• 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


    the stillness settles in my lungs; Wyrm, any
    #1

    It should be beautiful, this field of wildflowers turning their springtime baby-faces to the sun.  It should be, but it isn’t.  Because she remembers how her little sister had looked running through a similar meadow years ago, all legs and no coordination.  She can feel the phantom laughter rising in her throat, an echo of a happier time with a whole family.  She can see the curve of her dam’s lips widen as she had watched the filly (one of her last smiles).  Everything had been different, then.  The flowers had since lost their air of innocence, of purity (as had she).  

    It is new, at least.  A do-over, she thinks to herself, but that is not exactly right – not nearly enough.  Because she doesn’t want to forget or erase all that she’s already been through.  She doesn’t want to wipe away the faces of her mother and sister, of her herdmares, (of him, even) from her memories.

    The violent red splatter of the blooming poppies across the rolling ground makes her certain she won’t be forgetting any time soon.

    Zosma walks into the new, would-be beautiful land with a careful eye but without hesitation.  Surely, there will be as many oddities here as there were in the first meadow she had discovered.  The Meadow, she reminds herself.  This place has its own culture and language that she is eager to learn; there are colors and accoutrements and abilities the likes of which she’s never seen.  She recalls the recent words of the glass-man (thinks of him when the sun hits the surface of a nearby lake just so; how he glistened and shined, how unnatural he’d been).  Ah, but isn’t the unknown a part of why she had come here?  A taste of magic and the chance for adventure in the famed lands of Beqanna?

    The pale woman turns over thoughts as easily as stones underfoot.  

    Only the deafening silence manages to pull her from her mind.  It permeates every space in the air not filled with birdsong.  It is a curiosity (as much as everything is these days) because the Meadow had been quite the opposite.  In fact, everywhere else she’s managed to traverse has been louder than this silent stretch of flowers and green.  A towering tree with branches that are so low they nearly sweep the ground rises just ahead.  As good a landmark as any, she grumbles, intending to circle out from the tree in order to find the others.  Surely, they exist.  The black mare she had met alongside Contagion had told her about this place, that it was a kingdom in which she could grow and learn.  A base to further study this famous new home she’s chosen for herself.  Zosma had obliged to at least seeing the Gates for herself, but now, she wonders what the real draw is.  Where are the others that reside within the golden sunlight pulling up the wildflowers?  





    z o s m a

    Reply
    #2
    W Y R M
    There are none. There are no inhabitants to break the tender stalks of wildflowers and crush the verdant grasses beneath their hooves. Many times Wyrm has flown the expanse of Beqanna, on wings outstretched and sure, but not for some time has he seen any indication of life or vibrancy below him when he glides over the Gates. This kingdom alone is nearly empty and ripe for the picking. When he takes a similar flight on this particular day, he’s not exactly intending to stop within her borders, but a hint of white catches his eye. As a common sparrow he’s overlooked, but high in the confines of the clouds he changes his sight and peers down at the speck with curiosity.

    Life blooms, alone and singularly strange.

    From above he shifts, molding back to equine with a coat as dark as sin. His wings stay, mottled brown but he tints them grey and enlarges them so they won’t seem so out of place on his back. Mane and tail follow suit, taking on a silver sheen and then he plummets - lowering rapidly to the earth in a careful spiral while keeping the mare in his sights. She waits by a tree, low-hanging branches nearly obscuring her but Wyrm is never deterred by what he can’t see. Only more intrigued to seek it out. His landing is sharp, silver hooves striking up the earth as he paces ahead to slow his incoming to a halt. What purpose did she have here, so unprotected and unguarded?

    “You won’t find them.” He tells her, deepening voice rolling over the flat ground to where she waits. He doesn’t want to get close - not yet. He wants to watch her first, observe the way she walks and the expression in her eyes. The life that sparked in others was always a sort of strange enjoyment to him, because within his own body nothing dwelled. He’d never felt, only preferred the visceral side where instinct took control. He wonders, then, what she’s feeling now. Wonders if he can make her feel things she doesn’t want to feel.

    Wonders if he can turn those blue eyes cold and still.
    she shall crush thy head,
    and thou shalt lie in wait for her heel
    Reply




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)