Clegane
been in the dark for weeks and I've realized you're all I need
and I hope that I'm not too late, I hope I'm not too late
@[Raul] @[Castile] my first thread with him! He's about a year old, maybe a bit older
Beqanna
Assailant -- Year 226
"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
what's past is prologue // raul & castile
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08-21-2019, 12:05 PM
Clegane been in the dark for weeks and I've realized you're all I need @[Raul] @[Castile] my first thread with him! He's about a year old, maybe a bit older
08-23-2019, 10:09 AM
Tana had left them days ago, and Raul knew it was his fault. His own fear and anger had led him to abandon home, and to bring his brother with him. They'd done everything together, why not this? But Sabra was difficult to live with, and Rebelle had her own set of troubles because of it. He'd been grossly optimistic in thinking that all of their troubles would go away if only by virtue of their family being together.
He should have known better, but his own wounds has clouded his judgement. Warlight's rejection had cut him deeply, especially after all they'd been through. Their relationship had always been centered on turmoil, but he had thought that they were each others pillar of peace in a world too often stacked ageist them. They'd suffered, and he'd done all he could to ease her pain, but maybe that had been where the bad had started. He'd only wanted to help. And now he'd driven his brother away with his own stubbornness, his own fear of loss. Tana was angry, and he had every right to be. It had been well meaning captivity, but captivity nonetheless. And it hadn't fixed anything. Rebelle had skulked off to follow Tana, and Sabra still saw the world as her enemy, with paranoid rages and violent outbursts occurring more days than not. There was something broken in their mother, and his skills were not enough to fix it. Nothing was right in the buckskin stallion's world. Nothing he did seemed to fix the damage he'd so unwittingly done. His failure made him sick to his bones, and he found himself unable to stay where they'd been. He had to go. Someplace where he should think about what to do next, because at the moment, he had no clue. His feet led him on an old path, a place he hadn't seen in years. His birthplace. The river flowed as fast and clear as ever, scattered with the gold and rust leaves of fall. They gathered in the curves and slow pools the river had carved in the earth over the years, shallow collections of decay. The burly stallion paused at one of the slower stretches of water, dropping his head to drink the chilly liquid. He'd traveled further than he'd realized, and it took several long drinks to slake the thirst he'd built. On raising his dripping head, he spotted another a little further along the river, looking lost in the shadows. Raul squinted a little, trying to see better through the gloom. He could almost swear... "Warlight?" He called out, raspy voice carrying across the riverbank easily. "WARLIGHT!" He yelled, something he did very rarely. But he was almost certain that the shadowy figure was her. Slight and mottled with white and brown, he could just make out the whorling pattern of spots on their pelt, and it seemed that antlers crowned their head. It was a trick of the light, and the bare branches in the background, but he didn't see it, didn't want to see it. He wanted his mate, his lost love. The cold water flowed at his belly by the time he realized he'd entered the river. Something wasn't right. The figure was too small. That chance at seeing his beloved was too hard a hope to give up on, he found, and he didn't allow it to fade until he'd reached the other side. Only feet away from the skewbald child, he knew that it wasn't her. But the resemblance was too strong to be a coincidence. Moisture had gathered in his eyes, either from the river or his own surging emotions, he couldn't tell. He coughed slightly, catching his breath after the quick crossing. "Where... Where is your mother?" He asked, looking harder at the worn child. Something dreadful has happened. He could feel it in his chest, but he had to know for sure. The colt was ragged, thin and wild looking. And his face... Raul felt a deep combination of rage and regret as he absorbed the poor boy's ravaged features. "Who are you, child?" His voice was low and hoarse, a thread of pain weaving through the words. The more he looked, the more he felt he knew. How could he ignore the evidence before his own eyes? How could he not recognize the blood he knew and loved mingled with his own in the tiny form he'd stumbled on so recklessly? @[Clegane] @[Castile]
10-29-2019, 12:38 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-29-2019, 12:47 PM by Clegane.
Edit Reason: because i can't spell
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Clegane been in the dark for weeks and I've realized you're all I need @[Raul] @[Castile] I love you guys for putting up with me and my sporadic posting
11-03-2019, 02:38 PM
The day continued to surprise, as Raul laid eyes on the piebald stallion who emerged from the brush. Mistrust seeped into the scene, already volatile with the emotions running through it. As much as it off balanced the buckskin stallion to see his sire here and now, he had far more pressing things on his mind.
He nodded curtly in the elder stallion's direction, acknowledging his presence, then returned his gaze to the little one at the heart of things. His mismatched eyes drank in every detail, every shadow and plain that made up the boy. Buried beneath the neglect and the hardship, a strength pushed through the youngster's bones. The inherent courage of one forced to face things far larger than himself at far too young an age. The painted boy spoke again, his voice as soft as Raul's own. The words that reach him are not the ones he wanted to hear, but they are not altogether unexpected. Gone. Yes, she was gone. And if the boy's condition were anything to go by, it had been a long while since. Warlight, his beautiful Warlight. She had been full of life once, even when sickness dogged her. A warrior who loved her home and her family. And him. He'd thought so, anyway. There were deep layers there, things done wrong on all sides. It had been an era of fear and judgement, and maybe that was why they had clung to each other so strongly. Why they had burned bright, then burned out. And he had thought himself alone again. But she had not been alone, had she? Not if what he saw was truth. She'd carried him with her, beside her, until her unknown fate caught up. What could be say to make sense of any of this? To begin to patch up the tattered remains of a history he knew only one side of. An uneasy glance towards the looming figure of Castile reminded him of how tenuous this all was. Blood did not mean everything. Sometimes all it managed to do was burn the ones it joined. His throat constricted, felt as raw as it had the day he'd made his sacrifice. It would not surprise him in the least of blood spilled from his lips instead of words. Sometimes it was good to be wrong. The gravely rasp of his voice forced its way past the choking point, out into the space between them. "I am sorry to hear that. Your mother was very dear to me..." The words cracked between his teeth. They may well be blood, as this was his heart on display. He shook with emotion, held it tight to his chest as he pondered where they could go from here. He could not abandon the child, it was out of the question. Nor was he certain where they could go. To stay by the river might do for a while, but it was not a permanent solution. He shook his heavy head, too weary to unravel the jumble of thoughts fighting for dominance. "Did she ever... do you know your father?" He could. be wrong, after all. The resemblance was striking, but it was no promise of relation. If Warlight was the child's mother, she may well have found herself in other company when they had parted ways. It didn't matter though. Not to him. His or not, the boy needed help. Needed care. And if the bone-crowned mare had birthed him, Raul couldn't give a damn who else's blood he carried. Not if it meant he got to hold a piece of her once more. @[Clegane] @[Castile] |
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