"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
09-03-2016, 04:01 PM (This post was last modified: 09-11-2016, 12:50 AM by Lilitha.)
I pretend to close my eyes; I pretend I'm burning bright.
Well so finding my daddy has not been working out so well, in that I still do not know where he is. But I mean, new friends are good too, especially nice shaggy new friends who cuddle up close and make the cold a little less...a little less all the way down in my bones. And even if my sparky little fire friend is gone, well at least I have some wings to wrap around me and keep me warmer. Not really warm, exactly. I haven’t been warm since the fire went away. But less cold is still good.
Oh, good thing the whole world is not tundra, though. I would be turned to ice for sure by now.
Anyhow, wings are not company, and I am a lonely Lily. The forest has been good to me, providing me with several fun companions over the years--well, okay, months--I have known it, and so I figure why not give it another shot, right? So with a deep breath and a fortifying snort, I set out into the woods to find a new friend.
((...this is intended to be taking place before Lilitha finds Romek, because ~*~timelines~*~))
come on in, we haven't slept for weeks; drink some of this, it'll put colour in your cheeks
Winter is a sharp season – the sound the snow makes under her feet as they crush it, the vibrant scent of pine on the air, the stab of cold as the wind picks up. Winter is her namesake, her birthright, and she cuts a sharp outline against white ground and the black trees. This Winter is grey all over – darker towards her extremities, the muzzle and the feet and the tail, but never quite an absolute black or white. She is a shadow of either, a shade of both, as she explores the Forest for the first time.
If the colours paint a bleak picture, her mood is anything but. Beqanna was her parents’ home, she knows that much – and very little more. Her mother raised her elsewhere and told her snippets, short stories, brief, inconsequential memories; the rest is a quest of her own making, a source of excitement as she explores the land. Little does she know that her new home has been remade overnight, just days before she arrived. That particular brand of newness is lost on her, washed away by the broad-brush strokes of curiosity and revelation she brings with her.
Sounds carry easily in the sharp, cold woodlands and she hears a horse approaching from ahead. Bizarrely, Spindlewinter has always been more nervous in busy situations – the danger of meeting a lone stranger in an empty forest is somewhat lost on her. She winds through the trees with renewed interest, first getting a glimpse of her companion’s passing between trunks and then suddenly the whole picture.
Wings?
Wings are not something horses have, in her experience, and she can’t help but gasp. “Oh…!” she starts, wide-eyed with innocent amazement. “Oh, those are incredible. Were you born with them? Or… did they grow?” Questions chase through her head – are birds born with their wings, and if not, does it hurt when they sprout like an insect’s do? Or was this child not a horse at all but a legend walking the earth? She would ask them all, but manages to hold her tongue for fear of getting no answers at all.
I pretend to close my eyes; I pretend I'm burning bright.
It doesn’t take long before a new friend is standing beside me, gasping and admiring my pretty new wings. I can’t blame her, either. They’re big and feathery and lovely, all black with red-tipped feathers, and they go very nicely with my black fur and red hair. “Oh, thank you! They’re pretty new,” I answer, glancing over my shoulder and flaring them out to get a better look. “I’m still getting used to them. But they’ve grown on me now that I’ve tried them out a few times! Flying is great fun!” Even if I’m still a little clumsy at it.
“They grew when I came down the Mountain. Same time as my fire went away, and the whole world got colder. I still miss the fire. It’s so cozy and warm, and it used to wrap itself around me and cuddle close when I got chilly. Now I have to find someone warm to snuggle with when I’m cold instead, and that is not always easy or even possible.” And then I pause and glance at my new friend, wondering if it’s too soon to sidle up next to her and find out if she is cozy and warm like my two very bestest good friends are.
Probably too soon.
With a bit of a sigh, I manage to restrain myself from curling my body against hers and just look her over instead. Her pretty fur matches the colors the world is right now, all shades of winter grey, but it looks much warmer than the snow and the icy cold air. And then I remember my manners, or at least one of them, and introduce myself. “Oh, my name’s Lilitha. Who’re you?”
