"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
Another quiet, empty night. Insects sing their strange buzzing, humming song in the distance, a stray breeze rustles the long summer grasses, and for once clouds cover the sky, hiding the stars and their haunting siren song. I can still feel them high overhead, a treasure impossible to reach, a nightly reminder of what will never be. The blanket of clouds should make it easier to breathe, should ease the endless ache in my chest. Shouldn't it?
I shouldn't miss him anymore either. It's been months, and really I knew him so briefly. The time before our birth has faded now, nothing but a dream that leaves me reeling with his absence when I wake. I had him beside me for less than a day, and a blurry day at that. I remember the star-kissed skin of his lower legs, the midnight black sheen of the rest of his coat, but the shape of his face, the angle and color of his eyes, they're all fading into oblivion, leaving nothing behind but a hollow place inside where my twin used to fit.
Months, and I still drift through my life without him, latching onto anyone who shows me even a drop of compassion. I clung to Miss Isle the second she woke me beneath the shadow of that old tree, gentle caresses and the sweet murmuring of a voice exactly like a mother's should be. And so drastically different from the cold indifference of my own mother even toward her bolder, brighter son. The one whose absence makes the world feel so empty. But Miss Isle has her own family, a mate and a son of her own, and...and I shouldn't get in the way of that. I couldn't intrude and repay her kindness with that kind of selfishness. I couldn't let myself need that much from them, can't take from them when I have nothing to give back.
Sometimes it hurts to breathe though, watching from a safe distance. Witnessing that kind of love and still holding myself apart from it. Not too far apart, because that seems to bother Miss Isle and I don't want to make her sad. But when my heart hurts a little bit too much to take, I sneak away and retreat to a little cave I've found and let the cool, dark arms of the earth embrace me for a little while. Alone is what I was built for. It has to be, or my birth family couldn't have walked away from me so easily.
And tonight, when the ache inside my chest feels like a bottomless chasm and the clouds threaten rain and bless me with an excuse, I quietly fade into the background and slink off toward my safest place. Rain starts to fall just as I duck through the entrance—though ducking is hardly necessary. I have grown a bit in the months since I was a tiny undersized colt straining to reach for sustenance. Awkward and leggy and still whisper-thin despite Miss Isle's best attempts to put some meat on my bones, I guess I get a good bit of my size from my absent dam. Mother was a bit smaller than even Miss Isle, who is dwarfed in comparison to her mate. I don't know anything about my father, but I rather doubt he was anything like the towering black stallion who loves her so. If he had been, the idea of needing to duck through the cave entrance wouldn't be quite so laughable.
Still, high ceilings or no, the cave is cool and cozy, and will shelter me from the rare precipitation. I don't need to go more than a few steps in before I feel the muscles in my neck and back relaxing. I barely even notice the tension from being out in the open, so exposed to anyone near enough to see me (and the vast plains of the Tundra can feel so exposed sometimes) until it begins to melt away. I press against the cool cave wall, resting my cheek against the rock the way other people sometimes rest their cheeks against one another. Eyes closed, drawing comfort, support, just reassuring themselves of their loved one's presence. I don't think I'll ever love like that. I don't think I have it in me. But the cold, hard surface doesn't seem to mind lending me a little strength, and the yearning ache in my chest eases just a little bit as I close my eyes and pretend.
someday i'll soar, someday i'll be so much more, because i'm bigger than my body gives me credit for.
Time was fleeting - each day brought with it a tiredly rising and falling sun, a blanket of brilliant, unfamiliar stars, bristling icy gusts of wind and shifting changes in weather. Each day was more unpredictable than the last, and it was so much for such a young soul to take in and absorb. Change followed every dawn and each dusk that fell behind it, leaving a streak of dying blossoms, the searing hot summer sun (in comparison to the touch of his father's frost-encased flesh, everything burned to the touch) and brittle, starving foliage crumbled along the permafrost that covered the terrain.
A single, spindly leg crushes yet another dried cluster of twigs beneath his lithe body; absolute destruction beneath the weight of a fragile mold made of skin, bones and glass. He marveled at the way it broke away and frayed at the very ends, grasping onto one another with split fragments of dried out fibers. He often felt like it did - crushed beneath the weight of the world, with no understanding of why he felt so suffocated, of why he felt so terrifyingly small. He was of average size - at least, he thought so, but he hadn't heard his worried murmurs made by his father to his mother in regards to his stature. He was of average strength and stamina - at least, he thought so, but he didn't know the way his mother's heart ached when he tired so swiftly after only a brief jaunt across the ice-encased terrain.
He did not know why he felt such a strong, devastating connection with the broken fragments beneath his dark hoof - only that it caused his delicate heart to pound harder and louder within the confines of his ribcage.
Argo swallows his anxiety down, suffocating the ache in his chest with the very same denial his mother and father both bore in their hearts. There was something very terribly wrong with their sweet, petite Argo, and deep down, it was a reality that none of them were ready to face.
He steps away from the pieces left behind by his gross curiosity, loping away from the dried brush with hot, burning tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. His emotions bubble and simmer beneath the surface as he feels a heady rush flood his veins, and suddenly, he is tired - so tired, and he presses his coal and alabaster splattered self against the bristling, sharp edges of the mountain base, bracing his small body against it. His vision swirls for a moment, and suddenly, it is over and he can breathe. It does not stop the torrent of tears that now streak along his marked cheeks now, and with heavy shame, he turns away and follows the jagged stones towards the smallest of openings, seeking refuge from his fear.
A soft hiccup erupts from his esophagus, echoing against the stone and reaching to the very darkest recesses, as he swallows a single sob - he knows mother will come looking for him soon, as twilight has begun its heavy descent and she worries so when he is not by her side in the depths of night - but he cannot face her now. He crumbles for a moment against the heavy rock, again trying to ignore his heart's rebellion within him - it grows so much more irate when he is upset, and he knows this, but it is to no avail. Loneliness begins to settle in, and dread follows at a short distance. Just as he begins to feel himself unravel, he hears movement - and his sounds cease, his tear-filled brown eyes widen as he stares wordlessly into the darkness.
It is only when his eyes adjust that his heart settles, at last. Neverwas. His sweet, quiet, unassuming brother - he had been there in the very beginning, surrounded by the bright, obscene sunlight that blinded him so briefly when he had first left the safe, warm embrace of the very cave he had emerged from his mother's womb in. He had always been there; he always was, and without even a breath of hesitation, he lumbers towards his curled up form and touches his wet, stained nose to the base of his neck. He does not know that they do not share the same blood; it matters not to him. He is his brother, wholly. He inhales his familiar scent of dust and pine and he finally crumbles beside him. His thin legs give and he lays beside him, his splattered coat pressed against his silvery obsidian one, and he drapes his neck over his brother's, a soft sniffle echoing in the dark cave.
He says nothing; he isn't ready to - but slowly, his heart begins to slow, it begins to settle, and he begins to calm.
A noise at the cave entrance tears me out of empty fantasy, out of the ghostly arms of an imaginary someone I can love without taking too much or hurting anyone or letting anyone down. Without giving anyone a single reason to regret taking me in. The deepest, darkest, loneliest part of me is still waiting for the day it all comes crashing down. Sometimes when Isle holds me and fusses over my forelock and rains kisses down on me like the angel I still think she must be, it chases away that hurt for a while and I can convince myself that it's gone for good. But so far it's always been a matter of time before the dark peeks out again and I am once again fragile glass waiting to shatter.
The unexpected sound shoves me back into reality, and once again I feel cold rock under my cheek, pressing unyielding into my side. I breathe out a quiet sigh and push away from the hard surface, shaking my head at my own senseless agony. It could be so easy, if I knew how to let it. Some days it's the easiest thing in the world, to be loved. Others?
The sounds begin to filter through my self-imposed isolation, but it is only when they stop that it sinks in: someone is here, and that someone is hurting too. My eyes seek him out, finally finding him when he begins to move toward me. Argo. My sorrow vanishes in the face of his, melting away into oblivion as he crumples into a heap beside me. His painted cheeks are tear-stained, and I wrap myself around him and hold him close, rocking gently against him. There now, sweet boy, I've got you.
I have no words to offer him, no wisdom to chase away the pain because we both know it doesn't work that way. Some pain runs deeper than words, even if neither of us should be old enough to learn that lesson. I don't know what's wrong, but I've seen the worry in two pairs of watchful eyes. I'm good at being unseen, after all. So I hold him close, this boy who could be my brother if I just let the old one go. He holds me back, and we breathe together in the silence some place where words don't matter.
As his breathing eases from desperate sorrow into something closer to calm, I rub my cheek against the softness of his fur and something tight and sharp and aching in my chest eases. For once, I am not worried about taking more than I am worth, more than I can give back, more than I deserve. For once I am not waiting for someone to realize I need too much, or hurt too much, or am somehow not enough to make up for the effort it takes to care about me.
For once, I feel safe.
I'll feel guilty later, that I took comfort in his pain, that his sorrow eased my own in any way. But in this moment, all that exists is the light slowly coming back into soft brown eyes so much like angel-Isle's. I lip at his mane the way she does mine sometimes, a quiet gesture of comfort and affection, and wait patiently for him to break the silence. Words will come when he is ready. And I'll be here, no matter how long it takes.
someday i'll soar, someday i'll be so much more, because i'm bigger than my body gives me credit for.
Soon, the pain and uncertainty subsides, leaving behind the inevitable husk of a child struck by life's bittersweet sorrows far too soon. He presses his cheek against his brother's neck, listening to the distant but thriving thumping of his heart beating inside of his chest, and he wonders why his own heart does not sound the way that his does. It soothes him, though, and draws him into a comforting lull that finally brings an end to his worrisome terrors; his flickering ear pressed against his silvery pelt. He inhales deeply again, and the faint scent of the dark, damp cave is accompanied by his sweet breath as he strokes his cheek across his own, a piece of Neverwas that was a rarely seen treasure.
He can sense his brother's woes - he knows that he parts from his mother's side too often and evokes worry in her heart and in her deep brown doe eyes, which always strikes his father's heartstrings tenfold - and he knows that he draws away when affection grows too thick, too suffocating to handle, and yet he is undeniably adored and thus, he adores him as well. He can still remember the first moment he laid eyes on him - his nervous curiosity radiating as Neverwas whuffed gently over his freshly birthed splattered pelt, inhaling his scent, and the way that he himself had curled against him partly because of his warmth and partly because his heart told him that his brother would always be.
His breathing, rhythmic and mellow now, whuffs now softly against his cheek as he feels his teeth nip and his lips brush along his short coal-painted mane and it reminds him of their mother; of her gentle kisses and soft caresses. It reminds him that the pain is always short lived and surrounding him was something so much larger than himself. He curls against him as he affectionately comforts him, and with a breathy sigh, he finally lifts his deep brown eyes to meet with his brother's, which are equally concerned and calm - the smooth, undisturbed waters of the open sea; deceptive but effective, as Argo does not know the depths of his pain. Then, he speaks.
"Nevi," He says softly, his brother's sweet shortened name rolling off of his tongue with ease. Neverwas was too harsh, too unforgiving, and he had attached himself to his mother's gentle name for his brother unceasingly since the moment he had heard it. "my heart hurts."
His words die quietly as swiftly as he speaks them, and he falls into silence again, knowing how such a statement is abrupt for someone so young (and yet he is an old soul within; he takes after his father in so many ways Offspring has not yet seen) and perhaps too brief. Too short, lacking any explanation. Too deep, without context applied. He closed his eyes for a long moment, his dark lashes framing his delicate, youthful features. He is so small next to his sibling, who he curls into further now as a thick draft of icy wind slices through the cave opening with splicing ease, but he feels so safe beside him, he knows there is no better confidant for his childlike fears.
"Sometimes, it hurts to run. And sometimes, it hurts to stand. Everything moves around me and sometimes, I can't breathe and my heart won't stop," He pauses with a deep breath, his words trembling now as the tears begin to rise to the brink of his eyelids, his wide-eyed gaze staring once more into his brother's, begging for comfort, for understanding, for sanctuary. "it goes too fast and sometimes not fast enough and it makes me so tired. I think Mama and Papa know and I think I'm broken," He whispers the last word, the final word: his deepest, darkest fear realized. Please don't tell them, he doesn't say, but deep down, he knows they already know.
I know the moment the silence shifts; Argo's eyes meet mine, and he has my undivided attention as he draws in a breath deep enough to speak. His words make my heart ache in sympathy, but it's not until he continues that I understand he means it differently than I do. Physically, my heart is fine. Strong and steady and unfaltering, aside from the occasional skipped beat when emotions are high. Contrary to my name's implication and my birth mother's insinuation about smaller twins, there's nothing wrong with my body. When my heart hurts, it is not struggling to pump or making me fight for breath or making it hard for me to stand.
If I could reach into our chests in this moment and give my healthy heart to him and take his in its place, I would do it. In one single steady beat, I'd take all the pain and fear in his eyes into my own and hide it all away where it could never touch him again. I don't say it, because the offer is an empty one. I have no such power, no matter how fervently I might wish for it. I can't give him the heart from my chest; all I have is words. “Oh, sweet boy, there is nothing broken about you,” I murmur, pressing my ear against his chest and hearing the difference in our heartbeats for the first time.
“You may need to rest more than you'd like, or go slower than you wish you could, but that doesn't make you broken.” I brush the tears from his cheeks, meet his brown eyes with mine. “The world may spin around you and take your breath away sometimes, but you are not broken.” Something ferocious wells up inside me, something I don't quite recognize that wants nothing more than to protect this almost-brother with everything in our all too limited arsenal, even protect him from his own sorrow and fear and doubt.
“Do you know what you are?” I ask, brushing his forelock back and shedding another layer of armor as I try to find the words to make him understand that he might be different, he might struggle, he might feel weak, but he is not broken. “You are made from love, and you're surrounded by it. There will not be a day in your life where you are not loved more than the breath in our lungs or the beat of our hearts or the lifeblood flowing through our veins. Not one single day.
“Your body may struggle to find strength or breath, your heart may hurt, and that may scare you down to your bones, and that's okay. It's okay to be scared when it feels like you're shattering into a million pieces, or when the world spins out of control, or when your lungs can't find the air. But love like that makes you unbreakable, takes you beyond being broken or whole. And you? You're strong enough to let it.” Stronger than I have ever been. “All you can do right now is all any of us can do: find your body's limits and respect them, take each moment as it comes, and live your life the best you can.”
And even if my heart is made up mostly of shattered glass stitched together in sad little patches and fighting to fuse back into some semblance of whole, it still aches to switch places with his, if only I could make it.
((Let me know if this is a pile of rambling nonsense. If yes, i will fix it in the morning. Oops, look at that, it's after 3 AM. Nevi won't let me sleep until I hit post. XD))
someday i'll soar, someday i'll be so much more, because i'm bigger than my body gives me credit for.
His brother presses his ear to his chest and listens, recognizing the irregularity in its ragged beating, feeling the way that it thumps twice and then skips a beat and then thrice more, and quietly, Argo comes undone. The very same hot searing tears sting at the corners of his eyes, and though he tries to blink them away, it is of no use - they are unstoppable. He swallows heavily as he listens to his brother's words, but the silence that lingered before it weighed more heavily on him. Pressing his cheek to his chest, he listens again to his healthy thrumming heartbeat, which falls into such an exquisite, beautiful rhythm that he is envious beyond words.
There, he remains, quietly absorbing his older brother's words - Nevi knew best, after all - Nevi must know best. He is everything Argo has ever aspired to be, and with each new day, he strives to be a little more like him. A little more independent. A little more solemn. A little more serious. He is everything that Argo is not, and he hopes that one day, he can stand to be as brave and as fearless and as intelligent as he is. He does not wholly know his struggle. He does not yet know of his heartache, of his deeply-embedded depression that drew him away from his mother's side this morning and into this dreary, damp cave opening. He does not yet know of his sorrow and his longing, and one day, he will, but for now, he only sees his hero.
Do you know what you are? he asks, and Argo shakes his head no as his forelock is brushed aside tenderly. There are times in which he thinks for a fleeting moment he might, but it often disintegrates into hopelessness and frustration and ire. You are made from love, and you're surrounded by it, and he knows this much is too true. His mother dotes over him and watches him with such pure, unfiltered and unadulterated emotion and adoration that he cannot help but feel her love radiate from her bay sabino pelt as she lavishes him with soft kisses and sweet words. His father is always near, always an ever-lingering presence, and though his affection does not run as freely, he often does lay beside Argo in the shadows of night to soothe him back to sleep from the night terrors that have plagued him.
His sister Maribel, sweet and fascinating with her vibrant color changing, always manages to make him laugh, and sees nothing wrong with him, even when he cannot run as fast as she can or even when he cannot run at all. And then there is Nevi, again - sweet Nevi. He is loved, undeniably so, and for a moment, it warms his raggedly beating heart. He nods quietly and looks up, searching his eyes and finding so much more within them. He finally rests his small maw again onto his brother's silvery black back, whuffing softly into his soft tresses with a soft sigh.
"It does. It does scare me, and I know it scares Mama and Papa too. I don't want to let them down," He mumbles, his low voice echoing against the stone close to his face. "I will, Nevi. I will." And he knows that Nevi is right, because Nevi is always right. Maybe he cannot run, or go as far, or play as freely, but he is Argo, and that is something special - because he is loved by so many, and if his jagged little heart could not work physically, he would push it to work emotionally, and he would love them wholly in return.
Argo presses his ear against my chest again to listen to my heartbeat, and I wonder if he can hear it breaking, can hear the shards of glass threatening to splinter off and dig into my chest from the inside. I'll be scared later. I'll worry every time he fights to breathe, every time he pushes just a little too hard, every time he sways as the world starts to spin. But right now, I sink desperate claws into the soothing calm he needs and wrap it around us like a blanket.
For once, I am glad I'm nothing like Rile was, bold and boisterous and brimming with vitality. For the first time, there isn't even a hidden little piece of me wishing I could have matched the light in his eyes as he frolicked in the adoption den even as we waited for someone to come and take him away. I've never been the frolicking sort, never needed to race the wind and see if I can win, never cared to climb a tall hill just to see the world from the top of it. Calm and quiet in the darkness, that's something Rile could never do, not the whole time we shared a womb and I'm sure not now either. And in this moment, I wouldn't trade whatever comfort I can offer Argo for anything in the world.
Not even for Rile.
I stroke Argo's mane as he murmurs his fears into my skin, holding him safe against me. Or as safe as I can make him. “I know it scares you, love. It scares me too, but you could never let me down, not for a second. And I know they feel the same way.” How could they not? “You are perfect, sweet boy, exactly as you are.” I press my lips against his forehead, then curl myself back around him and hold him close, whispering a secret of my own into his skin despite my best effort to keep it in. “And being here with you makes me feel like maybe I'm not so broken either.”
My chest tightens as the words reach my ears, a jolt of anxiety tinged with guilt making my heart pound a little faster. I shouldn't have said it. He has enough pain on his tiny shoulders already, he doesn't need any of mine adding to his burden. But I couldn't stop the words from sneaking out, and there's too much truth in them to try to take it back. I bury my face against the velvet softness of his coat, breathe deep of the safety in our mingled scents, his and mine and a hint of Mari, and Offspring and Isle too. Maybe it doesn't have to be so hard, to let them all be my family.
