Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.
They had crammed them onto the ship. Arah had boarded The Last wish with all of her most prized possessions. Her ruby pendant hung around her neck, nestled against her chest. It's familiar weight comforted her. Tilney's lantern, collected from his graveside hung from her left antler. The candle had almost completely burnt out. When she reached her new destination she would have to buy new ones. Lastly her history book, with quill and ink pot, was sealed carefully in a watertight container provided by the crew. Dressed in her moonlight cloak, draped carefully over her ears, the hem kissed the salty soak wooden deck. They had been sailing for a little over a day now, crammed together underdeck. The smell and sounds of the other passengers forced her above deck for some fresh air. As they sailed they moved past an unfamiliar land. Something tugged her head up. A presence she had not felt in sometime. One she was beginning to think she would never again feel. So long it had been buried within her. A spark that was practically dead. But...there. The silver doe felt it again.
Almost as if in a daze she pulled the small crate to her size, strapped it down and left from the side of the ship. Shocked cries filled her ears but she ignored them instead swimming as quickly as she could towards the shore. Closer to that pull that she had been desperately searching for. It was not the promise of the rising sun, the escape from the frigid waters, the assumed safety of the land or the escape from a waterer grave that the doe gaining. It was the tug, the feeling that had become apart of her only to have been ripped away. The emptiness within her had been so long ongoing that it almost had became apart of her. But now. Now there was something else. There was an angry holler behind her and she knew that she was committed to this decision now. The ship was not waiting for her. Then again the silver doe was not unfamiliar with starting over in new lands. Again she felt the spark within her pulse. It's absence had caused her a pain that had been almost unbearable. Yet she had bared it. Endured the pain of Tilney's death, the loss of her home, her children vanishing and Wynter's dissapearence. Now this feeling bit be leading her to the final piece of her puzzle. To truely lay the ghosts of her history where they belonged. In the past.
Another wave broke over her head, sending the silver doe beneath the surface of the water. Desperately she kicked her legs and broke above the surface. Her lungs gasped for air, her mind reeled with shock. The weight of her moonlight cloak weight her down. It her fallen from resting over her ears. Now it was tangled around her neck chocking her slightly. It was not enough to stop her. Legs kicking, lungs expanding and contracting and golden orbs focused on the shore the silver doe swam for her life. She saw the sun begin to delicately paint the grains of sands in it's delicate morning colours. The roar of the ocean drained out all other noise but it did not matter. The silver doe would not succumb to the water. Not when she was so close for the first time in years. She could feel it. Instead she fought for the spark inside her. When her hooves brushed the edge of a sandbank she pulled herself up surely. As always her study legs held up upright and proud refusing to give into the urge to crumble. Truding through the smaller waves to the shore she emerged on the beach and allowed herself a moment to breath. Just find a moment of peace. Moving up the shore to the tree line she managed to suck off the soaping wet cloak and inspected the chest with her book. Opening it slowly she was relieved to see her records had survived the rather sudden and dramatic swim. As she pulled her book from the chest however it collapsed, useless drift wood. She would need another way to carry her life's work but that wasn't important now. Placing the record carefully to the side, the die rightened. Closing her eyes she took three deep breaths. As she did her heart slow, mind stopped racing and anxiety eased away. Turning her attention even further inward she found that strand within herself. Found the thread that gently pulsed. Gently, as if caressing a lover, she pulled on the thread.
Opening her eyes to the world she allowed the present to flood back in. The strange smells, foreign and unfamiliar. The sight of the land, it too was new and completely unknown to her. The sound of the ocean crashing against the shore, the sounds of a morning as the world slowly began to awaken around her. This land she had not traveled before. This land hold be where the final piece of her puzzle had been hiding.
There. Arah turned and looked towards the cliffs. The spark suddenly spluttered inside her, as if it were dying. For a moment she panicked. Then one spark...two...BOOM. Like a supanova the feeling of her bonded beamed to life within her. A figure, bigger than she remembered pulled away from the morning birds. Blacked out by the sun Arah stared at the shape, watching as it came closer. The beat of the string wings. Suddenly a cry pierced the air. "Wynter." Whispered the doe. Suddenly The silver doe was flying down the beach, fatigue from her swim forgotten. As if emerging from a dream, Wynter dropped from the gaze of the rising sun and Arah was able to behold her in all her truth. Pale, ivory feathers framed her companion's face, her lion's body was more detailed, stronger and toned. Finally the griffin dropped to the sands and Arah met her, collapsing to the ground as well. Dust flew around them, capturing them in their own private moment. "Wynter." Arah repeated. Then the pain finally exploded from the doe. Tears streamed down her face as she pressed her forehead to her the griffin's. She sobbed as Wynter rubbed her cheek with her own. Cried as her bonded moved in close to be snuggled beneath her head. Bawled as she finallyy inhaled the scent of her companion, the smell she had begun to wonder if she would ever smell it again. Cooing Wynter emerged from begin her soaking hair and gazed up at her." Im gar- near- in cín gwathren" The silver doe whispered to the griffin. There was a moment of silence as Wynter gazed at her then 'A I'm.' Wynter whispered into her mind through the bond. The sound of her companion's voice was enough to send Arah spriliaing again. Tears free flowing she cried as she gazed down at her griffin. "Nin mel." Arah muttered. "Nin emel.". 'Nin mel. Nin emel.' Arah repeated over and over to the griffin through their bond. The passed with Wynter supporting her mistress's head, making gentle chirping noises at her. It was undeniable. This was one of those moments when Arah' knew everything she had endured had lead her to this moment with her bonded.
Sighing and rising from their moment Arah smiled at Wynter. 'Tul-', she spoke softly and behind to head back down to beach to her abandoned cloak and record collection. As Arah walked Wynter strolled beside her, able to keep pace a little easier than before. It was certainly down to the griffin's growth. Now she reached just above Arah's knees in height. 'Cin guin- hi?' Arah enquired glancing down to her companion. Only Wynter did not seem to be paying her much attention. Her focaus was on the distacrded items. As they arrived by the cloak she looked up at Arah, 'Tilney a Maude ú- hi?' Pausing Arah bent down to inspect her cloak and inspect her cloak and not meet the keen gaze of her bonded. 'Arah' came the demand. Sighing the doe straightened and looked down into the griffin's gaze. 'Baw. Im chil Maude hen nos. Im chil hen na rad- cin.' She had left Maude settled and happy with her own family. Left her daughter in safety to seek out Wynter. Arah knew that both she and Maude did not think they would see each other for quite sometime. But Arah had to leave. Had to finish the puzzle. Breathing in deep she blinked away tears as she summoned the strength she need to answer the griffin's question. 'Tilney na- firn.' There, on the face of her bonded she saw a flash of the pain she had endured. Tilney is dead. He was gone and never would return. A fact that Arah had come to accept, though it was a struggle. Sniffing she turned back to her cloak. It was still in basically pristine condition. The concern had been that it might have torn in the waves. Any damage would have been worth it. Worth it for the connection with her bonded.
'Na- hi near?" Arah asked Wynter gazing over their new surroundings. It took a moment for Wynter to respond. Clearly she had taken the news of Tilney's death rather hard, Finally the response came shaky through the bond. 'Im ceri- ú- gar- hon golodh.' Undeterred by this Arah bent to gather her cloak. With a powerful beat of her wings Wynter rose to assist placing the soaking cloak over her shoulders. Without being asked the griffin next collect the book of records. Setting off the two bonded began to under the world they did not know. Arah had a feeling, however, that their adventure here had only just begun.
I can't remember why I never learned to fly but like a broken bird I'll try and I still don't understand but i'll catch the wind I can
His mother had ushered him into her tearoom beneath the sweeping al-Tazarad drapery strung from the marble pillars. The floor was a black damask pattern that made his head hurt; the mahogany carved furniture, layered in copious amounts of silken pillows, rested on rugs made from the skin of real tigers. It was a sad room, to Atlas; partly because he was only ever called in for a parental scolding, but partly because of those pelts spread upon the floor-- once they had clad powerful beasts, carnivores of the highest nature, now reduced to stopping scratches on the tile.
His mother lounged across her chaise as a young slave waved a golden fan to keep her cool. It blew the heavy hashish smoke away from her delicate nose; the pipe, with its dying flame, rested in a tray next to the ornate teapot painted in delicate scenes of the Sand Czar’s rule. Another servant stood nearby, head bowed, in case Sadrehsan bint-Giauzar al-Tazarad, matron of the second greatest family of Sand Czars in all Zukai, had any want or need.
A purple silk drape covered his mother’s pale spotted flesh; her head was adorned in chains of moonstone and amethysts, her eyes darkened with kohl. She fixed him in a half-lidded gaze and waited, languid and unhurried, for him to complete his approach.
He cut the steward off before the man could launch into his long list of names by stepping forward. “Mother.”
“Son,” she said, her beautiful, honey-soft voice long worn ragged by drug usage and the scolding of children. She bid him sit adjacent to her on a lounge, it’s buttons hewn from real gold. He did as he was told, as he always did.
Likewise, as she always did, his mother began with praise. “I hear I am expecting more grandchildren.”
Atlas licked his lips, forced his gaze to be steady, to not give away the lie. “Yes.”
“May they be boys, Sand Czars noble and true,” she lifted the delicate teacup. As she took a sip-- he watched the liquid, golden and fragrant, slip past her lips-- he mumbled the phrase back, sweat spreading out across his skin. “I’m a bit disappointed I’ve had to call upon you. Why does a mother need a royal summons to visit with her son?”
“Apologies, mother,” Atlas said, without meaning, “I’ve been busy.”
“So it seems,” she raised her eyebrows and took another sip from her cup, “busy with a certain silver filly.”
Atlas’ apathetic disinterest deepened into bitter suspicion. “Nashira is mine to do with as I please.” It was a practiced statement, but meaningless. Nashira herself had made him repeat the words until the sting came out of them.
“She is a slave, and was a gift to you, so this statement is true. However,” his mother let the silence hang between them, fostering the fuel for his fire, planning to irritate him into a misstep. He watched her take another drink and remembered, for the first time, how he wished he could slam that porcelain down her throat. “Your fraternization with the whore has been noticed by other families. The marriage offers we have received decline in value with each passing day.”
“I have two good wives, from good families,” Atlas said, forcing his tone to be even.
“Tazarad has countless whores.”
“And he treats them like whores,” his mother snapped, rising slightly from her seat. “He does not elevate them and he certainly does not give them seats of honor at his weddings.”
“Nashira deserves the world and you are a spiteful old bitch.” Atlas’ voice is his own but the words are not. They come from somewhere deep inside him, somewhere warm and loud and outspoken. He stands up and towers over her and as his shadow in the setting sun swallows his mother’s prone figure he sees the blood trails leaking from her nose; and in a blink the furniture is swept away and he is left standing in a pool of fluid on those ugly damask floors.
He awakes from his nightmare coated in sweat. The bed of grass he’d carved out for himself was plastered wetly to his flesh Instinctively, he tucks his chin and feels the rasp of the remnants of Nashira’s coat around his neck; the very touch of his relaxed him immensely.
It was a cool dawn in the meadow; songbirds were singing in full force as the sun’s orange rays diffused across the sky. The grass swayed in an early morning breeze, and it was cool, too much so to feel so heated. He must have really churned in his sleep, he realizes, because as he stands there are fissures in the earth where his hooves clawed and lashed.
The nightmare had been a new spin on an old familiar tale; his mother’s death, as her lungs hemorraghed and her lifeblood streamed from her nostrils. But their encounter had not gone like that; he had not spoken up or talked back. In truth, he had let her browbeat him as usual… but the anger in his dream had been real. He had felt that, so long ago… a rage so pure he no longer thought he was capable of it. It was a frightening realization, to reacquaint his peaceful self something so powerful. It left him shaken.
As usual, when he sought solace, Atlas wandered. He shook himself of the grass clinging to his golden pelt and stretched his neck long into the sun. Forward motion was a comfort to him, a known constant in this ever-changing world. Bright orange butterflyweed brushed his stomach, leaving behind orange streaks of pollen; the dew collected clear on the pink queen-of-the-prairie. The world was turning. Things were okay.
He crested the top of a small hill and looked down upon a strange creature like none he'd ever seen before; it was rather small, and a curious hybrid mash-up of bird and beast. Intrigued, he made his way down the hill, hoping to get a closer look.
He paused slightly away from the duo, offering a polite smile. "Now there's a beast I've only ever seen on coats of arms," he said, unable to hide his joy as his grin grew. "Might I have an introduction?"
Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.
There was a thrill of curiosity through the bond. The doe raised her eyes and turned her sight onto an approaching stag. He stood atop a small hill, looking down at them. His pale coat mixed wonderfully with with the colours of the rising sun. Golden and strong he was a similar build to the doe herself. Though he lacked the softer definition and height her warlander blood brought to her build. There was an odd colour to the side of his pelt, Arah tilted her head as her sharp gaze inspected it. Paint or pollen. More likely the latter. The sharp angles of his face were painted with the same gold of his body before meeting an ivory marking.
Wynter, tired of Arah’s assessment, called to the stag and approached with caution. Should he not move the griffin would come to a stop just before him. The silver doe smiled and straightened her gaze. Ever pleased when someone showed any interest in her, Wynter did not bother with fear. Spreading her wings she leapt from the ground and took to the air. Spiralling around their heads the griffin showed off her impressive form.
Looking away from her companion, the silver doe approached the stag slowly. She knew her appearance must be similar to a deranged woman. Soaking wet, covered in sand and draped in a dripping cloak. "Melch." Grumbled Arah towards Wynter, glancing up towards the ivory companion. The griffin was always seeking attention, any that she could get, good or bad, was appreciated. Stopping before the stag Arah did her beast to appear sane. "Agreed. Beastly in her greed for attention." Laughed Arah, glancing once again towards the flying creature. For a moment Arah was taken back, a small egg needing the be saved. Her competing with others to please the creature that kept the egg in it’s cage. When she finally won the egg keeping it safe for weeks until finally she heard the first crack. Until finally a single ivory feather fell from the crack, followed by the small cub that was Wynter. Their bond had been almost instant, something Arah now knew was stronger than almost any other magic that she had ever experienced. It had called to her across lands, oceans. She had never known anything like it.
Sighing Arah turned to the stag. "Wynter is pleased to make your acquaintance." With the gentle smile she continued to speak in her musical tones. "I am Arah, the one responsible for her." Although in truth they both shouldered the responsibility of caring for one another. "A pleasure...?" Trailing off her sentence as a question she waited for the stag to, hopefully, provide his name.
Turning to survey their surroundings Arah slowly took in the sights and sounds. The arrival of the stag was actually rather fateful. She would need somewhere to rest tonight and to find her bearings in these new lands. "Your arrival is rather perfectly timed." The silver doe began easing into the conversation. The doe had just passed a fairly well trodden path, she was fairly sure they were not the only beings residing in these lands. "We", she decided to skip the explanation of their sudden reunion, "have just arrived here in..." Cutting off she gestured towards the land behind her, wondering how far they reached. Hopefully the stag would be more familiar with their surroundings.
Wynter landed softly beside Arah and gazed proudly at the stag, no doubt expecting a compliment. ‘Farn.’ Arah firmly sent down the bond, though she politely kept her gaze on the stag. For a moment it was more important for Arah to secure them a safe place to rest tonight and gather her bearings. If this stag could not give them a place to stay it would be best to move on, hopefully connect with someone who could provide her someplace. Having jumped from the ship to answer the call of the bond she’d rather screwed herself over in terms of tonight’s accommodation. Wynter thrilled quietly growing bored and began to wonder off the path. Probably on the hunt for some poor mouse and critter to toy with. Fickle attention often lead to unnecessary snacking. As the world began to warm with the rising sun she could feel her coat finally begin to dry as well. Although she would certainly need to wash it clean, get the salt water out of the fabric so it could reclaim it’s gleaming threads. Looking towards the stag she waited for information on the land in which she found herself finally reunited with her bonded. The tears from their meeting now dried on her cheeks.
I can't remember why I never learned to fly but like a broken bird I'll try and I still don't understand but i'll catch the wind I can
She looked like she was hewn from moonlight, this fae, with great antlers affixed upon her head like some sort of fairy crown. The new morning light gave her an iridescent glow and made her seem all the more serene. Indeed, the chaotic nature of her appearance, wet through and coated in sand, made her seem that much more otherworldly. He felt a false idol compared to the graceful lines of her head and body; the fact she had a mythical beast as a companion seemed par for the course.
Still, his interest outweighed his timidity, and he picked his way down the slope towards her. A lark ran pell-mell up a nearby hedgerow singing the song of the dawn, and deep in the grass, the locusts and grasshoppers began to buzz their wings and dry them of the night’s collected dew. A nearby field of moonflowers had long since snapped shut, their heavy green heads bowing low to the rays of the morning sun. They would not show their beautiful pale faces until the golden orb was long gone and the moon had replaced it at its crystalline zenith.
The memory of his nightmare lingered like spiderwebs stretched from the corners of his mind, cold and shining with dew. There was an unease sticking to the inside of his ribs, as well, the bitter taste of the raw emotion felt while his mind was unfettered by sleep. He tried to shake it off and present a welcoming face as he approached the stranger and her griffin. It was not hard to do-- he was small and rather unassuming and had always lacked the larger presence of his siblings. His brother, the same size as him, had possessed ten times the personality; and his father was known for chopping off the feet and even heads of those who displeased him.
It was not hard to walk a path of the awe of others when they feared for their lives.
He watched with unfettered delight as the young creature spread it’s wings-- impressive even for its stature-- and took flight. He watched the griffon pull loop-de-loops in the dawn, tracing its trail with his head until he was slightly dizzy. “It’s well-deserved. She is an exquisite specimen.” He tore his gaze from the beast in question and smiled and Arah. “On the risk of being macabre, I’ve studied the skeletons of elders-- long in the beak, most likely passed from natural causes. In my homeland, they are incredibly solitary, and more of a threat than a fascination.” Indeed, adult Desert griffons were known for picking off weary travelers and hunting the nomadic herd which crossed the great Sagudal. Atlas always imagined the first time he saw one would also be his last.
The doe emitted a breath like that of a tired mother, then confirmed this sentiment by announcing her responsibility for the baby hybrid. Atlas gave his best bow-- it was perfect, honestly, and amazing how his muscles moved through the motions even after long years. “My name is Atlas, wanderer of these lands. The pleasure is all mine.”
Arah turned to take in her surroundings and for the first time Atlas truly noticed the stress written upon her visage: the wet-strung hair, sand clinging to her pelt, the gentle tremble in her limbs from exertion, or nerves, or both. She told him he was timely and he could not help but chuckle. “May just well be the first time I’ve heard such a thing,” he said, good-natured. Still, knowledge was his passion, and he did so love to teach. “The continent you’ve come to is called Novus. You’ve landed in Delumine, home of the Dawn Court. If you follow the coastline south you will come to the capital, where the Sovereign holds their court.” He paused, ears flicking in thought. “Though, you’ve come at a strenuous time, one of great change. There is no true sovereign right now, and while nothing has devolved into chaos, there is still an air of questioning about.”
He beamed at the little griffin until the creature grew bored and wandered off in search of entertainment, or perhaps food. He had countless questions he wanted to ask, but ensuring the mare’s safety was more important.
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