the Rift


[PRIVATE] !! Dead in the Water [Cera]

Rasta Posts: 305
Hidden Account atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Equine :: 14.1hh :: six (ages in Tallsun) HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Ettore :: Red-Tailed Hawk :: None Abba
#1
There was a sweet melody of broken steps and torn souls. It was a new rhythm I had been growing accustomed to as I fought with the grief of not only losing my hawk but of leaving the couple of horses who I had wanted to call my family. A swiftness to my steps had me moving around the border lands and taking in all of the sights, getting used to the feeling of the falls under my feet.

A delicate balance, I would admit, between the vibrations of the real world and the roaring ones of the waterfalls that bounced around me. A worst nightmare and the perfect dream all wrapped into one. A place to escape my horrors and a place where i was in so much more danger than before.

But, as my eyes looked out in the distance I saw a painted coat familiar from the caves. And, with my eyes closing I recognized the build. Cera! I gallop forward until I was only a meter or two from his form as he was racing off. And, sliding to a stop I lower my head to the ground letting out a loud snort and a sharp 'flick' of my tail. Gigantic vibrations circle out from around me, hopefully reaching him as he goes into a take off. I miss you. Please... don't leave just yet.. I'm thinking to myself, maw open in a silent scream of his name.

My bodice is tense as I stand at attention, muscles quivering in anticipation of him actually leaving and me not being able to spend more time with him...

It's really short right now, but you know my posts with you.
@[Cera]
Rasta
you're my downfall, you're my muse, my worst distraction, my rhythm and
blues - i can't stop singing, it's ringing in my head for you
Image Credit

Mystified, just spinning 'round in circles
Drowning in the silent screaming with nothing left to say

Cera the Golden Prince Posts: 419
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Ilaria :: Red Panda :: Heal Brit
#2





Departing from the Falls does not make him feel any better than when he'd arrived. His mind is a fumbling, convoluted mess of thoughts. Despite the answers he had found in his talk with his father, there was always the reality that Midas would simply not be returning home with him. There was an unwanted, helpless ember of anger that Cera could not rid himself of, to know that Midas had kept Cera isolated and lonely simply because he would not change alliances for Ktulu, only to do exactly that for Grandfather Earth. Disgusted, almost, that his father was so hideously uncaring at having turned his back on the one home that had always been there for them. The home he wants nothing more than to return to. Rest beneath the magnolia branches one more time, with the knowledge that only his hoofprints would occupy the clay at the roots of the tree that had sheltered him nearly all his life.

Like an angel his wings expand, embracing the winds and flowing between the downy fibers, playful and encouraging. Long dancers cross beneath him as he runs, gentle lope advancing as he braces slim shoulders for the task of getting him airborne. Then the earth rumbles, and his gait falters, wings snapping back out horizontally to preserve his balance. He rides out the tremors, legs braced wide and snorting violently. What in the world...? Was this the Earth God condemning him for judging Midas? For feeling as if he had a right to be angry?

Vibrant emeralds swept over the unfamiliar land as the shaking faded, and found not the massive form of the Earth God, but the slender ivory frame of Rasta in the distance. Brow crinkled slightly, testing the ground on uncertain hooves as he lowered his feathered appendages. Magic, Ilaria supplies in a soft coo of explanation, and Cera's face clears of confusion. So Rasta had obtained magic? And with his memories of her voicelessness vibrant, he realizes that it was he she had been attempting to garner the attention of.

Well, she had succeeded.

Cera moved towards her gracefully, legs long and elegant as they carry him to her, smile soft and warm as his eyes grace her composition. "Rasta," he greeted softly. Ilaria peeked from his left shoulder, rust-ringed emeralds blinking at Rasta before giving a soft coo of approval to see her once more. Slowing as he approached, Cera shuffled his wings, casually fixing the ruffled feathers from his momentary fright over her magic. A pale cream muzzle was extended towards the smaller mare, smile promising that he would not pressure her to accept the act of affection that he offered.

"I'm so glad you're safe, Rasta. Is this your home now?" Mindful of her incapability to verbally respond to him, Cera deliberately aimed for questions that she was able to answer, such as yes and no. There was a twinge of tension in his question, not sure how he would feel if she answered in the positive, but unable to deny her the comfort and safety of a herdland home. Even if he could not accept, now, that Midas had left the Throat for this new land, he would not be angered at Rasta for her own choices.
Image by Alex
Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!

Rasta Posts: 305
Hidden Account atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Equine :: 14.1hh :: six (ages in Tallsun) HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Ettore :: Red-Tailed Hawk :: None Abba
#3
He's leaving. He's leaving. I was too late. Eyes are watering as he goes to take off and I squeeze them shut, too sad to see the young one's frame take off and into the sky. I don't realize that he is snapping his wings out, panicked at the fact that the earth below him is suddenly shaking and he is now searching for the source of it.

No. I don't realize it. In fact I don't even catch the idea that he is coming near me until I hear his hooves clicking against the strewn, tiny rocks upon the terrain around us. Orbs open, sadness interwoven with joy that he had not left as of yet. My name befalls from his lips as he approaches, and I can see his tiny companion peering out from his left. Harks perk up at his coo as I eye his shuffling wings.

Gentle maw stretches out towards me and I step forward, allowing my maw to press up against his and then reach to tug at his forelock in a teasing manner. It had been too long - and I felt bad that the last time had been when I was completely broken. Too broken to manage anything except curling up and sobbing. Too broken to be the strong mare that I had hoped everyone saw me as.

He speaks of being glad that I am safe, and asks if these falls are my home now. A gentle bob of my head gives the affirmative response to his question, though I can sense the tension and I am instantly twisting my head to the side in a questioning manner. What is wrong, Cera?

Oh, how I wish I could speak. I want to be there for him just as he had been for me. Gentle, caring eyes peer up towards him as I reach out to bump his chest near his heart should he allow it. Please. What is wrong? A quiet uncertainty was apparent in my stance as I awaited his response - hoping that he would understand and knowing that if he didn't I would have to find a way to get the message across. I had to. I had to be there for him - that much was for certain.
Rasta
you're my downfall, you're my muse, my worst distraction, my rhythm and
blues - i can't stop singing, it's ringing in my head for you
Image Credit

Mystified, just spinning 'round in circles
Drowning in the silent screaming with nothing left to say

Cera the Golden Prince Posts: 419
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Ilaria :: Red Panda :: Heal Brit
#4





Her heartbroken expression is without reason to him in his lack of understanding, but it causes grief to crawl along his spine and cling to his bones like leeches. There is too much sorrow in the world, too much residing between and upon the pair of them. He had found her, crumpled and broken, used and wasted, in the bowels of the earth where the walls were the only heralds of illuminated comfort. They were broken, the pair of them, but they lived on anyways. Why? Why did they live on? Was it to find others just as shattered, to swap pieces as they constantly tried to glue themselves together, so as to have a piece of someone who understood in the framework of their lives? But he cannot comfort her, not when she is unable to explain to him why she is in such despair. Yet it seems, in the end, there is nothing he has to do but be with her in that moment. For as she looks up to see him standing before her, the agony that pinches her face smooths away, and he smiles at her. Yes, I'm here.

Softly they touch, and Cera's insides shudder almost painfully. In a world of nameless faces and distant words, she is the one who understands him, the one he may call friend when the night is thick and the loneliness attempts to destroy him. She is, perhaps, the only friend he has in the world. Such a cruel and lonely world. But in the end he had her. And that was enough. Enough to move forward, to inhale the next lungful of air, to shift one hoof forward after another, enough to find meaning in living for one more hour, one more sunset, one more blurred week of meaningless encounters. Emeralds are forced to shutter themselves against the onslaught of this sudden train of thought, to seek solace in the whisper-kiss of her muzzle against his. Does not allow himself to close his eyes in grief any longer, knowing she is perceptive and would latch onto his emotions faster than he could craft a lie to explain them away.

It's odd, for her eloquence to be so absent, but in time he has grown accustomed to her unnatural silence. Cera could not, in the end, decide whether he wished upon her silence or blindness. It was an impossible choice. He valued both aspects, even if they came at the cost of the other. Coming alive at her touch, warm and hesitant against the cavern that houses his shy heart, Cera looks upon her sadly. Wishes he could hear her speak just one more time, to commit to memory what he should have when he had the chance. The tilt of her head is evident, a questioning look in her eyes, a crinkle in the corners where concern has kissed her skin. A soft sigh escapes the youth.

"I am alone, Rasta. Father has abandoned what he always called home, to rule you and your kin in these lands. When he had mated Ktulu, Ranjiri and Hototo lived with her. I begged him often to live among them, the family I had made, but he refused to leave the desert. Now...at the whim of a God, he has changed his mind. I am worth less to him than his loyalty to a divine being, Rasta." The words he had been unable to say to Midas ended his quiet, pained speech. Feeling foolish, with how she could not even respond to his woes, he turned his head away and blinked hard to right his emotions. He could not allow himself to be consumed, not after all the work he'd done to ensure he would never be so emotionally volatile again.

"The desert is my home. I cannot leave. The Lord of Light has given me a quest, has saved my life with his magic once before. But in those lands...I am merely Midas' replica, a ghost of his memory. I am unknown. It is..." throat works to swallow around the lump desiring to gather in his throat. Weak, his mind spits at him degradingly. "...hard." He manages to finish, voice too high and undulating for his liking. Eyes cannot meet hers, staring at the earth below, wondering what he had done to deserve all that had fallen down upon his shoulders.
Image by Alex
Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!

Rasta Posts: 305
Hidden Account atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Equine :: 14.1hh :: six (ages in Tallsun) HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Ettore :: Red-Tailed Hawk :: None Abba
#5
I'm dead in the water, still looking for ya'

As my dear friend - no, wasn't he almost blood at this point, for how well he understood my pain without ever hearing a word. Yes, he is blood. So we will scratch those first four words. As my brother seems to almost tremble upon our touch, glimpses of concern lace around the crevices of my face. His eyes slide closed, for a short period, but long enough for me to sense that something has to be bothering him.

So, as he finally opens his eyes, I allow my cranium to tilt ever so slightly to the side until he sighs and allows the words to slide from his maw. Concern slowly etches itself in deeper to the lines in my face as I inch in closer while he continues to speak. And, when he says my name and looks away, I bump my maw against his wing, giving a snort and hoping that he will understand that I desire to crawl underneath it and press up against him - to allow him to feel my heartbeat, to remind him that he is not alone.

He speaks of pain, of being worthless. But I won't stand for him to feel like that. No, I simply won't. And so I shake my head violently before bumping his shoulder, regardless of if he got the message on my wish to sidle up to him without his feathery appendage in the way. You, I bump his shoulder again to prove my point even more, You are brighter than the sun. I toss my head up to the sky, towards the light, but I doubt he'll get it. I doubt he'll understand what I mean. In fact, I doubt it so much I promise myself that I will find him when I can speak again - find him and tell him all of these things.

He speaks again, calling the desert home. And I can understand this - they will always be my second family, I am just not fit to live there. But, then he speaks of being a replica, a ghost, and I am shaking my head again as he swallows down the tears that wish to fall so strongly. And, as his head falls lower I bump my maw to his cheek. Chin up. You are strong. But he can't read minds, and so I attempt to press my maw to the area near his heart, and breathe in time with his heart beat. You are alive, you are who YOU are, not a replica of someone else.

All the while, there is a gentle smile on my face - meaning to send across my offer of support to the one who had done nothing but support me since the hour I met him. And, to ensure he recognizes the fact that I am here for him I send out a gentle vibration - weak, barely noticeable but definitely there - before looking directly at him in an attempt to meet his gaze.

I'll be there if you need me - know that...



Image Creds | Coding by Schwartze

Mystified, just spinning 'round in circles
Drowning in the silent screaming with nothing left to say

Cera the Golden Prince Posts: 419
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Ilaria :: Red Panda :: Heal Brit
#6





Despite his companion being mute, Cera is far from it, and yet it has nothing to do with their silent encounter. Words were meaningless, overused, and full of hollow feeling and crafted emotion. Words were only to be trusted at random, and they caused more heartache than often intended. Misplaced words and angrily spat insults that tore hearts and broke relationships, caused rifts that turned brothers into strangers. They spoke with their bodies, with their eyes, and they never needed words to make the other understand what they wanted to convey. Though communication would have been easier had Rasta been able to speak, it was not a necessity. Somehow, despite not having known each other all their lives like most who communicated in silent gestures, the two were close enough in mind and spirit to bypass time and simply know one another. Inside and out. So, as her tiara tilts and she bumps his wing, he lifts the feathered appendage, the angel gift he was born with, and allows her shelter. He doesn't feel like an angel. He feels downtrodden, a sparrow with flight feathers cruelly clipped by the one to urge it from the nest.

As he speaks her tiara becomes a violent weapon, a tool of communication as it shakes and thrusts against his bodice in outraged denial of his deprecation. She sees in him light, beauty, where he can only see dust and ash. Destroyed by the harshness of life. But haven't they both been? And maybe that's what granted them their closeness, their understanding of one another. It's hard, to believe her. She is wordless, but in her eyes, finally granted the ability of sight, he sees a world of infinite soliloquies. Poems and sonnets, eloquent crafts of words that will not pass her lips. There is a universe of words inside her eyes, all speaking to him, describing to him in ways that do not exist in their language precisely what she is feeling, thinking. It touches him more than anything she could have spoken, chokes him with the intensity of her denial, of her faith in him. How can she have such faith, when he is but a battered shell, denounced by his father and lost on the path of life? What light guides her? Where inside of him lies the hidden strength that she believes is capable of pulling forth a better man than he is convinced resides in the skeletal frame of his mortal body? He understands what she intends to say as she casts her eyes to the sun above, but he cannot understand where the light shines from that she claims to see emanating from his soul. The sun does not shine in a wasteland of failed goals and useless dreams.

There are no words to convey all those thoughts, the conflicting emotions tugging at the strings that tie him together, the ligaments of his mind. Instead, he lends her a telescope as he turns to her, showing her the parallel stars and planets inside his eyes, a world of deep green and fissures of emerald that play a song on sad soprano strings. A song she can translate so well, played in a key her ears will know and eyes will recognize. Lets her see the conflict inside, the war that rages, the desire to believe her and the inability to see what hides inside that has any type of worth or value. And even as his head falls she is lifting it higher, liftinghim higher; the air beneath his wings, the sturdy earth beneath his hooves, the encouraging word that inspires hope and bravery in a heart too scared to lift wing on its own. Lending him her strength to keep looking towards the sun, when he desires only to fade into the darkness of the shade behind his eyelids.

Breaths puff softly against his chest before he can recover his wits, and he looks down upon her with gratitude swelling tears into his eyes. She is smiling, a rarity, and the fissure in his chest widens with emotions that he's not sure he's ready to feel. But he knows she will be there to aid him through them. "Thank you, Rasta." It's choked but sincere, coming out on a gust of a half-woken sob. But there is a tidal wave inside him, and a tear slips free, Ilaria cooing sadly from his spine. He feels ashamed to be so weak. That's all he ever felt like he was. But there's so much more to say, and he doesn't know where to start, yet the flood comes before he can pick an end to begin at. "Why, Rasta? Why would Father come here at the beckoning of a God, but not at the begging of three children and a mate? Why is he angered by my hurt at such a fact? I have been abandoned too many times, Rasta. My mother, my best friend. He is...was...all I had left." And the past tense is what breaks him, for he fears that Midas wants nothing more with him, and the tears trickle down in an unstoppable river as a frail chest shakes with sobs that are valiantly held back out of sheer will to not appear any weaker than he already is.
Image by Alex
Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!

Rasta Posts: 305
Hidden Account atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Equine :: 14.1hh :: six (ages in Tallsun) HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Ettore :: Red-Tailed Hawk :: None Abba
#7
I'm dead in the water, still looking for ya'

They work together. Minds spinning and reeling. He understands at least a portion of what being shattered feels like. He can shuffle everything around and come up with words from her movements. Quiet frame presses up against his side as he lifts the blanket of feathers to allow me a place to hide from the world. A darkened place where I could return to the true beauty of life - the soul and what is carried within. And it is that soul which causes him to radiate such power, grace, trustworthiness -even if he cannot see it at the moment.

Quiet pauses before I try to get him to see the light that glows, the strength that pulls him forward. He is a rock - and I have no doubt that, should I need him, he would find a way to be there for me. So, as he turns towards me, eyes showing the broken depths of his soul all I can do is reach to brush against his cheek. You are worth so much more than you know… But I couldn’t say it, and I didn't know how to explain it, so I simply pressed myself up against him tighter.

It is the words of thanks that have me reaching up again. Brushing away the tear which has fallen. Words begin to fall from his maw, question after question which I cannot answer. He speaks of being abandoned too many times - the past tense almost seeming to shatter him. His body shakes in sobs, and I shake the ground again. Not alone. NEVER alone. I will not leave him. I will not allow him to feel alone. And, since I cannot say anything I continue to curl up against him. To try and wrap my neck around his withers in a form of a hug, to allow him to press into me, to hide from the world in whatever way he can against the me when I am so small in comparison.

I am here. I'm not leaving…





Image Creds | Coding by Schwartze

Mystified, just spinning 'round in circles
Drowning in the silent screaming with nothing left to say

Cera the Golden Prince Posts: 419
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Ilaria :: Red Panda :: Heal Brit
#8





Her warmth stabilizes him, grounds him where no other can. It's calming, stills the breaths that shake in his lungs, uncontrolled. Even when they sit in silence her presence is there, reminding him that each new inhale is worth the effort, that life is hard but there are glowing beacons of friendship that light the path intent on tripping you up. Slowly he matches the swell of her sides that signify her own breaths, calming the racing of his heart as he lets her body guide him into peace. Tries to shut down the hurricane taking place in his mind, instead focusing on the purely physical reactions, tuning them to Rasta's and releasing all responsibility; even that of his own body. And when he turns to look at her, their eyes meet, hers no longer sightless as they were when the two had first met and he had defended her from sharp tongues and narrow minds.

Soft breaths touch his cheek, emeralds shuttered behind pale lids as he leans into her caress. It makes his insides shudder with gratitude, free tears flowing down cheeks to replace sorrowfully created ones with relieved trails of fresh ones. Even when she presses tight, and he is lost on a road of sorrow and confusion, her touch is feather soft but sure as it sweeps the mark of his agony from his skin. Her crown shakes in disapproval, disagreement, in the silence that follows his plaintive cries for wisdom she cannot impart. Even if she had the gift of speech, he doubted she would have any answers for him. If they did not come from Midas, they could not be wholly truthful. Cera doubted he would ever be able to bury the matter, doubted Midas would ever be able to tell him in a manner other than what he'd just experienced.

Round his withers her neck pulls him close and tight, and he turns to bury his cheek into her flesh, breathing in her comforting scent deep into his lungs. Tears slow in their descent, for there is no use in shedding them. They will not garner answers nor relieve him of his emotional turmoil. All they do is waste energy that he desperately needs, and ruins all chances of speech uninterrupted by sobs. "I'm okay," he whispered softly, pulling away gently from the embrace and shifting his shoulders to steel himself against the emotional storm battering at him. He'd had his respite, his temporary relief, and he was ready to face the world again. Emerald eyes turned to Rasta and he smiled weakly. "Sometimes I wished you could call the desert home again, Rasta." Perhaps a bold and unfair confession, as he didn't wish to make her feel guilty or regret her choices, but it was a truth he could not keep inside any longer. Maybe she would take it as the compliment it was, that he so loved her company to wish he could revel in it daily.
Image by Alex
Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!


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