"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
It’s been a few years since she (literally) crash landed into Beqanna and where have these years gotten her? Absolutely, incredibly, fucking nowhere.
She has been healed, at least, and has two working wings again – and the road to getting to where she could fly has been long and frustrating. But, at least, it has given her something to focus her mind on. There are precious little thoughts up there otherwise – it’s either flying or hyper-fixating on the fact that she still hasn’t remembered why this place seems like home, still hasn’t remembered her name or her family.
So, she has been focusing all of her attention on flying.
Today would be a good day for flying, which she is thankful for. She’s found her way to the meadow and an open area, where the autumn-gold grass is unimpeded by trees. She still feels a little wary to be standing so openly, like she’s making herself unnecessarily vulnerable, but the rest of the horse-creatures don’t seem to mind and she is trying to get used to it, along with so many other things.
With the early-afternoon sunshine upon her, she uncurls her wings just a little bit. Relishing the combination of the cool air and the warm sunshine upon the feathers that had been hidden just moments ago.
She’s itching to fly, but for now she stays where she is – blissfully unaware that she might look a little strange. It has never mattered to her how she has appeared to others – right now she is relishing in the strange, but welcome, sense of peace folding over top of her. Her grey-blue eyes don't flutter close but are cast upwards instead, her mind utterly empty as she watches a lazy white cloud cross the cool blue of the sky.
I was a poor boy; you were a bright light I was a sinner and you were a snake
He had been in foul mood the first time that they had met.
The circumstances had not made it much better—surrounded by angry, biting women who loved nothing more than stoking his fury (although he had done far worse). Today, his mood is not much better. Being forced back to life after being ripped from it has a way of doing that to a soul—turning it even darker.
He has at least come to terms with the fact that he has not yet successfully avoided life and does not bristle with fury whenever he opens his eyes in the morning. However, that does change the fact that he still stiffens with surprise in the morning, feels that ache of frustration and disappointment in his throat.
The only thing he can do is keep moving, he thinks. Even though he continues to see Sylva as his home—and, somewhere, there is a starry woman who will surely want an explanation from him—he doesn’t spend his days haunting her borders. Instead he keeps moving, traveling through the lands, to the corners.
Today, it brings him to the meadow.
The autumn air is cool but not yet bitter with the bite of winter and he finds that he enjoys it, comforted by the temperature that soothes. He continues walking forward until he catches a glimpse of a familiar coat, the wild mare standing with her wings extended, her eyes looking upward. She looks peaceful.
He wonders how anyone feels that way.
Throat tight, he wanders close, painfully aware of the tension of their last meeting. His face remains stony, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he swallows, before looking upward with her.
“Fancy a fly?”
Perhaps this was something they could see eye-to-eye on, he thinks.
Perhaps he would not ruin it instantly if he could not talk.
shook like some old souls when our bones broke swallowed the sickness, a fever, a flame
She hears someone approaching but she does not think much of it - there are so many horses in this place, she feels as though she is never truly alone. Although her blue-grey eyes remain on the sky above, there is a part of her tracking the movement. An instinct that will never fade.
But, what does surprise her, is that she recognizes the voice. The recognition causes the slightest jump, a bit of a twitch in her body, and this reaction instantly makes her feel defensive before they’ve even started. Coupled with the moderate embarrassment over how their last meeting had gone - for his brusqueness, for the strangeness of the other mares, and for her words too. She lashed out because she had nothing else to offer, just as she is ready to lash out in this moment too - her ears flattening for a fraction of a second before she finally processes the words that he has said.
Her gaze lowers from the sky to him, the peace that she had felt moments ago flooding in once more. There’s even a smile. A small, ghostly one, but it is warm and it is honest.
She is thankful for this chance at a different impression, though she’s not thinking about that - she’s thinking about how excited she is to fly with someone again. It’s always been her favourite way to interact with others - high in the sky, where they can’t talk.
So that’s what she says. “Always.”
Her wings are already unfurled so she moves forward and beats those soft, sandy-coloured wings until she is in the air. She wishes she could fly as far as the sun, but she’ll settle for a reasonable altitude for now. The fact that she’s nameless doesn’t seem like such a problem up here. All those years as a mountain lion and she had been missing out on the rush of the wind as it catches and tosses her. She keeps an eye out for Brigade, wondering if flying felt the same for him - and enjoying the bliss of not being able to ask the question.
I was a poor boy; you were a bright light I was a sinner and you were a snake
He nearly expects her to drive him away—to push him aside and simply continue on her way.
So imagine his surprise when she smiles, a quick and fleeting thing, and then accepts his offer. His own lips curve into a semblance of a smile as he turns is gaze toward the wide and open horizon, his steely grey eyes taking it in and then nodding as he watches her take to the skies.
He is only a moment behind her. His wings shift from their usual red down to red leather, the edges turning nearly draconic and significantly larger than his usual pair. He begins to run forward, pumping his legs and wings beginning to beat until he launches himself upward. The wind is colder than it had been on the ground and, as always, it takes his breath away—leaves him breathless with a rare joy.
In these moments, Brigade remembers what it was like to be a boy. Remembers flying ahead of his twin as they explored the vast wilderness of Tephra, as he learned what it meant to have the skies for the taking. He closes his eyes as he swoops and then streamlines, cutting a path through the skies until he catches up to her, looking at her from the corner of his eye. His lips quirk for a second again and his wings shift in mid-air, going from draconic to the elliptical wings of a raven, jet-black and glossy.
These maneuver easier than the larger wings and he yips lightly as he tucks them in for a dive, spiraling down and then catching himself at the last minute—enjoying the way that the wind bends underneath him and the way that his body sings with the adrenaline and rush of doing what he was made to do.
shook like some old souls when our bones broke swallowed the sickness, a fever, a flame
There’s a small thrill of surprise when she looks back and sees that his feathered wings have been replaced with leathery ones of a magnificent size. And even more surprising when he is beside her and they change again, into those of a raven. She laughs a little out of sheer pleasure when he tucks them in close and goes for a dive and she’s close behind him, and the noise is followed a small whoop of joy escaping her as the wind rushes at her face.
She had enjoyed her life as a mountain lion, had loved being a predator, but now she knows that she had not been whole. Along with her memories, she had missed flight. This was where she felt most at home, where she felt utterly alive.
It’s a pleasure to share it with someone and she wishes this had been how they first met.
She wishes this could be how she met everyone.
He catches himself out of the dive but she drops further than him before catching herself - and as she catches she shifts. He’s not the only one who can change. As a golden eagle she twists and shoots past him - close enough, she hopes, to stretch out a talon and tug gently at a feather, or his tail, before she arcs up and away.
