“Why?” Her mother said with a sigh, “Why do you always go looking for trouble?”
“I wasn’t looking for trouble!” The young girl protested, “I was just bored.”
The red woman stared, out across the ocean, letting her mind wander. The sound of the waves lapping at the shore reminded her of home. Having her freedom was turning out to be a bittersweet thing. She missed the sound of her mother’s voice, and the soft ringing of bells and laughter that always seemed to float around the camp at night. Dearest could almost hear them if she closed her eyes, the beating of a drum and the rhythmic words of some ancient song. It was right there, teasing, at the tip of her ears but still out of reach.
“Ye’ gonna go to the island?” A stranger said, and she jumped slightly, not realizing anyone had approached. This made the old man chuckle, “Settle down there, lass. Yer pretty but I doubt ye’ cook as good as m’wife.”
Oddly enough, this did put her at ease, and she offered him a smile. “Find me again in a few years and I might be able to prove you wrong.” Dearest joked, and she was rewarded with a hearty laugh.
“Hope’ly be retired by then,” He said, gesturing to the fish he carried, “Ol’ back ain’t what it use to be. Been try’na find someone t’ enchant this ol’ thing.”
He must have seen the sympathy that crossed her face as he spoke, because he quickly made a rejection noise from deep in his throat, “Don’t chu worry bout me, lass. Been at it f’years. Now how bout that island, eh?”
She gave a small shrug, but her eyes were bright with curiosity as looked back at that hazy spot where the calm ocean meets sky, “I didn’t know there was an island.” and for some reason, this made the merchant laugh just as loud as her joke had.
“Ahhh, yer new here, aintcha?” And his features softened, making him look younger, “Makes an ol’ man think about the past, all ye’ youngins. Go on, go find it. Seen them all walkin’ on water m’self.” He finished his sentence with a wink, and started to amble off through the sand.
“Wait!” She called out, and he turned slightly, pausing mid-step, “On the water?”
He gave her a sly grin, “Get use t’oddish things round these parts, lass. On the water. If yer brave enough.” And she watched him leave before turning back to the shoreline, letting the words play over again in her head.
“On the water...” She whispered to herself, still staring, as if the waves themselves were going to respond. Of course, there was only silence. Just the constant lapping, like a heartbeat, steady and constant. A small breeze that came off the water tugged at her black curls, but it was not enough to give relief from the sun overhead, glaring down on her. Dearest had always been an impulsive creature and it didn’t take much longer for her to come to a decision.
She stepped forward, gently, dancing to the white foam as it rolled in and out. It kissed at her feet in what seemed like a normal way, causing the thought to flit through her mind that the old man may have been teasing her. Making a quick mental note to never purchase a single thing from him should that be the case, she took a literal leap of faith. It... was not graceful. She had expected to sink, despite what she had been told, and her knees buckled slightly as they touched to a solid surface. She had to fight to regain her balance, quickly looking around to see if anyone had been watching. A seagull was the only witness, perched on a rock nearby, and she huffed at the bird who simply kept staring.
“What are you looking at, feather-head!?” she said in annoyance, but the gull had no reply except to pick at one of his wings. Dearest accepted this as a battle won in a naïve fashion and started making her way out towards the horizon, slowly at first, gaze cast down to see what lurks under the glasslike ceiling of the Terminus sea. It was beautiful in an eerie way that made her feel like there were bugs crawling in her stomach. She should be down there, under the waves, tangled in the kelp with her lungs screaming for air. But she was not. No, she was a goddess in this moment, immortal for a few mere seconds as she stared at statues whose fate she didn’t share. Fish darted around and through the stone bodies in flashes of color and it is all just so surreal that she found herself lost in watching the entire scene as she strides above. This trance is why she did not notice the island as it starts to rise into view.
She hears it first. Drums. Whispers. They cause her to pause as she is still looking down, making a pang go off within her chest. She knows that voice. She knows that voice deep inside her soul, and her delicate form shudders as a chill slides its way down her spine. Golden eyes are lifted from the wonders at her feet, a sharp inhale taken as she sees, no, feels the island for the first time. It looks like home, with the silky emerald grass and the rolling hills. Dearest hadn’t realized she was moving closer until things started to become even clearer. The whispers grew louder and her pace quickened. There was a form she could see, one that made her heart sing, and she called out in a child-like way, ”Mom?”
The figure didn’t move, but the voice grew louder, and she could make out it saying her name. Any questions the singed red mare may have had were pushed aside by her excitement. She called out again, louder this time, “Mom!”
But then, as she went even faster with the bells ringing chaotically in her hair, she realized. That was another statue. And it was like a plug had been pulled. The air instantly settled in a quiet that was deafening, leaving her feeling empty and wondering if she had imagined it after all. Her pace slowed and a confused frown tugged down the corner of her black lips. The transition from walking on the water to the shore was a seamless one. Golden eyes, wary but curious, stayed trained on the statue that was her mother, delicate and smaller than Dearest, but strong in her stance with her face tipped towards the sun like a flower.
She was close enough to touch it now but in a moment that was uncharacteristic for her, she found herself scared. Why was it here? She finally asked herself this, unsure of the answer. She simply could not bring herself to reach out. The land was still silent, the grass moving like the ripples on a lake from the soft breeze, and she took a deep breath as she considered her options.
She’d inspect it further, she decided. Maybe. After she stood here for a few more minutes...
12-17-2020, 09:25 PM - This post was last modified: 12-17-2020, 09:29 PM by Dearest
some memories never leave your bones.
like the salt in the sea; they become a part of you
- you carry them.
Mum.
At first it is a faint whisper in his ear, but it is enough to make him flinch and a dream to start. He is a boy again, so much younger than now, so much more naive. He cries out but beside him his sister is silent. Mum! his dream-child cries out, louder, more desperately hopeful. In his mahogany breast, beneath the bark-rough scars of loss, his sleeping heart beats faster. But this dream always ends the same. His mother never returned. The woods he and his twin search within always remains empty. Leonidas has not seen his mother since that fateful day.
His dream suddenly ends as the boy startles awake with the grating of stone upon stone. A statue wanders by him, the island suddenly so silent after his dream. But across the verdant grasses the wild-woods boy spots a girl stepping off the sea. She is a speck of blood with eyes, bright as the sun above them. He blinks and regards her with the steady gaze of a red stag.
A statue is stood before her. So similar. Older. A mother. Leonidas does not question how he knows. His waking dream was strange, his voice not his own. But the grief, the hope was the same. The boy looks to the girl and knows. The lines of the stranger’s lips, the way disappointment pulls them down. Her mouth is an upturned bow pouring its sorrow out.
Loenidas rises from his place, moved by the way his stomach twists and pulls. Longing draws him to the girl like a moth into a flame. The young stallion knows that sorrow anew will come from this meeting, but maybe a part of him hopes for something other too. Her skin reminds him of the woodland’s wine-red berries that stain his lips. Their memory is sweet upon his lips and tongue.
He arrives beside the young mare at the final echo of her bells. In the absence of their frantic tolling all is still and silent. It is as complete as night. He looks to the bells entwined in her curling hair as she looks to the statue. Both long to touch.
Still, nothing moves.
The vines and flowers in his gilded antlers sway with the sudden sight of the breeze. It rouses the island and suddenly all seems alive. The fae stallion moves and sets his golden eyes upon the girl’s. “She is pretty.” He murmurs, a frown, a blush upon his cheeks. The words come, rushed and cautious. Beneath the thick arch of his lashes Leonidas peers at the girl. He might have wanted to say beautiful, but he has since learned that calling girls beautiful lead only to awkwardness and embarrassment. "Is this statue of your mother?"
"Are you crying?” Her mother asked as the child stood there whimpering with her face buried in her neck, “Come here, love. Let me see you.”
With an exaggerated sniff, she looked up to the golden woman and said in a voice stained with tears, “That boy pulled my hair. AND he said I smelled funny.” Her mother’s amusement immediately rang out loud and true. “Why are you laughing?! MOM! I DON’T SMELL FUNNY.”
Dearest stood there. It could have been for hours or simply seconds. Which one she would never know and in all honesty, the red girl doesn't care about fickle things like time. Instead, she embraced the echo inside of her chest. The longing for home was painful but it was also familiar and so she studied the statue of the figure that she knew almost better than herself, letting her golden gaze drink in each curve and dip. The irises, mirrored copies of her own, seemed so alive. They stared upward, reflecting the sun like the surface of a pond and swirling with words that stone lips couldn't speak. She took a small, hesitant step forward and started to reach out.
“She is pretty”, said a voice to the right of her, tearing her from the trance she had trapped herself in. Stunned by this revelation, her eyes went wide like saucers, turning away from the statue to meet those of a stranger. She had, in her own naïve way, expected it to be the old merchant from the shore with his gap-toothed grin and deep wrinkles but she quickly realized this was no fish monger. He was not weathered and worn with the scent of salt stuck to his skin. He was a creature who seemed to rise from the island itself, with the towering horns of a stag that only added to his height advantage. Vines and flowers hung tangled there, softening the large shadow he casted in her mind. She liked the way the green sat against his darker skin and hair, even if it did end in gilded tips that looked stolen from a dragon’s hoard. She only noticed she was staring when, after a moment, it sunk it that he had asked her a question after the compliment. Embarrassed and with a blush darkening her already wine-stained cheeks, she blinked several times and returned her eyes to his face, as if that would chase her thoughts away. Her response came with a nervous laugh, one that rebounded through the hills much like the ringing of her bells had.
“Thank you. That is...” She paused, searching for the right word, ”very sweet of you. And yes. My mother.” Her voice lifted as she spoke, clearly showing that she held the matriarch in high regard, “She is such an infuriating woman that no one can do anything but love her. The pose catches that beautifully. I’m,” She paused again, the pretty frown on her black lips making a reappearance, “I’m not sure why it’s here.”
Immediately though, in a child-like way of jumping through emotions, her expression brightened as an exciting thought occurred, “Is that who you are? Some sort of... guide? Question answerer? Do you know where it came from?” She realized she was rapid firing her words at this man she knew nothing about, possibly overwhelmingly, but there was little she could do to rein herself in. It was all so interesting, and what the old man told her earlier rang in her head about getting use to oddish things. This certainly seemed to fit that description and she couldn’t help but think how much better it was than being bored.
some memories never leave your bones.
like the salt in the sea; they become a part of you
- you carry them.
She freezes.
Oh she becomes as still as the statue beside her. Their eyes are mirror suns. One set looks up into the sunlight and the other is trained upon the strangeling boy. Leonidas pauses, as if waiting for the statue to turn her stone head and fix those gleaming, mineral eyes upon him. But they do not. Only the girl gilds him, binds him up in the innocence of her gaze.
Her stare is too long. Time means nothing to her, yet it is everything to him. He feels its length, how she loses her grip upon it. It slows as if his twin is here, pale as the white-smudge clouds, arresting the turning of the world, slowing the passage of the sun. Seconds become minutes. Leonidas is not made to be slow. He rushed into a still world, his time magic reaching out to everything and whispering to it, faster, faster. It stirs now, unsettled, uneasy with how she holds him still within the bright of her lovely, wide eyes. Flowers bloom at their feet, urged on by his magic. Grasses rise, flourishing at his hand, to tickle at their knees and abdomens. Nearby, leaves turn gold and orange and brown upon a tree and fall away like autumn has come too soon.
But it is all just a spell. It is how Dearest holds this time-boy in her eyes and makes him feel like all is slow, slow, slow. Maybe he should know better, but he does not. He may be a man so very soon, yet this moment reminds him that he is just a boy, immortal, though not yet wise.
And then the spell is broken. The girl is blinking, turning back to her mother and the startled, grown flowers, stop their aging. They sway upon the cusp of turning and wilting in anticipation of a season that is still so many weeks away. Upon Dearest’s cheeks Leonidas sees the bloom of colour, a sweep of red as bright as sweet as a raspberry blush. It is a twin to his own, which was another fuel to his magic as it sped up the lifespan of the grasses and leaves between them. Leonidas gazes at her like a rabbit and she the wolf that holds acceptance in her jaws. But she does not reject nor reprimand him and slow, cautious as a fox he steps closer when she looks back upon her mother’s statue.
His eyes flit to its beautiful detail, the carving fine and magical. What would he give to see one of his mother or father? It might remind him of their bodies for already their memory is a fading smudge, their colour leached, their voices unrecognisable.
Enchanted, Leonidas steps slowly closer to the statue. Golden feathers fall from him like autumn leaves. They skitter across the grasses and drift out, over the edge of the island and off into the playing crests of the sea. He pays them no heed as he reaches out to touch the cool of her mother’s neck. It is not soft nor warm as a mother should be - he remembers that, at least. Slowly he tucks his chin back into his breast and huffs a soft sigh, lost to the salt-sea air. “She sounds wonderful.” The orphan boy says with a grin.
Beneath the thick sway of his lashes he watches as she asks him if he is a guide. His head tilts, canine, soft puzzlement darkening in his elixir eyes. “No. I am no guide. I just come here to find my parents. I was born here and they left me here. Each season it takes on a new form and i come back to see if they have returned…”
For once there is no sadness, for once his wings do not flare as if he needs to flee and hide amidst the wilds of the wood. “This is the season of statues. Those we know and those we do not…But i do not know why it shows your mother.”
And this might be the most he has spoken in so long. But his voice is low and rich and new in its adult, masculine tone. He immerses himself within the new cadence of his voice, growing, evolving. “Are you pleased to see her?”
”But this is yours.” The young mare said in the light of the rising sun, her skin darkened a shade by hues of pink and dusk.
“And now it is yours. To protect you.” Her mother said simply, making the clasp fasten around her delicately curved neck. Dearest’s heart seemed ready to burst, beating against its cage of bones.
“Thank you.” She said simply back, but there was more meaning to this exchange than either were willing to admit just yet.
The amulet sat heavy. It’s weight on her chest was constant, steady. She would be lost without the small reminder in the form of obsidian and gold. He steps forward, closer, making his way to the unmoving statue. Were things changing? She asked herself, as grasses and flowers dipped and swayed and tickled at her legs. But it was a fleeting thought, as if she was not yet ready to allow such things into her reality. Her mind was too occupied with her mother and as he touched carved skin, she touched as well but not the same thing. Her black lips dipped in, pressing to the surface of the necklace sitting against her skin. Her eyes never left the stranger though. They stayed trained on his form, like deep pools of melted gold, not much different from his gilded tips or the jewelry she herself wears.
Once again, compliments roll from his lips. It is hard not to admire his sincere nature. She was not sure how he could seem boyish and wise at the same time. She was learning, however, not to judge things by their cover in Novus. He seemed innocent, watching her from under his lashes with slight childlike curiosity and tilt to his head, but that rumble in his voice suggested that he was anything but. He admitted he wasn’t a guide, and brief disappointment stained the curve of her mouth, but it disappeared quickly as he continued, explaining. Dearest found herself enjoying the low tone, allowing herself to relax more in his presence. She considered all he had said, having stayed quiet and only observing, before she gave a small shrug.
“You know, for not being a guide, you sure gave me quite a bit of information. It’s... not easy coming to a new place. Being alone. I wouldn’t say I’m pleased by the island playing games with my emotions, but I'm certainly not upset either. Things will always do what's in their nature, and that seems to be the nature of this place. I'm just not sure what I’m supposed to do with a rock.”
Perhaps she had rambled again. She studied him, to see if her words had made sense, trying to judge his expression only to end up shrugging again. Dearest wasn’t use to being unsure of herself. Perhaps it was her mother throwing her off, staring up into the sun. But perhaps it was this creature, all horns and vines but soft enough to be open with her.
“I do hope you find what you are looking for.” She admitted softly, “But if I may be so bold, you can still move forward even with an eye on the past. It’s what my mother wanted for me. Perhaps it could be what yours wanted too?”
