a bit quieter, but meant only for him. “We will find her, Balto. She’s strong. She’ll be okay.” To this he says nothing, and turns out to look ahead of him and begins to lead the way deeper into the darkness and shadows - a place he knew so well. -- once the king of beasts but now they feast on thoughts beneath his vacant crown.

[takei]

Takei

Takei often took comfort in the rhythm of the ocean. The way the tide would roll in and out, the way the waves washed the shore clean, the movement of the currents - it all soothed his restless soul in ways he would never be able to put into words. The scent of water stinging his nostrils and the taste of brine on his lips were comforts to him. Takei often found himself making his way down a familiar track to the shore when the emptiness in his chest felt particularly suffocating.

There had been many times that he had spent the day wading in the shallows or racing the gulls, only to spend the night curled against tender blades of the beach grass. Although the day before Takei had spent the light hours among the shade of a forest, he woke in the midst of a dream with an intense weight in his chest. It felt as though it were shoving the very essence of his soul straight out of his heart. Within that weight, there came the sounds and sights and smells of the beachfront.

So he left. He peeled himself away from the warm embrace of a willow tree and began the familiar journey to the shoreline. It was quiet, even for nighttime. Takei could barely hear any noise above the gentle thrum of his heart, the murky churn of blood in his vessels, and the rhythmic whoosh of his breaths. His steps led him across the sand (though it clogged the soles of his feet and made his steps sluggish, he enjoyed the burn of his muscles) until the bitter salt water met his knees. The waves were mighty for a relatively peaceful-looking evening, sloshing against his wide chest only to withdraw back to the plane of his knees.

For a bittersweet moment, he felt at peace. The melody of the ocean singing against his skin gave him relief against the intensity pressing into his chest cavity. A looming shadow on the horizon captured the tranquility in a glass jar and stowed it away. Takei watched with hazel eyes as the shadow loomed closer. It seemed each time he blinked it was somehow miles nearer still (as though the shadows moved in stop-motion, each blink causing their location to shift dramatically). In one moment, the shadow changed from mysteriously dark to vibrant and full of color.

Takei realized, it was not just a shadow. It was a stormcloud, high and mighty and painted every hue of violet. The colors looked alive - swirling against the deep navy of the nighttime sky - and the shadow suddenly zapped to loom above the ocean’s shore. Panic gripped Takei and, almost in tune with his emotions, the waves ceased. There was no rhythm to the tide, no ocean to guide the force of the water, no current to drag against the grains of sand.

Takei lept from the salty water, feeling as though remaining it in it any longer would result in something dangerous happening. A few low words fell from his mouth in mingled confusion and fear, “What the fuck?” just before a loud crack sounded. It was not the obvious sound of thunder, but rather the crackling of a hundred lightning strikes, mingled with the bitterness of glass shattering, echoed by the sound of a pained cry, and wrapped with the low grumble of the earth splitting from the seams.

A shudder rippled through Takei’s body and panic grew into his throat like snapping, thick vines. The ocean lay before him as still as concrete for a moment longer, when suddenly the water rippled as something - someone - surfaced from the depths. The form mimicked the coppery red on Takei’s own body, though it was without the ivory that marked his. The figure was tall, mighty, muscular - the sight of a sturdy soldier. Although Takei had never met the stallion, he knew exactly who it was.

His grandfather.

An icy burn settled in his stomach. Hestoni had died when Takei had been four years old and he had always heard the stories (from both of his parents) of the vicious love he had held for Scorch. The Jungle stallion had been a role-model of Takei’s from the moment he had heard of his grandfather, yet his own reclusive personality did not allow him to follow in his brave footsteps.

The red man continued to walk from the depths of the still ocean, leaving no splash and no wake in his movement. Takei watched - muscles tense and heart thumping wildly - until Hestoni stopped just short of dry land. He could see his grandfather’s facial expression - it was unnaturally stern, with hard edges where there used to be curves and smiles. The end of his steps unleashed the wrath of the storm looming above their heads. As quickly as the waves had stopped their motion, the rain began. It was hard and cold, pouring on Takei’s head like a waterfall from winterlands.

He gasped as it struck his skin, feeling the sharpness of the cold bite into his nerves. A loud crack of the noise (the twist of thunder, glass, agony, and rubble) shuddered the air around the blood and ivory stallion and he jumped, this time his hooves splashed into the still ocean water. Another flash and Hestoni - his own grandfather - unleashed a roar like that of a dragon before his feathered legs stretched from the salty sea to slice at Takei.

A hidden word stretched out from the following growl (“Run”) but Takei was too absorbed in the gush of dark blood pouring from the wound Hestoni had opened across his chest. He twisted then, turning away from his beloved sea to race along the shoreline. The storm followed him, patient and calm in it’s steady pour of heavy, bitter rain, but Takei kept running until his legs gave out beneath him and he fell in a mess of sweat, blood, tears, rain, and hopelessness.

&&&

The cry of a seagull woke him. The sound scraped against his eardrum, piercing through the murkiness of his dreamless unconsciousness. Takei moaned, eyelids sliding open only to close again as the pain of the direct sunlight burned into his hazel eyes. The heavy weight that had led him to the beach had lifted, the confusion from the night before had melted into peace, and the rain had been replaced with a heat that caused his skin to itch deliciously.

It took him a moment, but eventually the chestnut and white stallion rose from his place on the sand. A perfect, clear ocean lay before him - the waves perfectly in place. A voice over his shoulder startled Takei. “Do you have any fuckin’ idea where we are?” It had been a black tobiano, perfect in stature and color. He was a direct contrast to Takei’s own coloring - a coppery red and bleached ivory against an inky black and papery white. “I’m Orion,” he introduced himself. The sun shone on his face like a spotlight and Takei couldn’t help but feel a hand reach down his throat and steal away his breath.

Orion continued speaking, gesturing toward the eleven others that had been placed on the shoreline as well. “This is Scorpius” - a brilliantly red stallion with a look of fire in his eyes - “and Cassiopeia” - a dappled mare who smiled like a delicate doll - “and Draco” - a deep shadowy stallion who bit out a sharp, “I can introduce myself” before Orion could continue - “and Andromeda” - a red roan watching the waves with a bewildered sort of fascination - “and Ara” - a golden woman standing near the rear of the group - “and Cancer” - a charming bay stallion with a smile that would win a thousand hearts - “and Columba” - an ivory mare with the blaze of passion in her gaze - “and Corvus” - another dark stallion who held deep hatred against the tightness of his lips - “and Lyra” - a blue roan with a barrel slightly swollen with a child not due for some time - “and Phoenix” - a stallion whose skin was puckered with scars from many fights - “and finally, Hydra.” The final was a grullo with warm curves to his face like that of an elderly grandfather.

Takei’s lungs quaked at the sight of so many faces. He’d remained in the shadows of Beqanna for most (if not, too much) of his life. The blood and ivory had been comfortable with his introverted lifestyle, spending some of his days in the woodlands but most of them chasing gulls or weaving between tide pools. Although he would have wished his voice more steady, it comes out shaky nonetheless. “I’m Takei.”

&&&

They would grow close. They discovered the island together (the island with it’s four habitats - the tropical forest with its beach counterpart, the rocky mountains sloping to the volcano in the center of it all, the quiet forest with its tranquil lake and wandering streams, the sweltering desert and the comfortable oasis in the center), breaking off into groups, but always returning to the beach from whence they came.

The thirteen had tried to piece together their purpose and the island’s purpose. Often Takei would find Lyra staring out toward the horizon of the ocean with a look of longing in her pretty coffee eyes. Each week she seemed to move slower as her belly grew rounder and that stretching womb only further reminded Takei that the other twelve had families past the endless waves.

His parents had raised him with a unique sort of endearment. It edged on the corners of love, but never quite reached. Takei spent all of his childhood chasing after that sweet taste of affection, yet he always fell just short of it. Each time he fell, he sobbed into the dirty ground a few moments longer. It built up an emptiness in his chest, a deep darkness that could not be undone easily.

Yet Orion had prode at that darkness with tender, brave fingers. Takei had shied away, at first (how could his quiet personality ever compare to Orion’s dazzling light?) but eventually he found himself curled close to the ink and paper stallion among the gentle hum of the tropical nights. Orion became the balm to his scarred, broken knees (scarred and broken from those countless, weary failings) and Takei wrapped himself in the cloak of his affection.

Their first time had been blissful. The day had been a warm one so all thirteen had gone for a swim at the beach. They had splashed in the comfort of the bay, snorting at the fish that swam by warily. As the sun fell, all but two retreated to the warmth of the tropical fronds. The best of sleeping places were closest to the volcano, where the molten lava and brewing flames brought sympathy against the chill of night.

Orion and Takei lingered still, dancing around one another in the inky shallows of the lapping waves. There had only been sly kisses before - a tender touch to the hip, a gentle grasp of a lock of mane, a quick slide of one flank against another - but as the moon rose, there was nothing sly about their actions. The bitterness of cold did not linger on their sweaty bodies. Kisses and sultry nips and bruised bite marks wove among both of their patchwork frames.

Takei felt choked with the amount of affection he gave and received. When they both settled from the adrenaline (when the blood climbed down from atop the shadow) their bodies wove among one another in gentle caresses until sleep carried them away.

&&&

They spent weeks this way - enjoying all the island had to offer during the day, enjoying all one another had to offer during the night. The wound from his grandfather - a constant reminder of the night it all began - healed into a ragged, puckered scar against the red and white of his chest. Each night, Orion would dip his head down to gently kiss that blemish and each night Takei would find his chin craning toward the sky. It became a heavenly routine, one where Takei felt no reservations about saying those three words to his ink and paper companion: “I love you.”

Thankfully, there was a similar reply back.

They always slept together, bodies intertwined among the twinkling stars, almost as a reassurance. When Takei awoke one morning to find the absence of his lover, he tried not to fret. Orion had probably snuck off in the early morning to dote over Lyra and her swollen womb, or perhaps check and make sure Corvus had not destroyed his knees trying to climb to the volcano’s summit. It was undeniable the black tobiano was the strong, supporting head of their closely-knit band, and Takei had woken upon several occasions to find his lover servicing to one task or another.

But as the day waned on, the blood and ivory man found himself increasingly more concerned. He gathered the thirteen with a nervous call throughout the island, and as the sun began to descend into the ocean they met upon the same shores they had come from. “Have any of you seen Orion today?” Takei’s voice had grown stronger among his newfound family over the weeks and he felt no shame in the way his voice cracked with mingled urgency and anxiety. The feeling of fear ate away at his insides like a gnawing infection, spreading throughout his body to make him feel jittery and feverish.

A resounding “no” came from the twelve gathered and Takei took initiative. “We have not seen any predators on this island since we came here and we all know Orion would not abandon us.” The stallion took in a deep breath to steel his nerves. “We must search the island - every corner of it - to find him… He could be in danger.” Despite the deep love held in Takei’s heart, some degree of affection was felt in every soul for the ink and paper leader of their band of misfits.

And so they turned and entered the thick of the tropical jungle just as the sun’s curve kissed the horizon.

watch the mind run far away, way ahead of us

[Tenebris]

Tenebris

The night is cold and empty

The night around him is calm, the dark air is laden with the thick scent of the cool winter earth. His alabaster blotched sides shudder as he breathes. Tenebris is calm, water rushing about his thick bodice with crushing intensity. Yet the stallion does not move. He stays completely still amongst the steel waters of the river that grips him. This is a practice he had been doing for a long time.... Submerging himself in the frigid temperature seemed to clear his head. It made room for more precious thoughts and helped store away (or block) memories. His azure eyes are closed to keep out the blinding wind, lips cracked with a stinging bite. Slowly he begins to move, muscles tearing away from their forced hibernation. He does not gasp as he once had when he began this thrill, he merely moves onto the frozen banks of the river's bed. Speckled sides shake as he clears his dark pelt of excess water. Tenebris sucks in a deep breath now, suddenly bored of the river and what it had to offer for his hobby. Now he wanted to move onto bigger challenges, darker challenges...He travels to the destination in mind slowly. The pattered stag is not in a rush to make it to his challenger, for it would be there long after he had passed on. He takes the long route there, passing mountains, rivers, fields of rolling marigolds. The night bleeds into rosy mornings and fades once more into violet dusks. Though when he arrives, it is mid day. Not a cloud dotted the crystal sky. In fact, it was so clear he was sure he could see heaven reflected in the whitecapped waves beneath the azure dome.He has arrived at the ocean.The beach he stands upon is dark, fine ebony grains spilling over coal covered hooves before being washed away by lapping waves. The air is thick with salt and seaweed, he smiles a chapped lipped smile. His peace is short lived, however, for a storm is coming. And it is coming fast. It seems as though his eye were closed for a mere second before the storm was upon him. The once mirror of heaven above was now blanketed in thick storm clouds. Maybe if he concentrated he may hear the torment of hell instead of the cry of angels. With a twisted maul of horror, he backs away from the suddenly terrifying ocean water. His gaze travels from the sky to the ocean beneath it. When he had examined it before he had not seen the crashing waves upon solid rock, or the creatures that lurked beneath the murky waters. What he assumed to be sea creatures of twisted origin, were actually faces peering back at him. Was this hell that he was seeing? Or some twisted figment of his frozen mind? Though one face in particular calls to him and gives him his answer.She was as lovely as she had been the night they met all those years ago. Violet pansies were still twisted in the pale shower of her milky mane. Pale honey colored eyes stared at him with a deep sadness and longing. "Brama?" His voice is a whisper quickly torn to shreds by the intense wind swirling around him. It lifts his mane and throws it into focused orbs. When he regains his sight she is gone, replaced with long since faded images of his past. His mother, his sweet ,sweet mother... She stares at him with hatred. She mouths what seems to him a scream. 'I know what you did to her..' Her lips form the silent words and he screams, plunging into the crushing weight of the waves."MAMA."~~The world around him is black, but his is cradled in someones embrace. He looks down, and he has the body of a child, the legs he is caged in are familiar. "Mama..."
He is contempt, he feels safe. With a childish gaze he turns his head upward only to be faced with the twisted maul of what had been his mother. He saw what had been done to her all those years ago in that mountain pass. "Awake young Tenebris, your journey has only just begun."He can not find it in himself to scream.~~Tenebris awakes on a soft cushion of sand, his head pillowed upon long dried seaweed. Bones pop in his dirt crusted neck as he attempts to raise it."I wouldn't do that if I were you.." He screams in bewilderment, a quick noise of surprise. It is quickly greeted with laughter, and warm amber eyes are peering out at him from beneath a milk colored mane. "Hello, Im Alessa.. and I don't know your name."The girl that is speaking to him is young. She couldn't be more than three he thought. Despite her previous suggestion, the dark stallion stands, legs spread to support his famished figure. A dry tongue flecks out of his mouth to lap at parched lips, his eyes hollow of any recollection of what might have happened to him."Te-...Tenebris," He manages to choke this out before he is vomiting on the shore. His body expells seawater and memory, his body shuddering with the effort. "Oh dear me Tenebris. I believe you should come with me,"Despite the refusal in his mind, his body is weak, and it complies. He follows the girl deep into the heart of wherever it is he has arrived. They leave the beach and trek (what feels like) miles into the tropical jungle skirting the shore. Quite a bit later they reach a large clearing. At the center of it lies a small freshwater deposit, and all around it are horses staring curiously back at him."Welcome to my home Tenebris...Rest now and talk later."~~While it took days for the stallion to recover, it took him moments to make friends of the horses that inhabited the oasis. There was the quirky palomino girl Alessa that has brought him here. He quickly became infatuated with her... There was her father Leopold, a curious gray fellow who loved nothing more than his mate (Alessa's mother) Nerissa, a lady of.... open minded backgrounds. Among them, there was Giana, Helos, Miach, Emma, Fiond and Ferrin (Twin orphans) and Serephos.Quickly they became a family, roaming the oasis and the island beyond together. They were a finely oiled machine, each being a well-made part. Tenebris loved each and every one of them with his whole heart (maybe Alessa a bit more). He refused to see his life without them. He has found his home.~~"Tenebris you must awaken now!" The voice that calls to him is that of Helos, and it is urgent."No." He mumbles, eyes squeezing shut as if to ward out the sun."Awaken now you drunken fool! Alessa is gone!" His eyes fly open and his body is in motion. The ebony stallion above him is knocked aside with the force of his movements. Around him stand the others. He can see the heaving side of the stone colored twins Fiond and Ferrin. Emma clings to the blood red side of Giana, who's face is hidden in the twisted mane of Nerissa. The other men (Miach, Serephos, and Leopold) stand to the side, their faces grave."Why do you all stand here like ocean stones? Have you not looked for her?"
Tenebris is screaming, whipping his head to each of them in a blinded rage. His head is not correctly screwed on, his mind not processing that they were not at fault for this."We have searched the oasis, there is no sign of her.." It is Alessa's father who speaks, ebony mane hiding his sunken features."We must find her." It is Fiond now, speaking before his brother could. Tenebris offers a grave nod, his eyes trained upon the sandy earth."So find her we shall."

[Sloene]

lady, runnin' away to the riptide

taken away to the dark side

A sense of failure haunts her, shadowing every footstep. She is alone again, the loneliness such a constant companion that she has almost forgotten what it is like to have a home and family. In the past, several times, she has had both. But it has never lasted, and she is more than convinced it is entirely her fault. She might have forgotten entirely, if not for the nightmares. It is those dark dreams that have sent Sloene from the cozy copse of trees she had found to shelter beneath for the night, sent her fleeing across the countryside in the dark. She has been quite restless now for days, moving further and further into unfamiliar territory, but tonight the unease moves her from an energy-conserving long walk to a headlong gallop, reckless in a way she has never been, nimble hooves carrying her across rock and grass and loam and hill until she stumbles in the deep sand of the unfamiliar beach, nearly coming to her knees.

The grulla mare realizes she is exhausted, sweat-soaked, and lowers her head to take in deep breaths of the cool night air, but it feels heavy in her lungs and does not refresh the way it should. Still, the feeling of urgency and unease has passed and with it her urge to gallop headlong away from her own thoughts, and so the little mare picks her way to the edge of the water and lowers her nose, only to wrinkle her lip in disgust and pull away. It's salt, of course it is, and no good for drinking. Heaving a sigh, she lifts silver eyes to the horizon and starts to turn back towards the trees, where surely fresh water can be found, when a cool wind across her sweaty hide makes her pause, look towards the water.

The storm clouds that have roiled up, obscuring the stars and the moon, prompt a different type of shiver, and she begins to back away from the rising waves, when they appear. It is her mother first, very different from the only memory Sloene has of her (and since she died in childbirth, that image of her bloody and lifeless is embedded in Sloene's head, no matter what else she may forget). The stallion beside mother in the waves is not familiar but he rides a wave so close to mother, and she can see her own reflection in his face - it must be her father. Their mouths are open as if to shout something, but they vanish as their waves crash upon the shore and the words are never heard.

Then it is her childhood family - Nera and Branka, her surrogate mothers, and the dozens of rainbow-colored Carnage foals Sloene had been raised amongst. All of them crest on the storm-born waves, screaming things Sloene does not understand, and then vanish as they crash onto the sand. Innumerable and untouchable. Krieos is amongst them and she cries out for him, but the wind steals the name of her brief fling from her lips. But the worst is yet to come and she sees them in the distance, two dark shapes forming behind the herd of galaxy children - "Ara!" she chokes on the name of her first real friend, tears springing to her eyes, and it is enough to prompt her to leap into the waves, struggling to keep her footing as they pull in and out beneath her hooves. She wants, no, needs to know what Aranea would say before she crashes to the sand, and Magnus beside her.

Something in the way it is happening tells Sloene - they're dead. All dead. She can only hope it is a dream but she does not feel dreamlike, it feels so real the loss rising and overwhelming and she calls to Ara and Magnus again, diving forward. 'Run' they say, and 'Go!' but it is too late. Sloene loses her footed and falls, head going under the waves, and everything goes dark.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When she wakes, it is because everything hurts, she is hot, and she is thirsty. With a totally audible groan, the girl forces her eyes to open and rolls up to her tummy, bringing her legs underneath her, and takes a good look around. A sudden flurry of motion draws her attention with a start and she takes in the sight of a colt, quite young, nearly bouncing out of his startlingly jet-black coat. "Hey! Hey, you're awake! Finally! SHE'S AWAKE," he raises his voice to no one that Sloene can see and spins in a little circle before meeting her silent, open-mouth stared with eyes that are purple. "How ya feeling, Silver?"

She opens her ridiculously dry mouth and forces words to emerge, though she is almost too hoarse to understand. "My name is Sloene," she corrects him, "Where are we? Did you get caught in the storm as well?"

The colt eyes her for a moment, strangely, shifting to look back at the tree line at the edge of the shore where the mare is surprised to see an entire band of shiny jet-black horses emerging. Old, young, tall, short, wide; but they are all the same. "Ah well you maybe Sloene now but they'll call you Silver anyway on account of, well, you know. You might as well get used to it," he smiles at her. "My name is Purple now, and it's fine."

"On account of what?" she asks, irritated, and he just looks at her, eyes sliding all across, and then meets her gaze again, looking for all the world like he's sure she's stupid.

"On account of we all look just alike, except the eyes."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

And sure enough, time proves him right very quickly when she finds she herself is no longer a mousey gray and black, but ebony like him, and meets the others. Scarlet, Pink, Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Purple, Indigo, Black, White, and now Sloene adds her strange silver eyes to the mix. Most of them claim not to remember their names before they awoke here, and none of them will tell her if they do remember.

Except one.

The stallion with the Indigo eyes tells her one day while they are exploring underneath the citrus trees that line the shore that his name is really Thomas, and that he, too, arrived after an event that should have killed him. Not like the others, who claim to have simply fallen asleep peacefully and woken here.

Sloene doesn't know if she believes them. Thomas doesn't. But there is little they can do, for the others simply refuse to discuss anything considered taboo. Any time she attempts to draw them into a conversation, they simply walk away as if she is not there, unless she will change the subject. And they will not explore beyond the shore, the citrus trees, and the grass that lines the ground beneath. Why? says Green the day she asks about exploring. We are safe and happy here.

And they are - safe and happy. Content to work and live and play here, in seclusion. Everyone except Sloene and Thomas, who chafe at the restrictions. They talk every day of their lives before the Shore, of the things they remember, of their real names and their memories. But they don't venture beyond the Shore, not yet. They make plans, but slowly Sloene comes to love all of her new family. Green, the biggest and boldest stallion, and Pink the little mare who is his wisdom  and his constant shadow; the two lead their little band and though they are usually kind, neither tolerates when Sloene and Thomas attempt to buck the rules of the Shore.

White, the oldest, and she is quite blind but finds the ripest and tastiest fruits in the low-hanging branches. Scarlet and Orange are young mares, nearly inseparable, and restless without every mentioning leaving; she trains with them in running and fighting and they play hard, always with Thomas joining them. Black is a stallion, the bulkiest, and she avoids him. Sloene feels sick in his very presence, and his black eyes scare her. Yellow is a filly, shy and careful, with an imagination to rival any story Sloene has ever heard. Red is a pony, even smaller than Sloene, feisty but she never speaks. Lastly Blue is the one on the verge; she seems at moments to be almost ready to join Sloene and Thomas in rebellion but always at the last minute she changes her mind - but she never gives them away.

Time passes  and they do not leave, because despite their flaws Sloene has grown to love their family. Thomas is unsure, reticent to grow attached, but he will not leave her behind to set out alone, even when their escape is fully planned and just waiting. Sloene promises him as soon as they convince Blue to come, it will be time to leave.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Until the morning he is gone.

They settled together, as is their custom, on a soft bed of leaves and dried grass, Sloene tucked into Thomas' side and Blue curled up just touching her on their other side. Today as the world coming awake around them brightens, she blinks sleepily to find him gone, but makes no real note of it as she nudges Blue gently to wakefulness. They seek morning drinks, absolving their thirst, and amble through a peaceful breakfast before the unease claws it's way into Sloene's heart and throat, sending her pulse racing and she begins to look, Blue faithfully at her heels.

She does not give up as having scoured every inch of Shore until the noon sun shines hot and heavy on them and they have asked every single member of the family - twice - if they have seen Thomas. Indigo. The search expands to include everyone, but when they gather at dusk it is to admit defeat. "We have to go find him!" she demands it, whirling on Green and Pink where they stand, nestled together as always. "He can't be out there alone!"

"He should not be out there at all," Green's voice is stern, his face marred by a heavy frown, but Pink's nose touching his shoulder softly forestalls any more words.

"I agree. They boy's always been a troublemaker, and with Silver it was worse. We should just let him be gone," the oily voice is Black, snide and callous. Sloene spins again, ears pinned, to retort; but Scarlet and Orange have already driven him back a step, Orange doing the real threatening while Scarlet speaks.

"We cannot abandon a family member like this - we must go after him." She is backed up by Orange, and by Blue pressed close to Sloene's heels. Yellow is silent, shy at the edge of the group. Red shrugs indicating a complete lack of opinion.

"He made his choice-" Green's impatient words are cut off by a single snort, and all eyes turn to White, who steps into the center and looks deep into Sloene's eyes for several tense moments before she speaks.

"We shall all go." the frail old mare intones, and somehow that is the end of it. In no time at all, they are poised to step beyond the citrus grove, following the trail Yellow has found where Thomas departed.

SLOENE

I've got a lump in my throat

cause you're gonna sing the words wrong

[Bragi]

Bragi, a stallion dressed in gold and white, made his way to the black and blue shoreline in the dead of night. He had not yet convinced his limbs that their days of endless wandering were at an end. Not yet. Instead, he often found himself waking at night, certain that he must travel on, to move, to do SOMETHING. And so he walked, picking a direction and seeking whatever it brought him for a few hours. Just enough to sate his wandering legs. Tonight those aimless amblings took him to the sea. He did not know why, only that it felt like the place he ought to be tonight. Perhaps there was some peace to be bought with a moonlit swim, and the steady rush and flow of the waves. 

He stepped, nimble as a deer, over driftwood and tangled knotted seaweed. Leaving tracks in the wet sand, he made his way to the watery brim, and dipped one foot, than another, into the cold embrace of the sea. Bragi snorted softly in the moon-bright night. With precise motion, he moved forward, until the water lapped at his chrome-splashed undercarriage. He moved forward yet more, until everything from his shoulders down was underneath the welcoming waters. Dark hair twisted itself into arcane patterns on the glassy surface, growing heavy with salt brine. Eyes half lidded, Bragi, bright and beautiful, felt himself grow calm. He dozed, there in the sea, the rush of the waves pulling him into unsuspecting serenity. He did not notice the sudden silence. He did not notice the far-off rumbling, nor the water's undue recession. It was, at last, the icy drops of rain that fell from clear sky that returned him to himself. With a start, he looked up as frigid rain blew in from the sea. The sea, which he now saw, was a hundreds of feet from where it was before. A noise, first subtle, but growing like a massive stampede reached his elegant ears. He pinned them, as with abject terror he found it's source. Through newly driving rain he saw it. A great wall of black glass, no, water. The sea. It was returning, and with a horrifying vengeance. He could not outrun it, he could not do anything but stand and watch the sky tall tidal wave as it sped along the once peaceful beach. Punishing wings of wind beat him mercilessly. A final, agonized breath, and it was on him. 

The world he knew was gone. All that remained was water. Inky, icy, unforgiving water. He could not tell up from down, only that he was spinning, and trying desperately to hold on to his last gasp of air, hoping he could reach the surface before that too left him. A sudden shining darted in front of him, too fast to tell it's form. Golden legs thrashed, as he made a desperate bid to go UP. His lungs were beginning to ache with need, as another silver form rose from the blackness in front of him. This one moved more slowly than the last, and he could see clearly now the shape of another horse, a mare. He knew her name. Maureen. She was mother to him, and his brother. The mother he had watched bleed life out onto uncaring earth, giving everything she had to the brother he had wanted so badly. He had not known it would cost him everything. She was dead, and yet she floated before him now, an anguished look on her face. He desperately wanted to speak to her, to hear her say she loved him one last time. She blinked at him a moment longer, spectral wisps of her mane floating about her lovely, heart-broken visage. As suddenly as she appeared, she vanished, dissolving back into the darkness. Bragi felt the deep wound of loss cut at him again, and his eyes shared their salt with the turbulent waters around him. 

His lungs were in agony now, and black stars began to explode across his sight. He was alone, and he knew he was dying. Another vision began to pay itself before him, and this time he knew it was his brain giving out. A mighty stallion, dark and towering, had backed a frightened looking mare against a rocky wall. They were shouting, though he could not hear the words they said. He didn't need to. This was a scene he would never forget, as long as he lived. He watched helplessly as a the great stallion suddenly lost his patience, rearing back, only to come down, hard. His stone-sharp feet had struck out. In one ruthless, calculated motion, he had bashed the mare's skull against the unforgiving wall behind her. She had dropped instantly, her face forever frozen in a mask of pain and surprise. This was the moment his father, Angus, had found out where the son who had killed his mate with his birth, and been born blind to boot, had been secreted away. Where his aunt Saorise had been discovered taking care of the baby against orders, letting Bragi visit on occasion. And this was where his father, who mourned Maureen's death bitterly, and blamed the colt, Hod, for it, had followed Bragi. And the golden boy, only two years old at the time, had unwittingly lead his murderous father right to them. Waves of guilt rolled over Bragi as he watched the scene unfold. It was only by luck that he and Hod had gone off to play, and had been out of sight when Angus had arrived. They had hidden in a thicket of bushes when they started to hear shouting. Bragi had witnessed the horrific scene from there, keeping his brother silent and hoping against hope that their father would not search for them. He had, but in the wrong direction. Bragi and Hod had taken of, running miles away from their used-to-be-home, for two years. They had perhaps, finally found solace. 

Vision fading, Bragi hated that this was going to be his final thought. But no. It wasn't, quite. The vision of his father and aunt had not yet vanished. His father had been looking down at Saorise's still form, bright blood and grey brain matter pooling around it. Now, though, the brutal lord looked up. His eyes seemed to cut across time and space, and Bragi knew, deep in his soul, that his father, not some oxygen-deprived vision, was staring at him now. After longer than should have been naturally possible, the darkness finally overcame him. All that was left was a harsh voice in the void, and a laugh like teeth on bone. 

"I'm coming for you, Bragi." 

A cough exploded from his chest, bringing up a lungfull of bitter brine with it. He retched and wheezed, gagging on a mouth of sand and iron-tasting blood. He could feel more sand clotting his mane and tail, and something was digging into his haunch. He opened his eyes, painfully, and blinked into clear sunlight. A hoarse laugh managed to drag itself from his chest, making him wince at the ragged feel of his windpipe. Oh, but he could feel pain! And he could laugh, and he could feel the warm sun which was currently baking his side. By the gods, he had survived that hellish night! He felt like hell warmed over, but it was so much better than being dead. With a groan, he flexed each leg, and was grateful to find none were broken. He had a rib he was not so sure about, but he could walk, anyway. With another almighty moan, he rolled onto his knees. None of his muscles wanted to work, but he lifted his groggy head anyway to look around. 

This was not the shore he had left, that much was obvious. Verdant palms grow along the shore, and loud birds were screaming in the heat. He blew out his nose, and tried to find some familiar scent, but there was nothing he recognized. He turned to scan the visible shoreline, hoping to find... anything. A dark mass about a mile along the beach caught his eye.  It was moving. Another animal? Yes, a horse, he realized. They were soon within speaking distance. "Greetings! What is this place?" He called out, to what he now saw was a drafty kind of brown mare. She looked at him a moment before answering. "You mean you don't know either?" She responded, a note of worry coloring her heavily accented voice. It was just then that Bragi saw that she was just as bedraggled looking as he knew himself to be. His stomach plunged with sudden clarity. "There was a storm last night..." He began saying, trailing off at the brown mare's sudden look of recognition and horror. A piece fell into place. He nodded his head, acknowledging the unseen. "I believe there may be something greater than us at work here. And as we don't know what to expect, we may as well stick together, for now. My name is Bragi. We will get through this." He promised. 

She introduced herself as Ayla, and they agreed to search the rest of the beach together. It was not a large island, and they were able to circle it completely within the day. By nightfall, they had collected eight more horses, each having been seemingly brought here by a storm, and each having been dropped about equal distances around this strange shoreline. They were five mares and five stallions, each of varying ages and no two from the same place. The other four males, ranging from 25 to 3 years old, were called Noa, Leif, Briar, and Zaq. The mares were similarly spaced in age, with the eldest being a toothless grandmother named Barb. Ayla ended up being in the middle of the mares, with Barb and a tacit mare called Elena older than her, and a lively girl called Juniper after her. Youngest of all was Maggi, a filly barely over a year old. She was still shaking from shock the next morning, as they grazed on salty sea grass and discussed what to do next. 

Noa and Barb became arbitrators for the little misfit herd. As time went on, hopes of leaving the island dwindled, but it was a beautiful prison. They explored the tropical land as thoroughly as they could, discovering a wealth of resources. Fresh springs of water rose from the center of the island, creating streams which ran through the lush jungle that covered most of the available land. Shining, golden sanded beaches edged the island, where the new herd spent most of their time. They grazed on the tough sea grass at first, before discovering the tender leaves of an unknown vine. These were sweet and filling, and Bragi and his new companions grew content with life. 

He deeply missed his brother, but as months, then seasons passed, he thought of him less and less. Noa and Barb seemed to only grow stronger as they lived on the island, despite their age. This vitality was not restricted to the old timers either. On his diet of clear water and rich plant life, Bragi saw himself and the others become more vibrant and energetic. The stallions were strong, and the mares seemed to almost glow with an inner radiance. Bragi and Briar became fast friends. Close in age, they would race up and down the beach, parading for the lady's favor. The season of loving rolled around, despite the lack of obvious season changes. Blood ran hot and lusty, and the two friends nearly came to blows over the affection of Juniper, whom they had both come to want. Noa and Barb kept careful watch, as a dispute on an island so small would make life difficult for everyone. Things resolved themselves quickly though, when Juniper took it upon herself to solve the issue and brought them both to her bed that night. In another cycle, the herd welcomed a trio of foals, one of which distinctly resembled the golden stallion. It was a period of happiness for the displaced group. Time and circumstance had brought them close, and they had formed a family of odds and ends. 

Peace had never been meant to last, however. Bonded closer than brothers, Bragi and Briar we're inseparable. They spent all moments together, waking and sleeping. The night with Juniper had been an awakening, and they did not always seek her when physical attention was desired, though she was always welcome. 

It was morning when it happened. Bragi and his sorrel companion had been up late, in turn rough housing and exchanging teasing nips and kisses. They had finally landed together in a secluded cove, out of breath and hungry for each other. Falling asleep against each other later that night, Bragi felt for the first time that he would be completely happy if they never left this island. He came to the next morning blissfully unaware of the absence at his side. He rolled, and woke with a start when he ran into bare sand. Briar was gone. There were not even prints in the sand to mark where he may have gone. It was simply as if he'd never been there. The initial terror this island had brought his herd rushed back to him. He searched the cove frantically, but there was nothing, not every a stray hair to lead him. Not wasting any more time, he took off as fast as his legs would carry him to find the rest of the herd. 

He found them, all together in a clearing the group preferred.  The first thing he noticed was that Briar was not among them either. He was blowing hard breathes, and struggled to get words out. "Briar... Briar is missing. I think... I think the island took him." 
Noa looked up from his breakfast, concern painting his features. "Bragi, that's a very serious thing to say. We've lived here quite peacefully a year and more. Why would something happen now?" Bragi had no idea, and his expression said as much. Juniper, however, seemed to share his worry. The lithe spotted mare moved over to his side, resting her nose reassuringly against his neck. "We should look for him anyway. Briar has never been the kind to run off and scare us. Even if nothing bad is responsible, he might be hurt somewhere."
 The others nodded and voiced agreement, and Noa knew better than to argue. 
"Very well then. I don't want anymore surprises today, so we do this as a group." The elderly grey stallion commanded, looking to Barb for her consent. The old mare nodded also. 
"Briar is one of our family, as much as any of you. We will bring him home." Her words carried certainty, and bolstered the hearts of the family as the set out North to search for their missing one. Bragi and Juniper walked together, their young son between them. Briar was Bragi's best friend, closest companion, and his and Juniper's sometime lover. He would do whatever it took to bring him home safely.

[Zosma]

Zosma has always made her home in meadows and wide, reaching, rolling lands.

The colorful but fenced-in fields of España where she had been born.  She remembers flying across the verdant green grass with such abandon, such zest.  Her mother’s face had been bright, all the sharp angles lit under the unhindered Mediterranean sun.   The wild and earthy prairies of the new world had come next.  She had been lost and broken, but then rebuilt herself.  She remembers both the highs and the lows, both the power and the powerlessness of her soul.  The elysian kingdom of the Gates was last – a legend made real but not lessened for it.  The sun had finally found her once again here.  The wrongs were made right.  She loved that kingdom too late and it disappeared out from under her feet.

Now, the pale woman lives like a vagabond.  This role suits her, perhaps more than any other has before (obedient daughter, herd leader, citizen hopeful).  She moves wherever the wind is sweet, whichever direction the trodden path does not lead.    But one day, salt-brine mixes in heavily with the dogwood and lavender she has been trailing.  She’s always resisted it, always left her ghosts firmly in the past of the new world long behind her.  Today, it flits tantalizingly on her tongue and travels to her brain, where it orders her feet in a new direction.   Zosma leaves the edge of the meadow she had been haunting and follows the scent.  The moon is high in the heavens when she begins her mission, but it doesn’t matter long.  When she takes her first step away from the open sky, the forest swallows her wholly into darkness.  

The sea finds her after a time.  It takes several days and too many miles to count, but she is a traveler and doesn’t mind the familiar aches.  Once she faces the cerulean waves, though, she wonders why she’s come at all.  The sun is here, at least.  She closes her eyes against it, savoring its warmth against her weary skin.  It is gone too quickly.  The Spanish mare opens her eyes to the rushing darkness as the sun is blotted out by clouds.  A wind kicks up from nowhere, and it is neither sweet nor a reminder of the world behind her.  It is a cold tempest that pulls the brambles from her hair and tangles it further into knots.  It is a force that seems to shake the sea as the waves rise ahead.  They clap and clash against each other like titans; some waves suddenly reverse back to the horizon.  Then –

“Mom?”  Zosma breathes, her heart racing as she sees the figure.  She’s there but not, can’t be.  GET AWAY The woman in the water screams, her voice finding her daughter despite the tempest rising around them.  A filly lunges out from another wave, her beautiful and completely dead sister with wide eyes and another warning.  GO NOW.  And she can’t help it.  She steps into the water to follow them because the sea had almost killed them before.  It hadn’t, in the end, but here they are anyway.  Sea water sprays against her sides.  A monstrous wave cuts through the gaunt faces of her mother and sister, and this one is not as welcome.  His face is there.  The wave pauses at the crest of its motion, enough that he can look down on her (like all the times he’d taken her underneath him).  He sneers.  Run .  And it is not loud.  The command, like the wave, hits her like a caress.  Soft and easy, baby. And darkness follows.

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The first thing she notices is that she is alive.

Her lungs pull in sweet air once again.  Her heart pumps and beats out its old melody, filling her grateful ears with its chorus.  The sun pools itself in the small of her back and floods throughout her limbs, telling her to rise, rise, rise.  She does, and every muscle feels the exertion of her doing so.  Her coat had been plastered with salt and sea-wind and crinkles now that she’s moving.
The second thing she notices is that she is not alone.

Faces peer in from all around her landing spot on the beach.  There are so many that she thinks she’s dreaming (still not sure she was ever awake to begin with, not since the otherworldly storm, anyway).  She only believes she’s truly awake when one small colt reaches forward to bump his velveteen muzzle with her own and flesh meets flesh.  “I’m Koala!  You are very pale, didja know?”   A kindly-looking mare pushes Koala out of the way.  Her soft chestnut coat is filled out with the curves of a mother.  “Welcome to the Island, dear, and the family.  The ocean is kind enough to bring us new faces such as yourself now and again.  Come, we’ll show you around.”

Zosma greets them all in turn.  There’s Kiwi, a sabino mare.  Tiger is a brindle stallion with fierce eyes.  Baboon and Sloth, polar opposite brothers with blood bay coats.  Caiman is an entrancing woman with cold blue eyes and a black, black body.  Zosma appreciates everything about her.  Emu is a yearling filly with endearing tufts of fur growing behind her ears.  Python is a skinny, sickly-looking mare with a darting gaze.  Tapir is a monochrome young mare without a tail.  
The pale woman learns that Kangaroo is Koala’s mother.  She learns that everyone on the island has woken up here, a stranger at first but family soon after.  She learns the stories of the others, their lives before and after being stranded in paradise.  She learns where to find clean water, where to wash herself in the safe creeks, where to find the meaty coconuts opened by gravity’s fall.  She learns that the Island family does everything together including giving each other different names.
“Which animal did you see first?”  Kangaroo asks her one night as they lay with their haunches touching.  Zosma likes the fullness of the mare’s muscle against her own.  She likes Kangaroo, the honey-brown of her eyes gilded like the sun.  “A dart frog,” she says breathlessly against the sea air.  Kangaroo brushes her lips against her ear.  “Dart to me, frog to the others then.”   Her laugh, like everything else about her, is gentle.
And they live like this, in paradise.

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Until they don’t.

She wakes next to nothing and cries out.

“Where is she?  Where is ‘Roo?”   The others, all the horses with the names of the animals that surround them rush to her.  They come with frantic faces and voices of concern, of disbelief.  It had been hard to get here, but it was heaven on earth now.  How could this happen?
There are tracks, but they are few and far between.  It doesn’t matter.  They set out altogether, and Zosma takes Koala by her side as her own.  They ignore the beauty of their sanctuary, and scan the woods, the skies, the sea.  She feels panic like a taut wire she is loath to pull on in her breast.  Like before, she has lost something dear to her.  Unlike before, she is not alone.  They will find her, they have to.  The ocean will not gain another face.