I SEE NOTHING. WE MAY SINK AND SETTLE ON THE WAVES. THE SEA WILL DRUM IN MY EARS. THE WHITE PETALS WILL BE DARKENED WITH SEA WATER. THEY WILL FLOAT FOR A MOMENT AND THEN SINK.
His eyes were quicksilver grey in her dreams, and they danced with all the changing colours and scenes of a mirror, not quite sea, storm, stone, scalding brass, nor seething flame, but all, and none, and then quicksilver grey. In her dreams, they reflected her own face, the white blaze, the brilliant chestnut—and her mind was seduced by it, as she saw herself, in his eyes, as she wished to be seen. She wore the armour of her people, light chainmail, gleaming copper helmet, horns adorned in glittering gold paint.
But in the dream, they were being wed, and her reflection in his eyes changed—the armour became the white pelt of a fierce sea-bear, draped across her back in a cloak clasped by Khashran fangs. The teeth, sharp as a razor-edge or whetted blade, bit at her flesh and darkened the edges of the cloak to red, red, red. And then his eyes were red, the true crimson of her people, and Boudika could not see herself. The fact filled Boudika was panic and crashing anxiety—but it appeared as though she were the only one gathered who saw.
The wedding alter, decorated with white petals, became a sacrificial stone beneath her hooves. The stone of the old Oresziah, when they were half-the-sea, when they had battled for a foot on land from the Khashran. Vercingetorix was keening his apology in a Khashran song, and the waves somewhere were beating the cliff, and her blood was dripping upon the black stones—the song was a fever pitch, louder, louder—she was sinking, sinking—
Boudika awoke, her head throbbing with the music of her last performance, her last dance. Her mouth tasted like bitter salt and she discovered, in her slumber, she had bitten the flesh of her cheek. How long had it been? For how many hours? Boudika knew her night had been repeated, like all her other nights; to fall into tumultuous slumber and then be awoken to tumultuous reality, with a chaotic and savage dream to keep her occupied in-between.
This was the first time, however, Vercingetorix had visited here. It was the first time she had really, concretely, thought of him. Boudika had sworn away thinking of him; Boudika forbade it, in fact. And abruptly all of her walls had been ripped in her subconscious, and she spat the blood from her mouth onto the stoned floor, seeing only that sacrificial alter. He might as well have been there with her, on the other side of the darkness, and Boudika could not bear to face how suddenly small her room felt. He was there with her, in all of his beauty and confidence and cunning, quick wit. He was there with her, his eyes blood-red, his lips hinting at a smile like they did, without every really smiling. He was there with her, dark and enticing, smelling like a home she had always imagined but already forsaken.
Wasn’t that just fucked? That the person who betrayed her was the only one that sounded safe? The memory of his scent was strong in her nostrils; and it told her body, security security security even as her mind and heart reeled, stung and hurt.
Enough!. Boudika rose, and repeated her every day habit, storing away the dream to some place she could forget it. It did not matter she was trembling. It did not matter her eyes were gummy with not-enough sleep. It did not matter her throat ached. She rose, swished her teeth with water, and left to run.
——
Her routes had become longer and more winding, and only recently had they begun to incorporate the Night Court itself—particularly, the marketplace, where she could annoying dash between early-morning vendors and the odd patron. The run began somber and Boudika could only hope that it would distract her from the dream—ultimately, it did, once she had looped outside of the Court and then returned, unreasonably drawn to the docks and the sea. She could see the crest of masts in the near-but-far distance as she ran, swiftly, toward it. It was too early for the market to be massed with a crowd, and she only saw the odd footprint marring the snow, here or there. Not enough to be concerned with—Boudika may as well have been alone.
She increased her speed, her breath coming short and quick and heavy all at once, her heart jumping with the joy of it, the sheer challenge of pushing past her limits—this was farther than the day before, and the day before that—its as the farthest she had gone since arriving at Novus! Boudika took a corner sharply, her hooves skidding on a slick batch of cobblestone, and then before she knew it she was throwing all of her weight back to her haunches, trying to skid to a stop, but it was too late—
Bam, directly into a brilliant palomino. Words bubbled, but failed—instead she only made a distressed whiny, and could only hope she hadn’t done too much damage. Boudika attempted to scramble away—but a limb was there, and then there, and oh, why did she have to have horns? She suddenly decided the best option was to stay utterly still.
”I am extremely apologetic,” and embarrassed. ”Are you hurt?”
ROLLING OVER THE WAVES WILL SHOULDER ME UNDER. EVERYTHING FALLS IN A TREMENDOUS SHOWER, DISSOLVING ME.
@August
