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  • 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

    luminous beings we are [any]

    Some said that her head never left the clouds. Well, what a lucky thing that she has wings to keep the rest of her body up there too. Her family had no patience for her woolgathering and she’d finally grown tired of their constant, pointed remarks. So, she had taken to the skies, not really intending to leave them behind, nor really planning to return to their viperous den.

    She’s been drifting along for a while now, with little heed to time or location. Instead, she wheels and tumbles along with a haphazard wind, performing aerial acrobatics of childish glee in the dwindling daylight. It is only when the sun is ready to sink behind the mountains on the horizon that she realizes it might be time to touch down again.

    None of the landmarks are known to her, but with the reckless courage of the child that she is, she begins her descent with utmost confidence. The field of lavender, vibrant even in the fading light, catches her eye immediately and she beelines toward the large tree at its midst. She lands lightly just outside of its skirt of low-hanging branches and quickly ducks into the shuttered space, the only sign of concern for her own safety. Still, it is fleeting and her face gently parts the willows so that she may stare around at the unfamiliar place. Her nose twitches with unbridled excitement and delight as she inhales the sweet, intoxicating scent of the innumerable flowers surrounding her.

    Though she does not know it, she is fortunate to have chosen this place to roost for the night. The beauty of the Gates is wholesome and genuine, rather than a clever costume meant to conceal a villainous heart. It may not yet be her intention to take up residence here, but she could easily be convinced.. except there doesn’t seem to be anyone within close range that might officially extend an invitation.

    And so, with cheerful naivety, she calls out in her pleasantly shrill voice..


    (just for reference, she's about a year old)
    suffocate the fire  i started--------------------
    right when it kindles

    Myrna runs until her legs give out, and when she cannot take a single step ahead she grows a pair of wings and takes to the sky. Weary, she does little more than skim above the earth, and her pale legs occasionally clip against the branches of the budding spring canopies.

    Her wings begin to ache, and each beat is accompanied by a burning sensation that stretches far beyond her wings. He is soaring over a trio of lakes, and ahead of her is a broad bay. The burning continues to spread as she crosses the waves. Myrna knows what that feeling means, knows that it means her shifting will fail her before her wings do.

    The sand that she lands on cushions her jostled arrival, and she stumbles for a moment on legs that have gone partially numb from her long flight. The feathered wings at her sides disappear, as do the tattered remnants of the flowers she’d worn through the portal. Her golden head hangs low, and her view of the place she has landed is obscured by the white blonde curtain of her mane.

    Green hills, broad and rolling, stretch out beyond the willows that stretch toward the south. The setting sun appears from behind a shield of clouds as she shakes her hair away from her face, bathing the flower-filled fields with warm light. A gust of wind, carrying just enough red pollen to add peaceful sleepiness to her exhaustion, brings with it also the scent of spring and the promise of new growth even as the daylight fades.

    The perfection of the scene feels like a sign.

    Closing her eyes, Myrna breathes in deeply. She is not sure what this place is, or how long it might remain in the frequently-changing Beqanna that she has come to expect. She knows only that it feels right, somewhere deep inside her. This is where she belongs.

    As she opens her eyes, the sound of a faint voice comes from just past the trees. Myrna’s blue eyes narrow, but she cannot see anyone. She takes one slow step forward, and then another. Each stride is painful, but the palomino mare arrives in the Gates.

    Ahead of her is a pegasus, the horse she expects had called out. “Was that you?” She says when she’s near enough to be heard. “Calling out earlier, I mean?”

    Flighty, not only in the way she loves to take to the skies, but also in demeanor, she soon forgets that she’s called for anyone that might be in the vicinity. She snaps playfully at the pliable green branches dangling near her face, her dark grey eyes sparkling with delight. As the horizon deepens into an array of sapphire blues, royal purples, and warm pinks and oranges, the soft blinks of firefly lights capture her attention just as quickly. The way they dance and swirl through the air lends a magical feeling to the scene, an intoxicating ambrosia to someone still so in love with the simple, beautiful things in life.

    Simplistic beauty is appropriate for describing this place and she is already taking a shine to the Gates. The sense of inadequacy laid at her feet by the members of her family evaporates like a morning dew subjected to the warmth of the midday sun. Though she still values those blood ties, she longs for acceptance of her natural persona, for someone to feed the boisterous young flame of her heart instead of curbing its enthusiasm. As she stares at the glowing insects swarming peacefully through the air, she wonders if she should petition for this to become her new home.

    But who is there to listen to her supplication?

    As though some all-knowing deity hears her silent plea, the gentle steps of an approaching creature reach her ears. The pale specter that is Myrna comes into view, a dramatic contrast to the filly’s glossy raven appearance.  Never suspicious of motives of strangers, she moves forward to meet Myrna, head bobbing in her eagerness. Her breath catches slightly on inhalation, then escapes in an awestruck sigh. ”Oh, you’re pretty! It is not difficult to see and hear the innocent honesty in her eyes and tone.

    Her face breaks into a sweet smile as she continues without pause, ”And yes, that was me! My name is Sky.. well, Skywalker, but Sky is easier. Is this your home? Can I stay here?” She blinks expectantly, not realizing that there is a chance that this mare may not have the authority to extend an invitation to her, or even that her rapid-fire delivery might be difficult to follow.

    @ Viszla 
    suffocate the fire  i started--------------------
    right when it kindles

    Silhouetted against the setting sun and dark in color, it is at first hard to make out much about the horse in front of her beyond that they are winged. The unexpected compliment predisposes Myrna toward positive feelings about the strange pegasus, and she’s smiling at the candor in the young voice even before the girl admits that she had been the one to call out earlier.

    Skywalker - Sky - introduces herself quickly, and Myrna opens her mouth to reply, only to close it once more as the girl continues. Myrna’s pleasant smile remains, as she is not unaccustomed to Sky’s rapidfire manner of speech, and only waits until at last the girl is quiet, having just as Myrna if she can stay here - in her home. 

    “I was going to ask you the same thing. I think this is a new place. Or rather… a new-old place? I think this is the Gates.” It looks how her mother had described it in stories, she thinks, or at least near enough.

    “Its probably going to sound silly, but I feel like I was drawn here. It feels right somehow.” Its almost like homecoming, though she’s never set hoof on these soils before. “I think we can both stay, if you don’t mind sharing a home with me.” Myrna smiles, the expression charming, and realizes she’s not even introduced herself.

    “I’m Myrna, by the way. It’s nice to meet you, Sky.”

    @ skywalker
    "I don't want my life to imitate art,
    I want my life to be art."
    -Carrie Fisher

    The Gates. Of course, the name means very little to the girl, but she finds it just as appealing as the glowing swarm of fireflies that dance around her head, or the exhilarating scent of lavender that tickles her nostrils, or the benevolent woman that stands before her. Her body nearly vibrates with excessive energy, but she listens quietly and as patiently as she can while Myrna speaks. For a moment, she wonders what is meant by ‘new-old’, but Myrna continues and describes an innate pull to the Gates. Sky tilts her head inquisitively and laughs, not unkindly, but because she cannot imagine anyone believing this place to be silly.

    “I don’t think it’s silly at all, this place is like magic and I really like it here!”

    A sharp squeal of delight follows quickly as Myrna offers up the Gates as their new home. The black filly hops in place several times, wings whipping the nearby willow branches into a frenzy to match the excitement swelling in her young heart.

    “I’d love to share a home with you!” She continues in her celebration, though without as much volume. It’s a good thing, too, for she might have missed hearing Myrna’s name. If she could clap her hands as a joyous human child might, she would be doing so in this very moment.

    “I’m glad I met you, Myrna.. you’re much nicer than my family.”

    There is an edge of hunger in her voice. It is not born of being raised in an unsightly land, but of being subjected to emotional ugliness almost daily. The humorless ribbings, the irritated sighs, the angry admonitionsall because of her exuberance, her curiosity, her being herself. She cannot help but cling to the acceptance and kindness, the potential to create a new family, that Myrna gives her.

    A yawn splits her face briefly as the night continues to descend upon them and she draws a bit closer to the mare, a trace of drowsiness beginning to creep over the dark grey eyes she turns up at Myrna. “Do you have any stories about the Gates? I’d like to hear them, if you do..”

    IMAGE BY otis4rt
    @ Viszla 
    suffocate the fire  i started--------------------
    right when it kindles

    It seems that the rightness of the Gates is not a sensation exclusive to Myrna. Skywalker feels it too, and though Myrna takes a step back to avoid the buffet of the girl’s celebration, she does so with an understanding smile.

    She knows that she probably would have acted similarly in private (and still might), and there is something nearly as bright as the Gates about seeing someone else so jubilant.
    “Wonderful!” She says, and there is no doubt in her sparkling eyes that she means it: “I’d like to share a home with you as well, Sky.” Myrna is not expecting the admission about Skywalker’s family. That, too, strikes a familiar chord, and she finds herself reaching out to brush her muzzle against the girl’s shoulder. Though she is far from ready to speak of her own issues, especially so frankly, there is empathy in her blue-grey eyes along with honesty when she tells Sky: “I’m glad that I met you too.”

    The palomino mare manages to stifle the yawn that Skywalker’s triggered, but it is a near thing and she smiles at herself for it. Familiar with the ways of children, having younger sisters of her own, Myrna glances up at the sky and supposes that - yes, it is about time for youngsters to settle down for the night. It strikes her, as Sky sidles a little closer, that in choosing this place as her home and Sky as her companion, that responsibilities must come with it to. Tonight, it seems, it is her task to spin tales.

    Fortunately, that is one she quite enjoys.

    “Once upon a time there was a filly born right here in the Gates. Well, maybe not right here -” she paws the ground, “- but somewhere around here. One day she would grow up and become my grandmother, but first she was a girl much like you.” (here is where we pretend i know a fun story about Baby Agetta that Viszla tells Skywalker, but really I will ask Squirt for one)


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