Somnus lifted his head from where he had been rooting around within the growing grasses of the mountain foothills, keen verdant eyes peering up at the hovering barn owl just above his head. He focused on the flowers that were clutched within sharp talons, narrowing in assessment. The flowers that had been found were long and blue with hard stems, but did not match the sketches in the books of the Dawn Court library. They were definitely not the kind that he was searching for. The new King of Delumine gave a thoughtful frown before shaking his head apologetically.
“I’m afraid not, Alba. Best try again.” The barn owl seemed to sigh in disappointment as she let the incorrect prairie flowers drop from her grasp before wheeling about in the sky, off to attempt to find the correct flowers that had brought them here in the first place. That would mark her third failed attempt at finding the correct flowers. Somnus, of course, was fairing no better.
Call it foolish curiosity, but the pair had come to the foothills of the Arma Mountains in search for two flowers that grew specifically in Denocte. Dabbling in the culinary arts as he did, Somnus had been curious of the teas he could possibly brew from the Alpine Forget-Me-Not and the Common Wood Sorrel, but despite their best efforts, it seemed that equine nor owl could find either of the elusive blooms. Were they even in the right area? Was it too early in the year for the flowers to be blooming? The texts had stated, rather explicitly, that both flowers could be found in Denocte around the Arma Mountains, and that the flowers and stems could be brewed into a delicious tea. As a purveyor of fine teas and coffees, both of which were a simple pleasure to the golden tactician, he could not simply pass up the opportunity to try it for himself.
Unfortunately, the said flowers did not wish to cooperate. They had spent all day searching for the wayward blooms and were no closer to finding their quarry. Lifting his head, Somnus’ gazed traveled to the sun in the sky, squinting against the evening light as he gave a mighty stretch, the joints in his wings popping from having been furled in his search. It was a warm spring day and the sunlight was pleasant and welcome, but they only had a few hours until dusk. Their search would be cut off for another night, where they would pick it back up tomorrow… Unless they could find what they were searching for first.
The Dawn King gave a grunt of displeasure before shaking his head. “… Not bloody likely, at this rate.”
She was a battlefield of fallen soldiers and pent up anger amidst a meadow of fresh blossoms.
How brave.
The sun's rays were a mockery to her, as the stormsinger strode through the morning dew under a dappled expanse of trees. They had told her going outside would help her. They had told her that she needed rest, and relaxation. That maybe, just maybe, the flowers could lighten her spirits. It was spring, after all. And she had carelessly listened to her healers, in any hope that their words would bring a ring of truth to her ears. But her wing still laid tattered and ruined at her side; bound in hapless bandages and the bones shattered. What had been a twin to what made her great appendages whole, her wing had been shredded. Destroyed.
And it was all his fault.
So what does the birdfetching bitch say?
Her face screwed up into a grimace; cruel and a perfect mirror of the shadows that ripped open her heart where it laid in her ribs. A sun-sweet breeze tickled her feathers, her mane, and she nearly cried at the wind's touch. When once, not so long ago, she had found her home amongst the stars, the freedom of flight.. now, she was grounded. She, grounded. Chained to the earth. And it was that Solterran's fault.. her fault. If only she had been stronger, then maybe her wing would not have been damaged. Maybe she would still be free. Maybe the sun's drops on the ebony of her skin would warm the cold burden in her chest.
And maybe the pink flowers beneath her hooves would not remind her of her freshly spilled blood on a blanket of new snow.
She could feel the silver lining her eyes, and the ache that burned where her bones were splinted at her side. The stormsinger was weak, stumbling through the meadow without the usual silence to her steps. Aislinn found that she didn't care, except that she had to keep moving, to get away. The world under her swayed too dangerously, and his words did not cease to replay across the records of her mind. She was caught, caged, bruised, and broken. And she did not know to escape from it..
I'm afraid not, Alba. Best try again.
The breath in her lungs hitched; paused, burning in her throat. How long had she been holding it? How long had she stood there, a statue of bloodied stars and shadows under the pristine beauty of the forest's newborn spring? Under the mountain, she thought she could hide.. but no. Someone else was here, and they weren't alone. If she should try to leave, her injuries would not allow her the luxury of silence.
So she stood, still and wondrous, and completely unlike her boldness from before. Before.. the injury.
..Not bloody likely, at this rate.
Blood. Splattered on white; crimson and contrasted under a starless sky. No. She couldn't stay. No no no, they had been wrong. So very wrong. Her hooves scrambled, suddenly and incredibly quick. But all too fast, too sudden. She had not healed, not completely. Her legs gave, stumbling, slipping on the damp earth beneath her. A gasp escaped her before she could hold her breath. No. She couldn't. She couldn't. She could not.
Not now.
@Somnus ♡ eeep here, have an anxious ash. imsosorry. this will turn light hearted, she's just a bit of a mess at first. references this thread, although it is not finished yet.
All thoughts of recipes, tea making, and exotic flowers were easily forgotten when it became obvious that he was no longer alone. The Dawn King lifted his head quickly with a sharp snort, knowing verdant eyes peering at the one who had stumbled, quite literally, upon him during his searching. Wariness was the first emotion to blossom within his breast. Distrust. He, a newly crowned King, was far from his own domain without a glaive to guard him. Tensions had been building tremendously between Day, Dusk, and Night, and here he was, alone and unguarded in a territory that he might not very well be welcome in. Delumine had yet to pick a side in all of the tension. Somnus refrained from letting them. A war would solve nothing except bring more death and destruction, and the dunalino wanted to spare his Court such trauma.
Yet the more he stared at her, this lady of the night, the more he realized that his distrust and misgivings were unfounded. Injured. She was injured. Her wing lay in a mangled mess of torn flesh and missing feathers, bloody bandages swaying in the breeze, but that was not all that had happened to her. That much was easy to see with his own two eyes. The smell of her blood, of her visceral fear, was nearly palpable. He could almost taste it. Concern for this stranger, foreign though she may be, overtook any other emotion he may have felt, but Somnus did not dare a step closer.
“Please,” the Dawn King whispered, careful to keep his accented voice soothing and soft, not wishing to cause the injured woman any more stress than she was already in, “I mean you no harm. I apologize, if I startled you.”
What could he do? He was a stranger to these lands. He knew not a soul who called Denocte home aside from Rostislav, but the Warden was nowhere to be found. His mind could come up with a plethora of herbs and tonics that were kept nicely within the Citadel in Delumine, poultices prepared by their talented caretakers to treat wounds, infections, and pains, but this was not Delumine. This was Denocte, and Somnus felt as though he were a fish out of water. How could he help? What could he do, when she seemed positively petrified of him? What had happened that caused such horrendous, cruel injuries? Had she been ambushed? Was there a threat about? So many questions, but there seemed to be no immediate answers, and as a man who loathed ambiguity in any sense, it left him rattled and uncertain.
’Alba. Come here.’ He could feel the barn owl’s ire despite the distance between them. ’Do not argue. Come, now.’ Rarely had he commanded her. Somnus wasn’t the type to demand, but during such uncertain circumstances, Alba knew better than to argue to act impudent as she was known to do. Miles away, the barn owl wheeled around within the air, stopping her search for the flowers that had brought them there in the first place to instead return to her bond-mate's side.
From there he focused back on the injured mare, her celestial frame marred with injuries from whatever terrors she had so obviously endured. “I’m going to approach,” he cautioned, daring to take a step closer, “Do not be afraid. If you wish me to leave, I will leave, but I only want to help you.” Hopefully through the cloying stench of her terror, she would understand his sincerity. In no good conscience could Somnus simply abandon her, not without trying something to alleviate her pain, her suffering.
Every gods-damn pink blossom was a droplet of her blood on a blanket of white snow.
..how your ego and your secret lust for the approval of others..
Aislinn fell to her knees — a snuffed star in her goddess’ galaxy, drowning in the words that had come to haunt her every step. She crashes like a comet falling to earth; a bundle of wrapped, bloody bandages and petals that float around her like soft feathers. Feathers that she no longer had, for they had been ripped from her. Brutally. Intimately. Cruelly.
..would be your downfall, stormsinger.
Oxygen swells within her breast, her lungs, but is caught within her throat. She cannot breathe; she is choking on the sand of the Solterran’s scent, on the searing burn of snapping bones within her wing. Plucked, broken, bruised. Grounded and chained to the earth. The ground swallows her as she falls, her legs splaying out beneath her as she tumbles like a dead weight. All around her, spring’s flowers bloom in a riot of rose and yellows and violet. The smell of their sun-sweet perfume should have filled her lungs with their beauty, and her eyes should have marveled at the world’s remarkable regrowth. Instead, the blue of her gaze is unseeing except for one thing — white, brilliant white. And the bright crimson of her blood as she fell unconscious into winter’s embrace.
The stormsinger does not know how wild she appears, how lost.
Please, I mean you no harm.
Delicate ears flicker as she catches a flapping of wings. Aislinn blinks upwards, searching for the source of such a sound. Sunbeams shine through the trees that cover her, shining in glittering gold, outlining the flapping of white wings. Her breathing slows — for she can breathe again — as she watches the owl soar to her companion. There was something missing; the sound of silver bells wrapped around tender ankles. But it was that owl that grabs her from the depths of her memory. The light dancing upon her golden feathers, dappling upon them through the leaves.*
She breathes deeply. Long and slow. Exhaling. Not once did her gaze break from the barn owl as the source of the voice moves. ”Beautiful,” she whispers.
I’m going to approach. Do not be afraid.
Aislinn stiffens, if only momentarily as she prepares for the man to step closer to her. The muscles beneath her skin clench, stretches of midnight against the bright green of the grass poking up around her. Sweat begins to bead from the tension in her gut, her chest. Burning. She coughs, focusing on her breath. Easy.. in and out. Slow and soft. Remembering to hold it, capturing the sweet air for a moment, before releasing. Her healer’s words finding her here.
But in this moment, her gaze is upon the barn owl and the stranger as he steps into her field of view. The flames of her eyes are dull, yet still they sparkle with the light reflecting upon his wings. His coat. Just like the spun gold of sunlight and summer. In a blink, she finally meets his eyes; there is a warmth there, in those pools of emerald. Her world is no longer bloodied snow, or pink blossoms. She grasps, desperately, onto his gaze, and to the sacred owl at his side.
”Forgive me, please,” she rasps, finding her voice. ”I’m not usually like this.”
All at once, Aislinn realizes that she is bound to the earth below her. Her legs curl beneath her, strength faltering unsteadily. How long had she been laying here? Again she coughs, sniffling against the suddenly heavy stench of the blossoms crushed around her. She dares not look upon them, in fear of being transported to the snowy Steppe once more. Instead, she does search his face — finding no trace of familiarity through his gold and starlight and earthiness. However gentle he may be.
Her wariness has grown since she had been clipped of her wing.
”I’m sorry, but I do not know your face. Who are you?”
@Somnus ♡ -flails- I love him oml
P.S. I’m sorry again for the random addition of Alba xD
* paragraph inspired by the Japanese word komorebi, which means “sunlight that filters through the leaves of trees.”
