"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 has taken years, but Targaryen has finally learned to be himself. This is not the rite of passage every young adult experiences; it is not the daily struggle of learning who you are or what your purpose is in life. The tobiano has spent his years of young adulthood learning how to master his own magic. It had been painful and exhausting at first. Many days were swept away by the decisions of whatever creature claimed his body, while nighttime brought little sleep as he attempted to remember. Slowly, throughout the years, he gained control over his own body once more.
When he is finally able to make sense of day and night, of seasons, of more than just what animal his body has become, his heart aches for what he knows he’s lost. How long ago has it been since he’d left Loess, traveling to the common lands to find a friend for Taiga? How many years have passed since he’d announced his feelings for Cheri? The world has shifted around him; Beqanna is restless again and changing her face for her residents to adapt to. Nothing is the same, and he grieves.
Despite his practice and years of learning, Targaryen is nervous to purposely shift forms. He flies with his own multicolored wings to the Meadow. The deep chestnut of his coloring is striking against a bright blue autumn sky. When he lands, his chest tightens as he realizes his eyes are looking for someone — anyone — he knows. Yet all he sees are strangers.
The years have not caused her affection for her friend to wane, and she feels the warmth of her smile like sunlight on her skin when she spots him in the meadow on this clear autumn day. Catryn had thought of him often through these bizarre years, as Beqanna shifted and changed and brought marvels and frights into the world. When their land was limited and all of them were lingering in a small cluster of places, she had looked for him - wanting some assurance that he had made it out of the drowned lands okay.
Even though she had not found him, she hadn’t given up hope. Not for one minute.
And now here she was, moving through the meadow with an eagerness that made her feel like the same youth that he had taught to fly. The feeling in her heart and stomach was exactly that sensation that flooded her when she had leapt off of that hill, trusting his guidance and her wings. She is ignorant to everyone else she passes - they are all strangers, anyway, and her sights are set on the one face she knows.
She’d seen him before, of course - and is glad for it now so she could recognize him easily - but it still brings forward a thrill. “Targaryen.” Once she is there with him she does not stop. Her brindled legs carry her right up to him so she can embrace him without any hesitation, as ever still perfectly happy to show exactly how she is feeling.
“Oh how I’ve missed you.” She laughs these earnest words out, ignoring how her eyes are stinging from the wash of joy, and she steps back to a more reasonable, conversational distance. Those black eyes shine as she looks him over - checking for any signs that the years hadn’t been kind to him. Catryn sincerely hopes that they were kind - she hopes for nothing but happiness for Targaryen (even though she is so aware life does not often work like that).
Her voice makes his head turn so quickly that he feels a twinge up his neck. He knows it is Catryn by the sound of her words (he’s heard that sweet tune scattered among the vague and floating memories of the past years) but he isn’t expecting the embrace she gives him so suddenly. His body tightens at her touch. The way he freezes is unlike the Targaryen of ‘before.’ The last time he had been so intimate, the magic had stirred awake beneath his skin. The last time he had been touched like this, he hadn’t known who he was for years.
Yet his body doesn’t melt into a snake or rise into an elephant; Targaryen finds himself relaxing into her embrace moments before she pulls away. His heart is beating rapidly in his chest (from anxiety, excitement, and joy), and he takes a deep breath as Catryn’s dark eyes search his body.
“Catryn.” His cinnamon eyes are wide but soft, and he feels his heartbeat slowing as he relaxes into familiar company. “I’ve missed you, too.” It was hard to miss his life over the past years. He was caught between the life of the animal of the day and the exhaustion of his own body; he rarely had time to comprehend what was happening to his friends when he was trying to understand what was happening to him. But in the time since he’s mastered his magic, Targaryen has found himself missing the brindle mare.
“I’m sorry I haven’t found you sooner.” He isn’t sure how to explain his absence. Targaryen feels awkward telling Catryn that magic was gifted to him when he lost his virginity. Their relationship has been mostly innocent, but the tobiano has always known there’s something more just under the surface. He’d been flirty the last time they’d met — confident with the swagger of newfound manliness — and he doesn’t want to disappoint her with the origin of his shifting powers.
So he offers her a shy, apologetic smile and hopes she won’t ask questions about his disappearance.
Although she notices the way Targaryen freezes at first upon their embrace, Catryn quickly assures herself that it is simply surprise and chases away any hurt that might try to sour this - and indeed he relaxes. Her senses are full of him once more, and all feels peaceful once again.
She’s delighted to have been missed - but she shakes her head at his kind, but misplaced, apology - her black eyes warm with amusement and affection for her friend. “I didn’t find you either, so we’ll call it even.” Her pink-accented head tilts a little to the side, her grin growing - and it feels like it may never fade again. “And we found each other now.” Which was the important part, as far as she was concerned. Of course any day would’ve been improved with his presence in it, but she wasn’t about to waste time wishing for a different past - and certainly wasn’t interested in wasting this time. Catryn did not harbour any ill-feelings.
Although she is curious about where and how he has been, she doesn’t ask just yet. It feels like those questions are too big, with the potential of having too many barbs and shadowy corners lurking beneath them. They're questions that should be spoken in twilight, when there are already shadows so what is a few more from the past. The time they spent apart was filled with so much upheaval for Beqanna, it would be surprising to learn if the same was not true for him.
But she is eager to hear anything he may have to tell her, to listen to his voice for however long they have - just in case it is another handful of years before they meet again. She'll soak up every look, word, and touch she can. So she just asks any question, thinking it doesn't matter - any gateway into a conversation will do. “Have you explored any of the new lands? I can't believe how much this place changes.” It was at it's most stable when she was blind, which she supposes she should be grateful for - ever since, there seems to be something new happening constantly.
