[P] Desperate Times call for Poor Decisions and Expletives

[Israfel]

Israfel

Bitterness. It was a familiar taste.
 
There was a lot that she could be bitter about lately. Angry. Hurt. Lesser women and men would surely be consumed by it, letting it fill their hearts with contempt and disgust, cloying their senses and warping them into unrecognizable shadows of their former selves. Israfel, however, used that bitterness and rage to ignite and fuel that fire within her breast; the desperate need for justice, the demanding desire to protect, the fierce passion of loyalty.
 
These were all important to her. A delicate formula that made Israfel what she was. Shame she had done such a shoddy job of it all lately, but there was no reason to give much of a fuck about that. Not when half of their Court was practically submerged in water, and the rains showed no signs of letting up anytime soon.
 
It was a mood killer, really, and more than a little concerning. Flash floods and landslides happened without notice. Unsuspecting souls could be swept under beneath the dangerous water and lost to the merciless currents. A daughter of Sun and Fire, Israfel loathed water in most forms and detested being unnecessarily wet. Solaris was the same way… Yet the two rarely sought shelter indoors since the rains had started, throwing themselves at the mercy of the tempest to search for any who may be in danger.
 
The storms had hit suddenly and powerfully, and not everyone had been able to find shelter. Israfel couldn’t, in good conscience, not act. She was Terrastella’s Warden, after all, and needed to buck up, grow a pair, and start acting like it. Personal baggage be damned.
 
A patrol in the downpour had turned treacherous, the rain practically falling in sheets of water and ice. The tempest raged about her, making flight virtually impossible, yet she could not turn around and seek out shelter even if she wanted to. A sudden landslide had swept trees and debris from the swamp along the bloated waterways, trapping a family of otters on a precariously collected bunch of debris. A male, female, and their three little pups had been caught in the storms, the raging waters and unnaturally strong currents threatening to sweep them away if something was not done. Solaris had spotted them, and Israfel would not abandon them to drown.
 
“Get help!” Israfel bellowed over the storm, drenched hair whipping about her in the fury. She stood on one embankment, golden hooves sinking in to the bloated soil as she watched the family of otters struggle to stay above water on the other side of the overflowing river. She pressed on, undaunted. One step into the churning waters, vermilion eyes locked on the otter family as they clung to gnarled limbs and soiled tree trunks. The water reached her knees, then her chest. Her wings remained spread out and held above the water, ready to sweep her upwards should the need arise.
 
In a flurry of feathers and flames, Solaris wheeled about in the air with a mighty screech!, leaving her charge behind in favor of completing the task that had been given. Find help. Any help. That was what the phoenix did, flames burning bright as a beacon despite the freezing downpour pelting her feathered body. Violet eyes sought out any who might be insane enough to be out in the storm, desperate to find some kind of assistance.
 

x - x
 
@Asterion – I hope this is alright? :D If you need me to change anything, just let me know.

[Asterion]

She was not the only fool who could do nothing but go forth into the storm and pray for survivors.

Time has no meaning when all the world is the brown of mud and the gray of rain. How many hours has Asterion fought the flooding and the rain, with Cirrus his eyes overhead? All he knows is the ache in his muscles, the weariness of mind and heart and magic. But he has no choice – his water magic has come back to him (been given back to him?) and what use would it ever be, if not for this?

Oh, but it is a well running dry.

He is picking his careful way through slick mud and snagging branches, gaze on his path, when Cirrus cries out across their mental connection. There’s flame, she says at first, and it makes no sense until It’s Solaris—

Asterion freezes, sinking hock-deep into thick muck, and casts his gaze overhead. There, a little ways ahead, is the pale shape of Cirrus against the dark of the trees and the flickering light of what could only be the phoenix. Over the sound of the rain he can hear the birds, calling to one another in their rough voices, and the bay plunges into a run.

Guided by the both of them he scrabbles over logs and winds around trees, his coat covered in mud and soaked to his bones. He swallows down his fear and that ancient, animal panic and forces himself onward, ever onward, until at last he slides to a stop before the unfolding scene.

His heart seems to stutter to see Dusk’s Warden, half-submerged with wings spread like flares. Oh, but how could she hope to fly from such a position? And then his gaze tracks from her to the focus of her attention. For a moment he doesn’t see them, so similar in color and shape are they to the crooked branches and mud they cling to, but at last he catches the gleam of their eyes.

Otters. Of all the things to risk yourself to save, otters –

But they are Vespera’s creatures, too, and he would have done nothing different.

Asterion wades out behind her, only until the water courses around his knees, begging him downstream.

“I can still the current,” he calls to Israfel, his voice hoarse with overuse and throat tight with the cold, “but not for very long.” His gaze holds hers, and then he breaks it, nodding toward the shivering otters.

One more, he thinks, the prayer he has echoed for days now. Let it be enough to save one more. And then he draws deep from that near-empty well, raising up all the new and hungry power within him, and stills the raging current to nearly a halt.

If this was all he’d done, the only drain on his magic, he might have been able to draw away the water altogether – but the bay stallion knows his abilities are running out.

Hurry, he thinks, and grits his teeth against the now-familiar strain, and wills it to be enough for them all to reach higher ground.







@Israfel <3

and hardly ever what we dream