Grueling tensions // Want me in a spiral // I'm waiting to unravel // Twisted motives // Drive me in a circle // I'm dying to untangle
Something changed after that day on the mountains.
When Morrighan found Bram struggling with the gryphon, she had half a mind to let him die there. Every fiber of her being wanted it to happen. It brought her back to the Great War against the canines and how she had failed. Instead of coming up on top and being the victor, she was thrown into blackness and arrived on Novus. There was always a bitter taste on her tongue after that, even after coming to terms with Novus and Denocte being her new home. She never forgave the canines for destroying her home and her life.
Then he appeared. Here and there she saw his form in the shadows, out of the corner of her eye and along the horizon. It wasn't until that day on the mountains where she finally came face to face with him.
He should have died, but she was weak.
She had felt Caligo's burning eyes on her skin, just like that day of the snowstorm when she was compelled to save the colt. After that, she had been gifted back her magic (by some strange coincidence, she wasn't entirely sure) and, she couldn't deny that she was grateful. Every day her magic was becoming more powerful, but this time around had been different. She had told Bram she never wanted to see him again, but instead the complete opposite was happening. If anything, it was worse than seeing him.
She will not stop hearing his voice. It doesn't come through all the time, but something changed between the two of them after that day. Somehow they can communicate telepathically and she is now more infuriated than ever.
As she emerges from the woods and comes upon the lake, she looks at the form of a timber wolf with fire in her eyes. Her hooves are growing hotter with heat but they do not spark flames just yet.
"You came," Bram says through telepathy, a hint of surprise in his tone. He had asked her to meet her here since she demanded he explain.
"I did, now talk," Morrighan responds back, her nostrils flaring.
"We are connected - bonded. It happened after the mountains when you saved me."
"Clearly that was a mistake. I spared your life, I didn't ask to be paired with you or whatever the fuck this is."
Bram laughs, his sharp canines glinting white. "You don't get to choose. It's the gods who decide, usually they call it a gift."
Morrighan laughs back, louder but more out of disbelief. "A gift, huh?" She gets closer to the wolf until they are almost an inch away from each others' faces. The whites of her eyes are now showing from how frustrated she is and her hooves have made burn marks in the ground from where she walked.
"What happens if I take that gift away? Maybe I can finish what the gryphon started?" she threatens out loud.
The timber wolf doesn't flinch, only offers a sly smile before bursting into laughter. This does nothing to quell Morrighan's anger. Flames suddenly burst to life from her feet and they quickly rise higher and higher until the tips are almost singeing the wolf's fur. Bram steps back now, but does not appear frightened. She feels determined now and everything in her is screaming, until -
There is a cracking noise coming from the woods and it breaks the mare's concentration. She whips her head around and her eyes are wild.
"Who goes there?" she calls out, nostrils still flaring. Whoever they were, they better have a good reason for coming here.
Especially since out of the corner of her eye, she sees Bram slip away and run off towards another section of the woods. Fucker.
@Michael got a bit carried away here, sorry about that xD Morr is just mad and in denial about her bonded
I swear to god
I wasn't born to fight.
Maybe just a little bit.
Enough to make me sick of it.
He spends perhaps too much time here, fixed pensively on the lake, watching how light bobs up and down in the shadows, glinting off fish and dragon scales and lost things for which their kind has no name.
He spends perhaps too much time considering lost things in general, either names he can no longer recall after years adrift in the void of running, or some bigger, nameless thing with a face he cannot stand to look upon. It is easier, then, to lose himself in the refraction of light, the rings where fish have been swimming. It is easier to do almost all things but the only one he seems truly capable of forcing himself to do is stare at the lake and mourn his own miserable existence.
The wind hums. Michael is spilled out of his stupor with all the ceremony of a bucket of dirty dishwater. It is instinct only that drives him toward the sound.
"--finish what the gryphon started," the voice says, but this time is is not the sea singing him to its shores or some voice in the heat waves wondering where he has been, why is he so cowardly. It strikes him that this is a real and tangible voice and the tension crackles off it like a hissing wire. He pauses. It is far too late to pause.
"Who goes there?" it yells, too loud for Michael who is already close enough to see Morrighan and her wolf in the clearing, Michael who is damp and quiet and visibly startles when the latter slinks away.
"Me," he says, verbally throwing up his hands, offering her a bashful smile from the only part of his face that isn't buried deep beneath a blanket of heavy white curls.
"I had no intention of interrupting, trust me. I prefer to be alone, honestly." Michael explains, turning his head in the direction her wolf left, trying to see him through the woods that only get thicker as they go. "Is that going to be a problem? Your wolf, I mean."
Grueling tensions // Want me in a spiral // I'm waiting to unravel // Twisted motives // Drive me in a circle // I'm dying to untangle
The stranger approaches- a palomino with ridiculously long white hair. She assumes he's female until she hears the deeper tone of his voice. He's not familiar to her at all since she's sure she would remember seeing all of that hair before. "Me," is all he introduces himself as with a bashful smile and her eyes squint out of suspicion. Surely that's not his name unless his parents really hated him.
He claims he didn't mean to interrupt the argument and wonders if the wolf is going to be a problem. Morrighan looks out to where Bram had run off to, her nostrils flaring. The wolf is nowhere to be found and slipped into the shadows once again. She knows this to be his talent given how well he hid before they shared a bond.
Yes, he was going to be a problem.
"That mongrel, by some joke of Caligo's, is my-" she pauses, her next word feels bitter on her tongue. "Companion." It makes her sick to say and she spits onto the ground. "If you're scared of him, don't be. He's just an asshole that won't leave me alone." Morrighan knows the idea of a companion is for them to have a connection and to be by each others' side. She just wishes she could be 'blessed' with someone else. Someone who isn't a damn wolf and her mortal enemy.
"As for you, 'Me'," she says, walking closer to the man with a judgmental gaze. "What's your real name? Who are you?" She thinks she smells the familiar scent of Denocte on him, but it's not distinct enough. He looks damp and had likely been wading in the water at one point which could be masking it. Based on his reaction and stance, he doesn't seem to be a threat, but the grullo mare does not bring down her guard just yet.
I swear to god
I wasn't born to fight.
Maybe just a little bit.
Enough to make me sick of it.
Michael is chronically eyed with suspicion. She is not the first to do so and she will certainly not be the last.
Perhaps it is the tense curve of his neck, or the high and wild way he laughs, or that each motion seems mechanical and forced. Even as is he searching the tree line for any sign of Morrighan's wolf, he is doing so deliberately to avoid her eyes, her face, and what he might find there. Anger? Surely, even if it is not pointed directly at him. Disappointment? He thinks the disappointment might be worst of all, though he can't fathom why.
(Because you ran, says a voice in the wind. A voice that rides on the backs of leaves blowing off the trees. Because you are a coward.)
God damn the wind, anyway.
"A companon, huh? Should we... go after him? It? Him?" Michael muses.
He knows these. Irsafel and her phoenix. Isra and her dragon. He cannot imagine being tied so closely to something else, tight cord strung between him and any other living thing, so close they can hear the beat of each others' heart from miles away. Michael has never wanted something like this. He never will. Perhaps he is selfish. There are too many deep and dark holes in him, too many things that he cannot say to himself, let alone some other, separate part of him. To open himself would be to invite too many things that he cannot bring himself to face.
He is wounded. Irreparably.
It is how he prefers it.
Michael shrinks as she looms closer. "Sorry, my name is Michael." he answers.
Grueling tensions // Want me in a spiral // I'm waiting to unravel // Twisted motives // Drive me in a circle // I'm dying to untangle
The palomino man is an interesting one as he gets closer. He seems to shrink away the more Morrighan looks at him, but for a moment she smells the spices of Denocte on him. Perhaps he is from the Night Court after all, but she is still curious why she's never seen him before. Maybe he prefers solitude like she does.
He suggests they go after him, but she just snorts. "Leave him. Maybe he'll finally be gone for good," she grumbles, but secretly hopes that will be the case. She could care less where Bram went. The mare refuses to accept Caligo's blessing or whatever it should be called (curse is probably more fitting). Everyone else she knew had acceptable companions; Isra even had a dragon. Nope- she got stuck with her mortal enemy, and they had telepathy on top of it all.
Perhaps the deity is trying to teach her something again. Her fire magic had been gained by saving the young colt in the snow and, in this case, she saved the wolf from the gryphon. Normally she didn't do any good deeds or showed any patience, which is one reason why she won't bother again.
Finally, the man introduces himself as Michael and she has a name to a face. "I'm Morrighan, Warden of Denocte," she declares, holding her title proudly. But what is he? Other than a model for voluptuous hair. "What's your position here, Michael?" she asks, raising her brow and continuing to hold her suspicion. He likely isn't anything important since she hasn't heard of him before. Maybe he's new to the Court, which could explain his uncertainty of things.
"I think we deserve
a soft epilogue, my love.
we are good people
and we've suffered enough."
"If you're sure," Michael says, still staring into the woods, still thinking of ghosts and dirt and so, so many things that he cannot bring himself to say. Novus' deities are not without a sense of humor - bleak as it may be. He may wonder how a person can be handed another soul by God herself and wonder at the cruelty of it, but it does not show. The sea of his face, buried in that thick mess of hair, is as still as so many autumn ponds.
How can a person?
How can a person do anything? He does not know.
Maybe this is the uncertainty that she feels: Michael, stumbling in his own fog, crashing to his own shore, a moored boat that creaks and groans and grinds away with the tide. Perhaps his creaking is loud, here in the forest, where it bounces off trees.
Perhaps his heart is such a cacophony that she cannot hear him over its din. Perhaps Michael is the dragon, roaring across the mountain range.
Perhaps he is the damsel. Perhaps he is Morrighan's wolf, gone through the trees. Perhaps he is nothing at all. Never was, never will be.
"Warden!" he grins, "Is that why you're glaring at me like that? I suppose I should congratulate you on a job well done, in that case."
There it is again, the keening. It rises in him like a phoenix, some dark thing birthed from history, some ancient ache that turns his bones to piles of ash. Michael turns again to the shady wood, heart in his throat.
He says, "I'm a storyteller, I guess. But not a good one."
He says, "Anyway, are you coming?" before he tracks off in Bram's direction. He casts her a knowing smile behind his back. "If he's going to be a problem, and you're our warden, you should probably come with me."
Grueling tensions // Want me in a spiral // I'm waiting to unravel // Twisted motives // Drive me in a circle // I'm dying to untangle
His excitement of her promotion surprises her. Here she is practically questioning the entirety of his being and he is suddenly happy for her. Morrighan is so taken aback, she hesitates and just blinks at him a few times.
"Well, thanks," she finally says, her tone unchanging. Being acknowledged for such an accomplishment didn't exactly feel bad, but no one had actually congratulated her before. For anything. It makes her feel confused on what to feel.
When Michael finally speaks of his rank, he doesn't bother to linger on the subject as long as she wanted him to. A storyteller is not specific - it didn't even sound like a real rank for that matter. She knows the artists of Denocte, but is that really their true purpose? Surely they had more use to the Court than that.
But no, he seems much more fixated on the damn wolf and finding him. Unfortunately, he has a point when he says she's the Warden and they should find Bram if he'll be a problem. Yes, she probably should make sure the mongrel isn't still on Court lands to cause any trouble. It's just that she has a feeling he'll be her trouble and not anyone else's. They have a connection after all and he has no reason to be anywhere else. Clearly.
"Fine," is all she says and stomps forward, adding in the classic eye roll. It wouldn't hurt to patrol and this way at least she'd have an extra set of eyes.
They enter the woods and the sunlight is shrouded by the cover of the trees and the shadows envelope the pair. As her eyes adjust, she looks around and feels tempted to set the whole forest on fire. She could chase him out that way and let the smoke fill his lungs until they burn. Unfortunately, she knows that wouldn't be enough to keep him away and then she'd probably be fired for, well, her fire.
Morrighan tries to keep her magic at bay, although she can feel it twisting inside her and begging to be set free. It fed off her frustration and so badly wanted to destroy things in their path. For now, there are just burned hoofprints in the undergrowth and the faint scent of char. Of course, there is no sign of Bram either. With his dark coat and stealth skills, he could be anywhere by now.
"So, a bad storyteller, huh?" she asks, bringing back up the topic of his rank. "Try me. Tell me a story." It's somewhat of a challenge since part of her is wondering just how bad of a storyteller he actually is. Then again, it'd probably take many tries from even the most skilled of storytellers to keep Morrighan's attention from beginning to end. Unless the story is about fire, then they might be lucky.
"I think we deserve
a soft epilogue, my love.
we are good people
and we've suffered enough."
It happens a lot.
Michael, ancient Michael, somber Michael, and his smile like winter mornings with the sun and the snow - bleak but bright, and as brittle as it is true. And her, or them, or anyone, standing at opposition with their tongues between their teeth and suddenly he is too bright, or too sad, or too honest.
He is a thing of many honesties and very few of them are worth being honest about. He is a thing that is truthful to a fault except with the questions he is asking himself. And when she says to him, try me, Michael does not hide the way he trips over his next step.
The woods are quiet, and her wolf is nowhere to be seen. Later Michael might wonder what he's doing, here in the trees with Morrighan and the distant scent of a wolf he knows he can't find. Michael keeps telling himself this is enough, this has to be enough, but he drags her smoke in and it feels like ghosts and a bad memory he can't quite yank to the surface.
"Maybe some other time," he laughs, in that nervous way that he has. "assuming we find your wolf before you set me on fire." And Michael keeps walking, the thick white snake of his hair skimming her singed hoofprints.
- - -
It's been an hour, maybe, when Michael drops his head and exhales through his nose.
(Michael doesn't speak while he's searching, winding through trees until there are no trees left, and when they break through the far edge of the woods the sun is casting long afternoon shadows and red-orange light. There was no wolf, not that he saw, and Michael is tired and frustrated and he'd want to go home if he knew what home was, anymore.)
"Well," he says, leaning against the closest tree, "I think you're in luck. Your wolf is gone."
Michael fixes her with some somber, aching smile. When he turns to go, it is still there. "This has been fun; come find me soon." He says over his shoulder, "Remind me I owe you a story."
Michael walks. He has always been so good at walking away.
Grueling tensions // Want me in a spiral // I'm waiting to unravel // Twisted motives // Drive me in a circle // I'm dying to untangle
To her surprise (and slight disappointment), Michael does not take her challenge and tell a story. Maybe he really is that bad because he never elects to tell the stories. Very disappointing indeed. Although his fear of her fire is amusing. She didn't feel like torching him just yet and was saving all of her energy for Bram instead.
"You're safe… for now," she reassures him, although her tone does not sound very reassuring. He might become more anxious and Morrighan wouldn't mind that.
---
They walk and walk and walk in what seems like circles. Morrighan's frustration has grown, especially since she can feel the link she has with Bram, but he is nowhere to be found. He seems to have the talent of disappearing only to reappear just when she thinks that she's finally lost him for good.
It's been quiet too, and she wishes that Michael had just gone ahead and told a story after all. The silence between them is awkward and only makes her frustration grow. Finally though, he speaks the obvious that Bram isn't here. She rolls her eyes.
He's leaning up against a tree while he talks, but he does not stay much longer. He tells her to remind him to tell a story later but Morrighan just makes a face at him. She watches him leave and realizes maybe the silence isn't so bad after all. At least now she's alone and doesn't have Bram's stupid voice in her head.
She walks off in the opposite direction, enjoying the solitude while it lasts.
@Michael just a closer~ Thanks for the lovely thread! We'll need to get them together again soon <3
