It does not take long for reality to sink its teeth in me and I remember- I am trapped here. Not just in this land but in this body. I am quiet now, calm if not comfortable. When I first landed, my grief was not silent. My grief was loud and violent and tore through me like a hurricane. But when the worst of it passed, I felt a little better, a little more in control. I now blink tear-worn eyes and look ahead. The land before me is vast and foreign. Intimidating. The world seems so much smaller when sea or sky is your domain.
My skin crawls and I think I will be sick again.
I look to the sky hopefully- but of course my flock is long gone. They were drawn to the inexplicable North, drawn there without needing to think. As simple and unquestioned as breathing. Is it my desire to be with them that hurts me now? Or is that call the birds feel, the compass in my chest guiding me to the summer home?
An egret rises with porcelain grace, my heart rising with it- and as it turns to the West I lose it to the setting sun. I turn my gaze inward, and the truth is still there, as hard and ugly as it was before I fell asleep:
My beautiful fusion with the world is over.
But these downward trending thoughts are cut short when my equine ears (excellent, compared to a bird's- I give this land-locked body that much) pick up a rustle in the bushes. I turn to face the sound, weak eyes struggling to recognize what lies in the shadows. Instinct tells me to run but I will not. In the complete consumption of my misery, my anger, my loss, I still have not realized the magnitude of the situation I am in. Death is now just a foolish mistake away, and I have forgotten how to be afraid of it.
Maybe I will learn fear again.
Or maybe I will die.
The only sound I make is a low growl, the warning kind a tiger makes. I can almost feel my claws flexing, sinking into the green earth. Is it just a memory or are they there for a moment? Can I smell the blood that approaches?-- I almost let hope drown me. Instead I stamp a heavy hoof, feel the force shiver in the ground underneath me. It is more a reminder for myself than whatever approaches- there is weakness in this body, but there is strength too.
@Cyrene <3 on the road from Solterra to Terrastella
the monarchs flew free;
yet they circled around her.
Can exhaustion kill, like a sword or a plague or a well-aimed bow?
Cyrene could not remember the last time she had rested. The world was a mural of filmy color, her bones long crumbled to dust. The blue horizon was an endless sea, the yellow sands an eternal purgatory. The journey to Solterra had been long — but the journey back was endless.
Her sable curls hung like limp seaweed down her scorched neck, and each step she took dug like a rusted dagger against her ribs. With a sigh as deep as the night was long, the crimson girl’s amber eyes blazed in anger as she wished bitterly for the pain to leave, leave, leave.
Yet it had never obeyed her before, and it saw no reason to start now.
A lone falcon screeched its loyalty to the sun as it circled like a vulture high above, and Cyrene felt envy squeeze her chest like a boa as she watched. What she would give to fly again; she would be back by Florentine and Asterion’s side by now.
A wave of guilt swept through her as she eyed the two Terrastellan guards trekking silently besides her, their wings tucked neatly against them like her own. They could’ve been home by now. Sensing her eyes upon them, the younger of the two looked towards her with a worried frown. Are you alright? She nodded quickly, a hasty smile pulling her lips taut like a marionette’s. I am fine.
Florentine had already returned to Dusk (she couldn’t remember how many days it had been — her head spun like the way it had when she was a foal, twirling like a fool to the beat of drums; back then, it had been pleasant) because Cyrene had insisted on staying behind, much to her queen’s distress. But the emissary’s resolve was unshakeable. There had been too many wounded remaining, their cuts festering from the heat and flies. In the end, Florentine had relented.
But Solterra had stabilized. Reborn from its own ashes, the Sun Court was a smoking phoenix that would emerge deadlier than it had died. And with Seraphina at the helm, it wouldn’t be long before the kingdom would rebuild stronger than it had fallen.
A tense wing pressed into her shoulder and she stumbled, her memories scattering like ants. But before the girl could give a yelp of shock, a low, resounding growl grated against her ears like cold steel, and she froze.
Strange, mismatched eyes glowed like lanterns from the shadows of a dense shrub, a hoof stamping down on the earth with a threatening thud. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she slowly made out his form.
It was Cyrene’s turn to press her wings to the broad chests of her guards, their protests silenced with a sharp stare. “He is not Davke — he wears no armor, and a Davke warrior would’ve had us skinned by now,” she murmured to them, her gaze never leaving the eyes that gleamed with a wary light. “Please stand down for the moment. Do not approach, unless I scream.” Their jaws tightened, her banter lost upon tense shoulders — yet reluctantly, they obeyed.
Hoofbeats as light as a panther’s tread, Cyrene dared a step closer to the strange man, and then another. Until she stood barely a wing’s length away from him, her leonine eyes guarded and sharp. When she spoke, however, her voice was as soft as reeds in the wind. “I promise, I hold no ill intentions. I simply wish to ask if you are alright.”
@Raam | a long and droning post, apologies! but excited to finally thread with you <3
Not one but three emerge. Two are probably guards, judging by the breadth of their chests and the tense way they try to read me. To my surprise it is the third who steps forward, at once bold and cautious. My ears flatten in distrust. On first glance she is ragged and sand-swept, but beneath the dust I see she is ruddy, wine-stained velvet. And beyond what seems like bone-tired fatigue, in those young eyes I can see strength like a clenched fist. From the situation I learn this mare is of some importance and this land is of some danger- else there would not be the two winged escorts lingering with taut dissatisfaction.
I don't think I could escape them. On foot maybe, given how weary they look, but the two soldiers have wings and could track me down in a matter of minutes. I turn back to the girl as she steps closer, closer. She is bold, which I admire, but still a stranger; and I am torn between stepping forward and backward so I just stay where I am, ears distrusting even as I lower my head and offer my breath in tentative greeting.
"Your promise means nothing to me, little fox." I sneer. What good is the promise of a stranger, a mortal one at that? She asks a question and I laugh shortly, billowing with sorrow and fear and anger- confusing things I have not felt in many, many lifetimes. With each of my next four words I feel myself deflating. The feeling reminds me of watching a candle collapse on itself. "I am not alright." I look away.
The silence after stretches a moment too long. I rise again, fill my chest with air and remember who I am. I have lived longer than this child can even imagine. There are a hundred names for me. There are embers in my eyes where there were once bonfires, but still- the angry drum of my heart cries out
I am more god than man.
My tail flicks angrily, remembering what it was like to be a rattlesnake. I hear my words come out in a low, angry hiss. "You would not understand." I hope she cannot sense my desperation, my need to be angry so that I will not be afraid.
he did not back away, not even a step, even when he bared his teeth and snarled like a caged wolf.
“Your promise means nothing to me, little fox.”
She almost laughed at the name, taking to it instantly — and she would’ve if laughter did not hack like a woodcutter’s ax at her aching ribs. Instead, Cyrene smiled at the man wryly, her head tilting like a curious bird as she studied him. “If you can’t take my word for it, then at least take in my appearance. Even if I wanted to hurt you, I doubt I could — and my guards,” she raised a brow towards them, and they did not so much as stir — “despite how they hold themselves, are as dead on their feet as I.” She ignored their collective sigh of exasperation as she turned back towards him, her eyes pressing into his without a tendril of hesitation.
“You are in a no-man’s land here. There will not be another party passing through for days — and pardon my assuming so, but I don’t think you’re in the state to wait.” Though her words were blunt, a marked difference than the emissary’s usually overflowing cheerfulness, her amber eyes held genuine concern. Beneath the dirt and grime, dried blood stained her pelt an even darker shade of crimson — a reminder of what she had seen, and what she would do anything to avoid.
“I am not alright.”
She watched as his chest rose and fell like an ocean tide. His honesty, the way his eyes dimmed with the weight of… something lost, with no hope of it ever being found… too much did she relate.
“Neither am I.” The confession slipped from her lips unaware, so soft that only he could’ve heard it. She did not have the strength to take it back. She did not have the heart to explain.
“You would not understand.”
Try me, Cyrene wanted to say with another painful laugh, but she stayed her antics with a sigh. After another moment of weighty silence, her curls rustled as she turned and nudged at the satchel slung low over a dusty shoulder. A skin of water floated out, still full from the spring they had stopped by just a bit ago, and the girl held it out towards him with weakening telepathy.
Her strength was truly leaving her, water spilling out from the skin as her grasp shook. But her eyes hardened with focus, and with an intake of breath it stilled. With a smile, Cyrene moved it closer towards him. “Here. Water.”
@Raam | "speaks" | notes: sorry if this tagged you again I switched the table!
At her request, I look her and her escorts over with new eyes. I should have noticed sooner- they almost seem worse off than me, and I'm the one who fell out of the damn sky. "Point taken." I concede, curiosity beginning to overcome caution. That's blood on her coat, as soon as I realize it I can suddenly smell it-- and beneath the hot-iron smell of blood, I can smell fear. The fear of dying men.
I have never really felt afraid before, not that I can remember. A chill runs down my spine now, reminding me of how weak my body is. So maybe I do not need to fear these people, but there is something else out there spilling blood- and here I am with shit all to do and no knowledge of this place, not even a name to call it.
"Neither am I" she says, and I cock my head in intrigue. I don't know why and I don't want to, but I find myself liking this little fox. There are many things unspoken between us- I don't ask for her story and she doesn't ask mine, and this is okay with me. We seem to come to an understanding that I do not have the words for, but it is somewhat comfortable.
The real extent of her weakness does not really hit me until she begins to spill the water. She covers her exhaustion with a brave smile and I quickly take a step forward and grasp firmly at the satchel with what little magic I still have-- the magic everyone seems to have here. I stare at her for a moment too long to be considered appropriate by most creatures I know, then slowly raise the skin to my lips and take a drink.
"Thank you." I quickly return the water, the feeling of being indebted to these strangers prickling uncomfortably at my neck. A sudden confession rises to my lips and escapes before I can contain it: "I don't' even know where I am." I grapple with the frustration of feeling so lost and powerless. Finally I decide I will swallow my pride, even if it chokes me. It is actually easy to do, as my confession has released a wave of emotion that now violently rolls through my body.
"What do I do with myself now?" I can feel hot, stupid tears welling in my eyes and I'm so embarrassed by them that they they build even faster. I hear myself sniffle, and the pathetic sound makes me so angry that my hot tears start to overflow and roll down my cheeks. The harder I try to contain myself, the more out of control my face is.
I don't know what else to do but grit my teeth and try to pretend that this is a normal conversation and tears aren't streaming from my eyes. Nothing unusual here, just a grown man crying.
-
@Cyrene ack so sorry for the wait, I've been struggling with him. Cyrene is so sweet <3
