[O] lakeside slumber; - Printable Version +- HELOVIA || The Way to the Sun (http://helovia.com) +-- Forum: Out of Character (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: Archives (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=11) +--- Thread: [O] lakeside slumber; (/showthread.php?tid=11315) Pages:
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lakeside slumber; - Mauja - 12-13-2013 @[Brisa] and open! Everyone has to sleep—and dream—sometimes. It was blessedly quiet in the thick darkness of his mind. A good kind of quiet, too. For a time his thoughts had been silent, the numb, dumb kind, but now it was more like peace. If his days had been dreary and muted, his nights had been chaotic, fragmented, bits and pieces, sudden starts and fear choking up his throat, nightmare flashes and fire, fire, fire. Every thing he had not felt during the days came awake when he slept, only to fade when he awoke to yet another apathetic day. But not anymore. Legs folded beneath a thick white frame, muzzle resting against snowy knees, and behind the lidded, blue eyes, things were calm, deep, and heavy. In a nearby tree, a weeping willow by the lake's mirror-like surface, Irma perched. Her wings were folded to her sides, the dragon's head distorted, and her sensitive ears pinpointed every sound, followed by her keen gaze. She would let nothing sneak upon them, to startle her poor, stupid friend awake, or maybe even harm him. No wind stirred their peaceful little corner of the world, and not much else seemed to stir either. The autumn sunlight filtered down through branches that had since long lost their green summer luster, and wrapped itself like a blanket of warmth around them. Irma's eyes swept the scene again, from Mauja lying in quiet repose by the lakeside, to the slow dance of dust motes, to a mouse's scurrying journey through the trampled-down and browning grasses. Irma's hunger stirred, but her current duty was far, far more important than her own belly. Many things that went through Mauja's mind these days were things she did not understand, for the life of her couldn't fathom or figure out—he seemed obsessed with the idea of change, of being someone else, when, truly, he was who he had always been. Polite, kind, cruel, protective and loyal—if anything, the only difference would be honest. She had not told him, though. She was there, as she always was, and always would be, sometimes close, sometimes further away, but always there. He just needed to figure the rest out for himself, though she hoped he did it soon. Maybe she would lose her slim patience otherwise, and whack him atop the head. Maybe she should do that anyway. A faint breeze stirred, rustled the hanging willow branches and invited some of autumn's chill to nibble at the early sunlight. Irma sighed a bird's sigh, and for a moment rested her gaze on Mauja. She wasn't sure if he even knew how she watched over him when he slept—how she always had, always would, the mantra of their bond, wasn't it? Forever and ever, loyal and cold. But, regardless, it was a long time since she'd seen him look so at peace, since his dreaming mind hadn't crowded their bond with fragments of terror and screaming confusion. Selfishly she appreciated the change, and lovingly she traced the tranquil, smooth lines of his sleeping face. Then her icy gaze swept on, and her ears muted out the sound of his even breathing. She, the sentinel, needed her senses for the world, to keep him safe from harm as the morning hours slowly passed. RE: lakeside slumber; - Brisa - 12-21-2013
RE: lakeside slumber; - Mauja - 12-22-2013 [ No worries! And I love that picture of Brisa. <3 ] They had been left blessedly alone for more hours than Irma could've asked for. Animals had sensed their quiescence and passed in silence and calm. Even the smallest of animals had dared to pass right beneath the owl's watchful gaze, while the occasional curious deer had paused to observe Mauja's sleeping form before moving on. They barely made a sound as they came and went, and by some twist of fate the equine inhabitants had avoided their peaceful glade. Irma was grateful. The horses of Helovia had a way of twisting her bonded's mind into knots, not to mention that they'd become aware of being wanted before leaving. They posed a very real threat, and if they would find him lying here.. defenseless until the moment he snapped awake... She knew of the dark, terrible depths within him, of the cold fury—just as she knew of the peace and light. Would they ever find the balance? Movement broke her train of thought, pale eyes following the direction of her ears to pinpoint it. It was larger, heavier, than the deer who had come through earlier, but blocked from view by the multitude of trees. A horse, maybe. The world was starting to wake up now that it was approaching midday, and to remain longer would, perhaps, be unwise. Gently she nudged Mauja's mind, felt him stir from shallow sleep. Sky-blue eyes opened to a sunlit, tranquil world, and his thoughts opened to the wonder of restful sleep. His head tilted back, gaze going to the owl sitting upon a branch. She looked back at him with her impassive eyes, and a small smile curled his dark lips. Things felt natural, and normal, for once. If he could just ignore the thoughts circling him like vultures, the confusion and lack of direction—why, then today was just like any other day. He hauled himself to his feet, shook the morning stiffness from his body like a dog shaking out dust; his long hair flew everywhere before settling against his neck, and with a relaxed sense of curiosity he looked about himself. If he'd been the more explosive kind mentally, the utter peace probably would've irked him, but as it was, he appreciated it. It was a chance to unwind, to let go of the thoughts he held against his chest in cramped hands, cradling something that was already dead and cold. Life had to go on, after all. Irma fluttered down, out of the tree, to grasp his withers and settle. He'd slept for a long time—now she needed sleep, too. As he started to walk through the calm forest he felt her thoughts slip into darkness, until the only thing he could hear through their bond was the steady beating of her small, cold heart. With a fond smile he mentally tucked her in, and kept going through the forest to try and figure out what normal horses did with their days when they weren't busy plotting taking over the world. RE: lakeside slumber; - Brisa - 12-22-2013
RE: lakeside slumber; - Mauja - 12-25-2013 The rhythm of a four-beat walk was soothing, eased his mind away from the trouble and the dark thoughts. Despite his inclination to wonder what a "normal day" was like for a "normal horse", he didn't want to stop and ask someone to find out. He rather wanted it like a blinding light of revelation, an angel chorus in his head and their divine song when his rambling mind finally nailed the meaning of life... But of course, no such thing was going to happen—and in all honesty, he didn't expect it to, either. It would just be convenient, fascinating, and, most of all, enlightening (no shit, his mind filled in, because Irma wasn't awake to tell him that). He snorted to himself. He was probably too far from your average Helovian to ever know what it was like in their minds, and despite his proximity to another horse, he still didn't want to go ask them what went on in their heads, what they dreamed of, and what they wanted to become. Why, though, he wasn't sure. Normally he was so curious, soaking up every thing he heard and mulling over it, but since his return he'd been oddly reclusive, preferring to stay out of the way with only his owl for long-term company. And conversation with strangers? He wasn't sure he wanted that either, and on the whole, it was.. surprising. He frowned slightly, kept weaving through the trees, paying little attention to the bathing beauty. She was fleeing the scene anyway, and for a merest moment he glanced at her; she was beautiful, caught in the lake with the bright sunlight touching her locks. His heart ached for a second. With a horn and some red, she could've been Ophelia. But she wasn't. He turned away, but heard a splash; Irma's eyes snapped wide open, head spinning on her shoulders, and they were both looking at the white mare. She'd fallen, for some reason. He could see the indents where she'd tried to climb out the muddy bank, but now she was splayed on her side in the water, graceless and with an edge of terror to her motions. He felt oddly detached as he watched her flail, rooted at the spot—some part of him was willing to simply walk away, and leave her to her demise. But she called out, as if begging for his help, and his slight frown turned into a scowl. A year ago, how would he have reacted? Would he have gone over there, pierced her heart because he could? Killed another hornless, the opportunistic predator coming out to feast? He honestly wasn't sure he would've. Nor was he sure he could walk away, and leave someone to tell the tale of the heartless king, but—he felt no real inclination to save anyone. Not today. Not ever, maybe; he'd done enough of the saving to last a lifetime. He wanted the trust, but not the spotlight. Grinding his teeth together Mauja stepped into the waters, long mane and tail floating upon its glassy surface. Irma closed her eyes again. Gracefully and feeling his way over Mauja waded through the shallow pool, and finally came to stand by her fallen form. His gaze was solemn, and he sighed faintly as he looked down upon her. "What's the matter?" he asked in a low voice. Obviously something had gone wrong if she couldn't get up on her own; the ground was muddy and loose, but standing on it he judged she should be able to get up on all four despite that. So what was it? Or was she just playing the damsel in distress to get the handsome gent to come over and check on her? Somehow, he doubted it. And if she was.. well, he didn't even want to think about that. RE: lakeside slumber; - Brisa - 12-30-2013
RE: lakeside slumber; - Mauja - 12-31-2013
[ no worries! ^^; ] Something was, clearly, the matter. His approach had been quieter than he thought, sliding in near-silence through the still waters; he could've taken her life, then and there, a stab from the shadows and red to slide the length of his twisted, wicked horn. It was a sobering thought. You never quite knew what lurked nearby, and in this case, it was fortunate for her that he'd lost his thirst for blood (or had he ever had one, gentle that he was?). She flinched in the water as he spoke, flailed and fought for footing she was denied. Brown mud mingled with the water and ran in rivulets down her side before it fell back beneath the surface. Trapped, somehow, then; she wasn't distressed enough to have broken anything. And, if her statement was anything to go by, not particularly impressed with his lackluster inquiry. He smothered a snort. "And here I thought you just wanted to make my day," he responded dryly, flicking his wet, heavy tail once. It dragged across the surface. Her shy eyes came up for a moment, just as Mauja was about to look aside; instead, he froze, the icy blue of his own oddly gentle and tired. Was she afraid? He didn't know. Ought she be? Of him, no, but of the world? He'd trapped himself metaphorically several times, head too far into the lion's mouth, but what was it to lay on the butcher's block like this? Unable to actually get away? It'd take so little to kill her—to just walk away, and leave her to rot in the tranquil pool. Would he be afraid if it was him laying there, unable to get up? What did you do when you were stuck, and time passed, the sun rising and falling, and your strength setting with it? How long before you grew mad and broke your own body in a last, desperate attempt to get free? Not very long, he assumed; far less restraining situations had him restless, dancing on the spot. Her spluttering snort snapped him out of his dreary reverie, and he blinked to clear his eyes. Irma seemed vaguely amused by the mare's rather comical misfortune, but Mauja said nothing. He hadn't stepped into the pond with the intention of ridiculing her, nor of murdering her, so doing either would be counter-productive. Instead, he cautiously stepped on the soft, sucking floor of their unfortunate pond. She'd stirred up too much sludge for him to see anything at all through the waters. "My foot is caught between the bank and a root. It won't come loose, I've tried everything." Except breaking your leg, he added in silence. "Ah," he simply said out loud, and stood quiet for a moment. And what could he possibly do about that? He had no earth-bending powers; no tree would listen to his command and curl their toes up to free a poor mortal. Finally, he sighed. He couldn't very well leave her with some flimsy explanation that there was nothing he could do, so, he had to try and do something. "Please be a dear and don't kick my head in," he said quietly, before bending his neck and laying the side of his horn's tip against the side of her leg. Then, slowly, he pushed his head lower, his horn following the contour of her past her hock, a feather-light touch trailing the length of her cannon until he felt the echo of wood reverberate against his forehead. He closed his eyes, bent his neck, strained against the root for a moment. It seemed unlikely he'd have enough strength to budge it, at least not without risking to snap his horn, and frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted to trade his weapon for someone else's comfort (when he could just stomp on her fetlock and drag her out instead, if push came to shove). So, he truly had no idea what to do. He pulled his head up with another sigh. There was no point in freezing the roots either; wood was one of the few materials which actually were harder to break when frozen, at least in his experience. Thin enough and they cracked regardless, but if her own strength could not pull her free... "I am uncharacteristically void of ideas right now," he confessed after a moment, in the same dry voice, while idly wondering where that particular mood had flown in from. [ lemme know if you want me to change something about his horn-thing! I also tried to do research on whether frozen branches are easier to break, but found nothing, and my experience with frozen wood tells me it just gets harder to split/break, so. >.< do you think you could find some image/describe more of the way she's stuck, and the thickness of the roots, etc? :3 ] Mauja
must keep those black wings folded until the time is right
RE: lakeside slumber; - Brisa - 12-31-2013
RE: lakeside slumber; - Mauja - 01-01-2014
[ lmao I'm a dork xD I was running the weirdest google queries yesterday, and mostly came upon sawing wood; which is different when it is frozen. <_<; /idiot ] He guessed it was only natural to be awkward when you lay trapped in a pond, entirely at the mercy of a stranger, and nature. She was the epitome of defenseless, and he could imagine the scene if it had been d'Artagnan who had found her. Slowly he shook his head. The red bay would berate him long and well for not doing what he could to make sure she never got up again, but he was tired of it—that was a battle they'd have to fight some other day. Right now, d'Artagnan wasn't even here. It was just Mauja and the trapped mare, who flinched at the cold touch of his horn. He'd held still a moment longer, just to make sure she knew he was there, before doing his little "examination". Despite her silence she'd stayed still, which he was grateful for, as he came away from it with his skull intact. Still, he couldn't help but get a feeling it wasn't only the situation having her on edge. Was it something about him? As he stood peering down at he with a troubled look, she seemed to resign herself to her fate of drowning, alternatively freezing to death. Or starving. Freezing seemed likelier, though. The nights were getting longer and colder, and she was lying in quite the wet place. "I appreciate you trying to help at least," she said softly, her blue eyes looking up at him. She still seemed slightly scared, and he shook his head gently. Trying to help? He'd not tried anything yet, just.. poked about, and realized that he wasn't equipped to deal with maiden-rescuing in willow-ponds. He was, honestly, making quite the poor knight right now, and it bothered him. Did he have some vast, untapped knowledge of how to deal with this somewhere? Some region of inventiveness hidden away in some nook of his tired old brain? He didn't want to give up without trying anything, but he didn't want to break his horn, and it left him with only the one weapon he had left: ice. He wouldn't have enough force to split them, anyway. They were too thick and if he stomped on them, he'd just break her leg, and his horn didn't have enough strength in it to make them shatter. "I'm not done trying yet," he replied after a moment, his voice a bit absent as his mind did cartwheels trying to come up with a solution. He even felt like sitting down on his ass for some reason, but didn't. It was too muddy and cold and he doubted he'd think better just because he did something weird. So he remained standing, frowning slightly, until Irma suggested he just make the roots blow up. "What," he said out loud. Hadn't they already abandoned the freezing-theory? Apparently not, as Irma persisted, and because he had no better ideas, he shrugged. "Don't panic, but it's going to get cold around your foot." And with no more explanations he set about his work, drawing upon the cold power he had at his beck-and-call. As always, the edges of his vision seemed to grow shaded, lines cast into stark relief; the cold and dark slipped through his veins, chilling him to the bone. But he relished it—today, it was his friend, and an old one at that. Crystals of ice erupted in the midst of the roots, finding the water trapped within the wood and clinging to it, expanding, and his heart breathed a silent forgiveness to the tree—but if it stuck its toes in this place, it had itself to blame, at least partially, no? He closed his eyes, focused, feeling his way along the roots with magic; they groaned and strained against their swelling interiors, until a crack nearly startled him into flight as one of them split vertically under the pressure. His eyes had flown open and he blinked. "Just try and get out whenever you're ready," he said, and kept freezing the rest. And Irma, she was damnably smug. [ exploding tree ftw :D ] Mauja
must keep those black wings folded until the time is right
RE: lakeside slumber; - Brisa - 01-04-2014
RE: lakeside slumber; - Mauja - 01-05-2014
Warmth. Warmth returned to the world after the crackling snap, after the unfortunate mare had torn the last of her bindings and broken free; Mauja's soul relaxed, and the dark, terrifying cold fell back beneath the surface. The sounds, of birds trilling, seemed muted out, the colors duller, less sharp. He blinked. There was allure in it, not only in the beauty of ice or the deep hunger, but in the strength of the world—in the clarity, the clearly etched edges. Had it always been like that? Or was it simply the flood of adrenaline it triggered? He didn't know. Couldn't really remember. Breathing softly he watched as the mare climbed out of the pool, fighting her way up the muddy bank, hope and salvation just in sight. What if she got stuck again? What if she slipped in the mud and fell back into the pool? Just how crazy wouldn't that be? But, fortunately, she didn't. With some artless scrabbling she cleared the sloppy section and came up onto the safety of dry land, and turned to face him. Mauja remained in the knee-deep water, his hooves sucked down in the silty bottom, and tail floating like a flower by his hocks. At her rather enthusiastic thanking he chuckled gently, before shaking his head. What had he done? Filled something up, to the point where it shouldn't be full. But it was all melted now, just water in the water, and as she hobbled away a bit further he moved, too. The pond floor clung to his large hooves with a frenzy, trying to suck him down, and he grimaced as he lifted each foot high before setting it down again. Fortunately, it was only a couple of steps before he could ascend the bank as well; it made sucking noises as he cleared the slight slope and came up more or less beside her. Water flashed in the sunlight along his legs, fetlocks all muddied and brown, but he was better off than her. She was more brown than white right now, the dirty water running in oddly clear rivulets down her legs. Well, at least she was still alive, and quite happy to be so, and he wondered why it didn't feel better to save someone's life. It didn't feel special at all. "I'm Mauja," he replied gently, looking over his shoulder at the pool for a moment. If she'd been trying to get away from him when crossing it, fate surely had another idea. Frowning slightly, he looked back at Brisa. Dappled sunlight filtered down through the branches—he guessed midday was a pretty ideal time to fall into a lake, when the sun was still out and able to dry you. "We should find an open clearing when you can dry out. Come on," because frankly, what was the point of saving someone if you just left them to their own devices after that? And so, with that, he set off at a slow pace, glancing briefly behind to make sure she came along. [ I had a hard time getting this started/coming somewhere, but, meh. xP It turned out okay. ] Mauja
must keep those black wings folded until the time is right
RE: lakeside slumber; - Brisa - 01-20-2014
RE: lakeside slumber; - Mauja - 01-21-2014
[ No worries! ] Sunlight filtered down through the thick trees, broken into stark shadow and light. Autumn chill clung to the deepest, darkest corners of the world, hidden along the well-protected trunks and under heavy boughs, but along the shadow-patterned paths the air was mild at least. His glance over one shoulder showed Brisa hobbling along, not elegantly at first. Clearly her dunk in the water had chilled her, and beneath all that mud her fetlock was probably sore. He watched, cautiously, a moment longer. At least it took her weight. Good. It'd probably heal well, then—maybe it was just tender, with nothing really wrong with it. He hoped so, for her sake, but didn't ask about it. She didn't seem high-strung exactly, but had been a bit displeased to have him come over and simply ask "what's up", as if he was some moron who couldn't see that she was stuck. Which, he sort of was, but all the same, he thought that maybe asking about her foot would make her embarrassed. In fact, Mauja was content to amble along in silence. Once he'd been able to discern the way the wind blew and where the sun stood, he took them on a westward path at a sedate pace, knowing it to be the best way to come under clear skies. North and east led towards the thick forests of the Edge, south into a sparser forest before you came onto the Meadow, but in the west it thinned fairly quick, bleeding out into the rolling grassy sand-dunes. They stretched for miles on end until you caught the glimmer of the sea by the horizon, and at last, the pale beach spreading out underneath the sky. His mind traveled there with ease; he had been in every corner of Helovia, and had seen it all. While he thought that maybe she'd appreciate the beauty of the sapphire ocean he didn't intend to take her all the way there—just a little further west of this thick willow forest, so she would dry faster. They hadn't gone far at all when Brisa broke the companionable silence, and one of Mauja's black-rimmed ears angled backwards to listen. No life-altering statement, no profound question of the state of his soul; just a companionable, curious question, one he was inclined to ask of strangers himself. Did she genuinely want to know, or did she simply dislike the relative silence of the midday forest? "Hm," he hummed, indicating he'd heard, but paused a moment longer to ponder. The earth was solid and stable underneath his moving feet. What brought him here, indeed? Straight from the wondrous caves Circuta had shown him.. he'd simply wandered. "I was looking for peace, actually. Some quiet place where I could rest both mind and body." He gave a slight shrug, passed through a patch of sunlight, and back into shadow. "I wander a lot." A heartbeat's silence, then he flung his large head to the side mid-stride, to fix her with one blue eye as his body rocked along to the steadfast rhythm of his pace. "And you?" Mauja
must keep those black wings folded until the time is right
RE: lakeside slumber; - Brisa - 01-28-2014
RE: lakeside slumber; - Mauja - 01-29-2014
His mind was a pendulum swinging between two extremes: apathy and agitation. There was no steadfast rhythm, nothing like the drum-beat of a relaxed heart, simply long, jagged movements, or fast-paced switches. And sometimes, some strange equilibrium held him for long, long moments, until either force won out and the whole movement triggered again. Slow descents and lightning strikes, from the pangs of loss at leaving his brother to that whole debacle with Nyx at the Veins and the apathy when he met Parelia and Silk, and the slow, careful flicker of life Circuta breathed into him: and between all those moments, he'd swung from one end of the reach to the other, his soul out on some kind of roller-coaster ride, uncertain of where he was heading, or what he was doing, or what he even wanted to do. He was plagued by the desire to solve everything now and his inability to discern what "solving it" meant. So he struggled, uselessly, against himself, and simply plodded on in the same well-worn tracks, looking for some peace that lasted longer than half a day, and something more worthwhile than wasting time chatting with strangers. Not that chatting with strangers was a bad way to pass time, at least not normally, but whenever the restless frustration came upon him, he simply wanted to eat the face of whoever was nearest and run away screaming until he settled down again. Either that, or his emotions overwhelmed themselves and lay like beached whales for a while, and his mind would whir numbly. That was what had happened the last time he came here, with that vile Silk trying to cozy up to a not too receptive mare, but this time.. this time, a long morning's unbroken rest had soothed his heart, and his mind. He was no closer to achieving whatever it was he wanted to achieve, but he wasn't climbing on the walls of his skull at least. It was progress, and the steadfast shuffle of feet over earth was soothing, too. The simply beauty of the world coupled with the simple thing of walking, of the fine machinery of a body moving, without thought, yet somehow gracefully, perfectly. Even though his mind was elsewhere it was still in his feet, lifting over roots and rocks. "Well things have been rather complicated for me before I came to Helovia..." You don't say. The unwanted, the disgraced, the lost and the misplaced—outcasts and vagabonds and royalty fallen into the dust, fanatics and victims.. they all came to Helovia. They left their tarnished pasts for one reason or another, some casting them off entirely, some to erase the blemishes and start over with half-truths. They were the ones who no longer fit in the perfect pictures of their homelands, the ones who took to the four directions of the world and left. Some, came here. Mauja: failed soldier turned mercenary, witch-hunter. Redeemed, and now a hero from whence he came. He watched her, his white-brown shadow, knew that she was another of the lost and tattered souls to have come here. She said as much herself. But what was she? Who had she been, what had she been through? Which demons were hers, to haunt her in the darkness? What did she fear? "We can search all our lives for that, and never truly find it," he said in a low voice, turning his head back forward to see where he was going again. "Or find it and lose it, over and over again. The world is ever-changing, and where we belong today, we might not belong tomorrow." The silence felt abrupt to him, as he swallowed what else he might've said; he wasn't sure, but.. he felt like whatever place he had held in Helovia, he no longer had. Whether it was because they would reject him, or because he had cast it aside, he wasn't sure. But there was truth in the back of his mouth, waiting to take flight from his tongue time and again, and hammer the coffin nails in deeper. Some ruses you can only live for so long before you either become them, or suffocate, and throw them off. Mauja closed his eyes for a moment. He hated not knowing who he was, or what he wanted. Mauja
must keep those black wings folded until the time is right
RE: lakeside slumber; - Brisa - 02-01-2014
RE: lakeside slumber; - Mauja - 02-03-2014
Mauja did not exactly consider himself a pessimist—he was the product of his life, a blend created by experience, both good and bad. He'd known brotherhood, and he'd known the loss of it, not once but many times. It was inevitable in a world which was change itself. Those you were once close to you would not always be close to, because the paths you wandered might take you different ways. He'd known many of those things, lost and gained friends, and purpose, and thrown everything upside down a few times too. His feet ambled along the path through the dappled patchwork of light and shadow, heart heavy in his snowy chest. Sometimes you changed despite wanting to, or those around you did, and the once seamless interaction became full of friction. With every moment he left something behind, and knew that he did it, and couldn't stop it. Didn't want to. But that didn't stop it from hurting, an ache in his heart and a leaden weight. At her words he shook his head, slowly. It was meant to be. It was always meant to be; by nature, they longed for others. They wanted to belong. "Just because things fall apart it is no reason to stop trying," he said softly, not sure if he spoke more to himself or her, or the trees, even. "It's more a matter of enjoying it while it lasts, and then daring to let go once you stop belonging." And was he doing that? Slowly prying his frozen fingers from its desperate grip on the one thing he'd known all his time in Helovia? It wasn't just letting go of old ideals—he'd done that a long time ago, anyway—but stepping away from everything you'd been, what you built your power and reputation on.. and trying to create something in the ashes, when that very same reputation was haunting him. Helovia had seen him as its racist king, and that stamp lingered on his hide wherever he went. "What does it feel like to be apart of something... to feel like you belong?" A small, humorless smile curved his lips. I am not the right one to ask. Always frigid and holding the world at an arm's length to protect his fragile heart—what did he truly know of it? Cease your bitterness. He walked in silence for a while, mulling over the question, and the truth of it. Because what did it feel like? And how did you put words on it? The solid ground kept him steady as his mind ranged away from the present. The answer he sought to give.. was it that strange bond of simply knowing and trusting, while knowing that trust was absurd, but still doing it? Of knowing that they would protect you, as you would them? He'd been leader of bloodthirsty social outcasts, and how can you trust hungry wolves? "It's hard to put words on," he said after a long silence, walking through a larger patch of warm autumn sunlight. "It's.. just a feeling, something.. hard to define. A kind of trust; you know what you would do for them, and what they would do for you, without even asking. You have a natural place with them..." His voice trailed off into silence, and a moment later he sighed, and shook his head again. Maybe he was just a fool. Maybe there was no trust and no truth. Just cold, cynical exploitation of weaker minds—fools with hearts. Like he. Mauja
must keep those black wings folded until the time is right
RE: lakeside slumber; - Brisa - 02-03-2014
RE: lakeside slumber; - Mauja - 02-06-2014
The sunlight lasted longer this time, playing across his back with gentle fingers, twining into his long mane. The ends of it were plastered together, clinging to his chest and legs, just like the end of his muddied tail. Water did funny things to your hair. Then, as always, they passed into the shadow for a while, Brisa's voice floating gently on the placid air. One ear flickered back, listening to the change of her rhythm. Mauja craned his head slightly to the side as she came up beside him, and drifted gently to the side, to make room for her on the well-traveled path. It was a worthy question, and he expected her to let him mull over it in silence again, already turning the stones of his mind over and searching for the words, explanations: he'd been born into a kind of "brotherhood" (though sisters had been very much represented too, being of equal status), but even so.. you didn't simply know what it was. That took time. And even if you were born into it, you had to figure it out. But before he came even halfway to some kind of conclusion he could put words to, she spoke again. Something had apparently lifted her spirits, drawn her out from the shy, withdrawn state he felt she'd had back in the pond. Words tumbled out, light and curious, giving him no time to reply before more came out. The corners of his dark mouth drew into a smile, amused, the way you are at the antics of a child; but it ended with her apology, fading into nothing. Want something of her..? It sounded like an uncomfortable memory, something recalled but not welcome. Much as his curiosity wanted to pursue it, he let it be. For now. "Don't apologize," he said gently, passing into the sunlight again. The trees had begun to thin already, and the faint breeze carried with it the scent of the world out there—of dry grass and sand, maybe even the faintest hint of salt. The ocean was far, far away, but the brine lingered in the air over the open, rolling dunes, even far inland. The blue of the sky hinted through the willows, and he tilted his head, nose sweeping forward to indicate it. "We're going where we're going. Once the trees end the sand dunes begin, stretching for miles until they reach the sea. But," and he turned back to look at her, the mischievous note fading from his voice, "-we are not going quite so far, today." It was tempting to let it be at that, to not answer more of her questions, because it brought many memories back to the surface—things to wade through, things he didn't want to recall. Because to think of them, was to feel the void opening up beneath his hooves, a keen recalling of just how adrift he was in the world. But in some strange way, he felt like she deserved some amount of honesty—or maybe it was just because he wanted her honesty, and you can't get without giving. So he ambled along the path, thinking about what he could say, without saying too much. He was too freshly returned to Helovia to have formed lasting ties with anyone, and had not yet come across anyone he had ties to, except d'Artagnan: and the Basin was off-limits, with the twist his heart had finally forced his mind to accept. "There's no easy answer to anything," he finally said, sighed, and stepped out from under the last tree, into the splendor of autumn sunlight and the clear blue sky. A lonely gull had ranged far inland, and soared on the rising drafts. "I travel alone because for now, it is the best.. for me. And belonging..." It was a bit of truth that lodged in his throat, words that didn't want to spill out, because if she stopped to think about it, they said a lot about him. "It's when you realize you're no longer expecting them to betray and abandon you every single day. One day you just wake up and realize.. it has happened." Mauja
must keep those black wings folded until the time is right
RE: lakeside slumber; - Brisa - 02-10-2014
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