• Logout
  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    [open]  maybe love is a broken thing, any
    #1
    selaphiel
    these days i don’t pray when i close my eyes
    The forest has been kind to him. 
    It has offered him shelter when he most desperately needed it, a place to steal away to, a safe haven when he thought he would be found and discarded. 

    But it has also exposed his failures and he tries not to think of them now as he wanders. 
    (He does not dare return to Hyaline yet, his interaction with Mazikeen still echoing in each hemisphere of his brain.) 

    He will go home eventually, he thinks, because he had scraped together enough courage to stand up to her even as her pelt had flared with anger and she had transformed herself into something with claws and teeth. He had been brave, even if he hadn’t felt it.

    It is sadness, though, that keeps him in the forest now. Because he misses her fiercely, Maze. His friend. And he does not know how to face Hyaline with the acute understanding that those days are long gone now and no manner of wishing will bring her back.

    He has always been gifted at drifting through the shadows, as he had been born in darkness, and he drifts now without much thought at all. Until the stench of death—so brutally overpowering that it makes his eyes water—hits him square in the chest. It is more potent than it has ever been and he sucks in a sharp, frantic breath.

    He blinks into the gathered shadows, seeking out the source, and then he sees it. A mountain lion coiled on a tree branch overhead and he understands that it is he who will die. His heart stutters and then stops altogether as he catches the cat’s eye. For a moment, they merely look at each other. 

    He could run, certainly, but the cat is faster. He could take to the skies, but he knows by the stench that there is no escape for him. So, he stands there and he stares and he swears the cat smiles as it leaps. It sinks its terrible claws into the meat of his shoulder and he recoils on instinct alone, though he knows it’s no use. And the teeth come next, catching him by the throat and he hits his knees as the blood springs forth, dripping warm down his neck.

    And then the cat is gone but he can only lie there, choking on his labored breaths, bleeding. And he is surrounded by the horrible stench of death as he sinks beneath the surface. 


    I just bite my tongue a bit harder
    Reply
    #2
    [Image: 2-BEC0-B6-B-1-D14-4-A34-883-D-22-FEDDEF8644.png]
    Trandafir
       The warmth that came the early spring was welcomed to the young mare. Though her thick coat kept her decently warm, she preferred spring weather.  As she weaved carefully through a seemingly endless amount of trees, a cluster of thoughts filled her mind. The memories of her home and the spring times she had enjoyed with her family. The loneliness she felt now the she was alone. And longing in her heart to return to her beloved home. But the thought and feeling that overcame her was the excitement and joy to be starting life on her own. She felt a glorious freedom and strength flow over her as she roamed the land alone.

       She had no course set in life and did not want one. Trandafir wanted to spend her young years without obligations or pressure. With the mindset of being spontaneous and doing what she wanted. She hoped to meet many horses and make many friends. Though her parents had sent her off with mild warnings of the dangerous world, they had not fully prepared her. Her innocent mind could hardly imagine the pain, evil and danger that existed out in the world. She knew only the good and beautiful. The kind and caring. And she always carried that with her. Fira had been raised with a mindset of care. Wherever she was and whatever she was doing, she must always be ready to help, always be willing, and always care for others. 

       Her half shed chestnut coat was covered in a light layer of dust and her white legs were stained brown. Her mindset of care did not extend to herself or her appearance, as was obvious. The young mare usually carried a dusty coat, but it was all excused by her sweet eyes and joyful smile. A smile that faded suddenly when the chestnut mare caught the scents of a fearful commotion. Her glee for the spring day melted off her face as her flared nostrils caught the putrid scent of a predator, followed by the sharp smell of blood. Her now sharp eyes wildly scan the surroundings. Catching movement from the corner of her vision she spins to the left and bounds towards the scene. When Trandafir arrives she freezes briefly in horror. The horse in front of her is lying still, his white coat torn and stained with blood. She swallows as a strong urge to turn and flee overcomes her when the scent of blood fills her nostrils. But she doesn't run. Her large hooves quickly approach the severely injured stranger. Her eyes sting from the horrid sight of the horses condition. 

      The thoughts in her mind are rushing to fast for her to think clearly, so she does what she feels the strongest. As she nears the horse she lowers her head, quickly examining the extent of his injuries. She knows little to nothing of medicine, but perhaps she can still do something to help. Anything. Her pink nose reaches for the bloody neck of the stranger, nudging gently, and urgently, she speaks. "Are you awake?" "Can you move?!" She knows better than to ask if he is alright. He clearly isn't. Her nudges become more frantic and her heart is gripped with a tightening fear. He isn't dying right? Her mind rushes, a sudden charge of emotions flowing over her. "Please say something!" she bursts, "Please don't die!" she trails, her voice softening, the worry in her tone is clear. Trandafir has no idea who the bloody stallion is, but she can't bear to see anyone die. 

    Reply
    #3
    selaphiel
    these days i don’t pray when i close my eyes
    It is such an extraordinary thing that happens while he lies there and this kind stranger comes to his aid. 

    He does not feel the way she nudges him desperately, trying in vain to rouse him. No, he is too far gone for that. 

    But the body works to heal itself, stitching the skin back together, drawing the ice from his hooves to the throat, stemming the flow of the blood. It does so without his even having to ask it, the ice working to save the felled angel. 

    He does not hear her, cannot answer the questions she asks. He swims in such a deep darkness, impenetrable as the shadows that had fallen over Beqanna during the Eclipse.

    Several moments pass while the body works to restore itself and only when the throat has repaired itself, leaving behind the jagged edge of a scar, does he begin to clamber himself out of that darkness. He sucks in a sharp, world-swallowing breath, as the heart in his chest takes back up its persistent beat. 

    He is alive.

    Or he is born again.

    And he forces open his eyes, too exhausted to register the stranger’s presence with any level of surprise. It seems like the natural order of things through the haze in his mind, that he should wake up on the forest floor and she should be standing over him with that expression on her face.

    He lifts his weary head first and then uses all of his remaining energy to haul himself to his feet. He stands there, limbs trembling, and tries to steady his breathing.

    I’m sorry if I startled you,” he murmurs, the most he can offer her. It’s clear by the expression on her face that he had and the words are empty but it’s all he has. He sways on his feet and drags in another shuddering breath, though the air is tinged still with that awful stench of death. 

    He had always thought his own would smell different than the rest.


    I just bite my tongue a bit harder


    @Trandafir
    Reply
    #4
    [Image: 2-BEC0-B6-B-1-D14-4-A34-883-D-22-FEDDEF8644.png]
    Trandafir

       As she watched the stallion before her fade away her breath slowed. A shock fell over her as she realized the horse before her was too far to be saved. Her heartbeat rings in her ears and she backs away slowly. Before she had time to totally process what she had witnessed, something began to happen. Her eyes widened in shock and a slight fear settled in her stomach. The bloody white stallion was piecing himself back together. What in the world is he? Her mind races as she takes several more steps back. The growing nervous fear in her stomach was not enough to make her run. The strong curiosity and urge to make sure he was alright made her stay. When the stallion gasped for air Trandafir's large hooves couldn't resist stepping forward. 

      When the strangers eyes finally open she tilts her head. Her mind is trying to piece together what had just happened. He had been close to death, if not dead, and then he healed himself, and was breathing now, and opening his eyes. Her young mind didn't understand how all that could happen but she accepted that it had happened. And now the stranger looked terribly out of sorts, and she wanted to be sure he would be alright. When the stallion begins to stand she jerks her head back, still suspicious of the horse that had just come back to life. The strangers quiet and murmured words reach her ears and she stays silent. She had been very startled, and frightened and now worried. The stranger had such a strange presence. One she could not figure out. The strangeness of the encounter did not help her understand anything any better.

       Her racing heart is barely starting to slow, her mind is now struggling to find her next action. Trandafir stays still for several moments, her eyes studying the scars that had so miraculously appeared in the place of fatal injuries. Finally she lifts her head. Her blue eyes holding a mix of uncertainty, curiosity and worry. "Its all right now that I see that you," she hesitates, "you're not dead." Her voice is quiet and sincere. While she had been quite shocked, the stallion had had it worse and her mind was more on the stranger's condition than her own. "But, what-what happens now?" she questions slowly. "I mean, are you really all right?" Her voice curious but still holds a hint of worry. The chestnut's mind still hasn't quite wrapped around the whole dying and coming back to life event she had witnessed. "You still don't look too good." she remarks, her voice barely a whisper. The white stallion looked terribly weak and probable to fall over at any moment. 

    Reply
    #5
    selaphiel
    these days i don’t pray when i close my eyes
    He cannot fault her for her wariness.
    He, too, has seen strange things. 

    But a body resurrected has never been a strange thing. He had been so young when Mazikeen had sacrificed herself for him and his mother had brought her back. 

    It is peculiar, though, that he should be able to bring himself back from death. He does not allow himself to ponder it now. Not when she’s looking at him and he’s searching through the haze in his mind to find the right words to sate her worry.

    (He knows worry all too well. It has plagued him his whole life.)

    He draws in another shaky breath, knees trembling with their want to buckle, and shakes his head. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He wants to apologize a second time, apologize for her having to stumble across his battered body on the forest floor. He wants to shift her worry from him, he wants to eradicate it all together. 

    (Will he be able to smell his own death in the air around her? He reaches for her by fractions, testing the air, but can smell nothing beyond the stench in his own nostrils. The rot of his death from his own perspective.)

    What happens now?

    He shakes his head and tries for a smile, but it alights on his face something crooked, lacking. “I don’t know,” he admits, “this is the first time I’ve ever died.” It’s meant to come out as something comical, light with humor, but it is a heavy thing and it settles in the air between them. 

    He swallows thickly and tries to lift his head higher, as if this might convince her that he’s better off than he is. “I’m all right,” he says, quiet. He shifts his weight, trying to orient himself into a posture that might make his knees want to collapse less. “I’ll be all right.

    Not the same, really, but close enough. 



    I just bite my tongue a bit harder



    @Trandafir
    Reply




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)