His favorite thing about the forest has always been the moment it comes alive again.
Always, at first, it is silent as he passes beneath the boughs. Whether god or mortal his presence makes the birds fall silent and watchful, makes the foxes slink beneath tangled brush and the squirrels find their homes. He does not mind the feel of their eyes on him, creatures sly and small and watchful.
But after a time it stirs once more, like a strange beast of many parts that all rise as one from slumber.
The first thing is the sounds; the leaves rattle beneath small feet and claws, the wrens trill and warble. A flicker of motion, a flash of sunlight on a blue wing, and then everything is humming, every creature returning to the endless tasks of survival.
Lysander is at ease in this world now, his slim dark legs folded beneath him with sunlight dappling his back. His eyes are half-closed, lazy; when his head dips his antlers nod like bare branches in a breeze. He has come alone on a hunch - that he might find a fungus that is no remedy for a wound, for something far stranger.
Once he traveled worlds; now he could only pretend.
But before he does he dozes, half-lidded eyes and ears twisting like a wolf’s, aware despite his current peace. The wind sighs in the canopy above him, and Lysander sighs too, content.
And then he opens his eyes. For the world has fallen still again, no whippoorwill or quail or humming bee, and Lysander looks up when even the slanting sunlight vanishes. It is no cloud, no limb of thick green leaves, and his mortal heart shivers between its ribs like roots, for it is a mighty wingspan that has blotted out the sun, and his memory whispers to him monster.
Lysander rises to his cloven hooves, his throat curving like a buck’s as he looks up and up to where the pegasus circles and dips like a hunting eagle.
Like any other creature of the woods (predator and prey alike) he waits, fully still, to see what will come.
Wet, soggy earth squelched with each step Annabeth took in the flooded fields. Her pale lavender-pink nares lowered to sniff inquisitively at the ground. A soft, worried frown furrowed between her eyes at the strained and weakened roots of the plants. Forced to remain in the hospital during the heavy rainfall that accompanied her arrival, Anna had no idea the damage was this bad. The swamp had weathered the storm better since, well, it was always soggy and wet there. Plus, Anna had a feeling that someone, or something, made sure the hospital remained intact. Though it was difficult for her to be sure since she was incredibly weak and emaciated at that time.
Doggedly, Anna continued to trudge along and take stock of the damage. The healers had released her reluctantly, and gave strict orders to only walk a little ways. She wasn't quite sure how far away she was now... but that couldn't be helped. Anna blushed guiltily, though there was no one around to upbraid her. Surely she wouldn't get into too much trouble... Perhaps she should attempt to wipe off some of the muck before returning to the hospital. Though that wouldn't hide the softly heaving breaths she took, or the obvious sheen of sweat that lingered despite the cool temperatures.
Clearly, Anna had over exerted herself, but did that stop her? No, it rather did not.
Spotting a scrubby bush, Anna's ears perked and she made her way towards it. Here the ground was more solid thanks to the slightly more complex roots. Carefully, she poked and prodded. Propping up stems here, and trimming dead or irreparable branches there. She hummed while she worked and after several minutes passed, realized that someone was accompanying her. Anna peered into the depths of the bush and was surprised to spot a crooked nest where the warbling came from. Gently she extracted the cradle and looked with some consternation at a pair of incredibly indignant, fledgling birds.
"Cheep!"
Anna blinked. The nestling on the right blinked back.
"Cheep, cheep!" It demanded reproachfully.
"I'm terribly sorry I didn't mean to disturb you... only, where are your parents?" Anna inquired, tilting her head worriedly. The rain had stopped quite some time ago and while one nestling seemed perfectly happy to engage in conversation, the second seemed quite lethargic.
"Cheep!"
Anna sighed at the fledgling and fretfully began to consider the pair. Every couple of years her family would find baby birds without their parents. Usually they were good for the crops, so they would raise and release them when they were ready. Anna thought she knew just about every bird in the region, but these ones were wholly new to her. What did they eat? How old were they? Were their parents truly gone? While she thought, she carefully set the nest on a nearby rock, the only thing that wasn't damp, and covered it with a scrap of cloth. Perhaps if she waited for just a moment the parents would appear...
Caligo knows the way to the lake by heart. Once, several centuries ago, she had walked it herself, not only once, but many times over. It had been her own sweet pilgrimage, isolated in the southeastern corner of the court with only the stars and the moon to keep her company. Before horses had arrived to Novus, she had lived here within a Court of dreams, and she had been the dreamer.
She had been gone too, she supposed. She wasn’t the only dreamer here anymore - there was a Court full of dreamers now, and as much as she thought she knew them, perhaps she didn’t understand them quite as well as she thought she did.
For a while she is silent, watching the stars glow and twinkle above them. Finally she sighs, rolling a stone with her hoof. “Does anyone have an idea?” she asks quietly. She knows that half of them want bloodshed - and she would be lying to say that there wasn’t a small part of her that wanted the same.
But this was her Court. Her anger was reserved for others.
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After the meeting at the beach, Caligo turns for the lake to deal with the thunderbirds that have invaded the Night Court. You follow along, not yet sure what the outcome will be - and perhaps the demigoddess herself does not yet know.
Vespera walks in another mare’s skin, a goddess remade into mortal flesh. Her hair is dull, her coat a plain grey, her eyes an innocent brown. But inside, it is Vespera’s mind that spins and Vespera’s heart that beats like a trapped bird within the cage that is her chest. It is a strange thing, being mortal.
She walks besides @Theodosia, the other horses disappearing behind them. The way to the court isn’t long, but each step seems to take an eternity. For most of the journey she is silent, her thoughts turning over slowly in her mind.
Until the first gopher appears.
Technically he is the second - the first lies on the pegasus’ back - but he is the first of the many to come. He crawls slowly from his hole, watching silently, almost knowingly, as the pair pass.
Then they pass a second, and a third. Before they know it, a whole host of gophers have taken up their trail, wandering along in their wake. As the two horses arrive in the Court, they bring the gophers with them.
“Hello?” Vespera calls, her voice as plain as her outward appearance. Would anyone come to help them?
The goddess of the caretakers certainly hoped they would.
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After the gopher is first discovered, Vespera disguises herself as a mortal to bring the creature to the Dusk Court for healing. As they walk, a few guests join them - it would seem all of the gophers have joined their pilgrimage. What is going on? And what do they want?
Solis doesn’t sleep that night - he’s a god, made from the fire of the sun, molded by its flame. He does not need sleep. As the sun sinks in the sky and the moon rises, the brilliance that make up his mane and tail seem to dull, the heat pouring from his body seeming to wither to something lukewarm. His eyes dim, but never droop; and it is like so that he waits out the night.
But when the sun returns on the dawn, oh, does he shine! The fire alights anew inside of him, burning through his eyes, igniting his mane and tail so that they dance and waver like flame. And when the dawn fades into the day, his heat is nigh unbearable to stand next to.
He tosses his head, pacing throughout the Court. “I might be wrong, but it seems to be morning,” he calls out, as spry and heedless as ever. There’s a daredevil-esque air to him, a reckless thirst for adrenaline. Can they feel it, too? “It’s time to get this show on the road, people.”
It was past time for this winter to end.
Some guidelines:
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After the meeting in the Day Court, Solis is ready to gather the Court to head into the Mors to find the creatures causing this unusual winter. Are you with him, and ready to head out into the blizzard?
The evening came and went, the fires continuing to burn throughout the night. Embers lit up the northern horizon from the Dawn Court, the light of the flames appearing like a second dawn was ever near.
For the first night since the fires began, no new fires were started.
Oriens watches from dusk ‘til dawn, He hardly dares to blink, nor breathe, less his breath fans the flames or his eyes miss the flickering shadows within them.
All night, the squirrels remain as active as ever - but the keratin ridges upon their spines never light, never start the inferno anew. For all the world, they seemed like normal woodland creatures again (save for the fact that they could seemingly breathe smoke like fresh air and were immune to burns. But nevermind that.)
As the sun rises and brings new light stretching across the lands of Delumine, Dawn Court’s patron god stands silently, waiting for the day to start, and his work with it.
Some guidelines:
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After the meeting in the Dawn Court, Oriens has arrived back at the forest to keep watch during the night. As the new day dawns, he realizes: the squirrels that caused the fires do not seem to be causing any new ones, for the first time since the disaster started. Perhaps they aren't as intentional or malicious as they seemed?
How long had it been since he'd been here? Tethys wasn't sure, only that he'd wandered and wandered and Novus had been the place where he'd heard whispers of supposed immortals like himself that stuck around. The murmurs in the winds of those that clung to years of life much like he had seen the millennia pass and the lands of so many places crumble and fall to dust. He had lost count of how many he had seen sink in to the world and vanish, never to be remembered, save by old myths and legends. They were nothing but word of mouth that none believed, but he did, because he had been there. Had lived and breathed the same air and had laughed with some of them, lived with them, shared food and home with them.
Now they were gone, like so many others.
Tethys frowns to himself, the warmth of the spring day seeping in to his bones from the sun overhead, the breeze mild despite being on the edges of the ocean. It's mid-spring, so perhaps it's no wonder that it's warm. Summer would be creeping up on them again, just as it had the year before, and then it would be fall, and the seasons would come and go and come and go, the world would continue turning. He would continue living through it all and watch them all come and go. He would see many faces and greet them, see them grow old, and eventually pass.
Tethys only draws in a breath, and releases it again, shaking his head. Perhaps the years and centuries have jaded him, perhaps it's just him getting on, or just the immortality stripping him of what he had used to be. He needs... something. To find other immortals or those that could share some secrets with him, like how to ease the losses of so many friends, or to not let them weigh so heavy on his shoulders.
He misses them all, even if he has all the good memories.
He feels like a colt, somehow, pride burning in his chest like half the oxygen he needs and twice the carbon dioxide, muscles taut as springs and the mending flank. There’s going to be a hunt tomorrow, a hunt, a hunt, a hunt, and he sees no one staring, maybe no one is, maybe everyone is but it doesn’t even cross his mind. El Toro slips through the crowds like anybody else and it makes him feel like a god in disguise. He is free. Free until the battle is waged on the snow-blanketed desert, free until he rips out the hearts of his enemies with horns of white marble and is known.
A folk hero.
He wanders the market now, its crowds thinned from fear and cold but it still smells like hot spices and burnt hair. Hunger is the only blade that cuts his joy; he looks for something fun, something interesting, because it is unlikely he will ever get a taste of home again. There’s a stand open, some plump old stallion flipping cakes turned orange by spice, his mind sending them into the air and back down again, flames licking too close to the colorful banner above. It smells like grass and the strange smells of this land. A pretty filly and her friends enjoy the cakes with some kind of dripping, honey-colored sauce, a hint of rose intermingling with the hot cake. He grins and winks at the girls, who giggle and look at the ground and each other. Toro says to the man, ”I’ll take one.”
this is between "shine bright like a--" and the next day. all welcome <3
How many days out under the baking sun had they wandered? How many hours lost to the vicious, unrelenting, golden orb in the sky, wasted moments of life dissipating like heatwaves rising from the desert floor? It felt like eons, time immemorial, massive units of space and whatever fuzzy substance made up the timestream, even longer than any god could put a finger on and name. Days bled into weeks bled into fragments, sharp, splintering pieces of whatever remained of her miserable, shattered life.
Once, Kassandra had lived a royal, if sheltered, life, at the top of a secluded tower hewn from solid moonstone; a fitting coffin for a beautiful mare dyed in the pattern of the deep winter’s night. The bars on the windows were silver, which matched the sconces and the hinges and locks on the doors; sapphires the size of pumpkins embedded the ceilings and the floor was covered in the softest pelts from the rarest animals in all the kingdoms of Furae. She had servants which came to her at predetermined times of the day, bringing food, or teaching lessons, or carting away the morning’s waste. They never truly spoke to her, and Kassandra always had the feeling they were a bit frightened of her.
She spent her days and her nights, the crown jewel of the Folly Tower, plagued by boredom, loneliness, and the frequent horrific visions thrust upon her by the gods. Occasionally her uncle, the king, would pay her a visit, requesting a tale of the future, and always leaving disappointed and slightly angrier each time. It seemed that was all Kassandra was good for— never reaching satisfactions, and enraging those who relied on her.
So it was no wonder when, in the end, Uncle Syroc came to her door, driven to madness by her unending failures, and all Kassandra could do was run away while her home and everything she had ever known was decimated behind her.
Gone was the beautiful mare with the pelt graced by stars; gone was the lustrous silverite hair and the eyes with the soft glow of the moon at midnight. Now here was a bedraggled, shaggy mess, of faded pelt and knobby bone and a mane with patches of hair falling to the ground like snow. Gone were the lessons of arithmetic, astronomy, and history; all that remained was the knowledge of foreward motion, of hocks scraped raw and bloody by a constant, onward trudging through abrasive sand. What little consciousness remained had been shattered by a last, final vision, just when she’d thought she was free, just when she thought survival was her biggest concern… an equine fashioned out of living stone, and the one clad in the layers of silken night. More harbingers of doom? Most likely.
Kassandra did not know how much longer she could continue, especially not now that the weight of her curse was placed back upon her trembling shoulders. Her maw was dyed near black with dried blood, the result of her companion, Oculos, hunting jackrabbits and roadrunners and fat desert grouse and delivering her the blood to drink from, the salty liquid sustaining her for some time. He strode alongside her, now, slightly bonier and not quite as fluffy, but definitely in better condition than his partner.
So focused on his worries was Oculus that he didn’t notice that he had traveled many feet ahead by himself. He whirled almost immediately, seeing Kassandra fallen in the dust, body heaving against the taupe-brown dirt as the sand picked up in the late-evening wind drifted against her mass. Oculos was at her side in a second, tongue lapping awkwardly at her face— no easy task for a canine with such a profound snout.
Her breathing was growing shallower. The connection beneath them was growing dimmer. Oculos laid aside the skull of his best friend, his head resting gently across her cheekbone, waiting hopelessly for the spring stars to rise.
words 658 comments here she is, fresh out the ivory tower, waiting for her knight in shining armor~ tags @[Tieran]
He tries not to remember the last time he’d walked these halls, the corridors down to the infirmary that seemed to echo and sigh no matter how busy they were. When he had been here to see Aislinn (a lifetime ago, he feels; so much has changed) the rooms had been empty save for her - now they were too full, occupied by horses from Denocte and Terrastella both. Almost it looked like there had been a war.
The subject of his visit is not hard to find. Even asleep (as he finds her), even among horses of a hundred colors, even ill, she is luminous - pale as a morning-glory, the curves of her belying the strength he knows she carries.
Asterion had heard how she’d collapsed in the markets; he thinks back to how he’d last seen her in Dusk, covered in blood and mud both, working ceaselessly to save their people.
He does not know if Vespera has seen - if she has watched any of what her court has suffered (or indeed, if she had been the cause of any of it). But the king had seen.
“Oh, Theodosia, I am so sorry." His voice is soft, gentle as sea-foam, too low to carry to those around them. He watches the rise and fall of her chest, the flutter of her lashes pale as frost on her cheek. “Thank you for everything you gave.”
She had not deserved this - none of them had. And he feels sorrow and anger both warring in him like rival tides, and wonders what is still to come.
