The sky island was as lonely a place as the Falls, though it was busier at this moment in time than the land of streams and rivers, to be sure. Most of the herd had gone to the south and rode upwards, if the lack of bodies and sounds of passing people are to be taken at first guesses, which is fine by me – Dog is the social one of our pairing, and it bothers me little that she has, yet again, only my company for the day.

She, of course, has other opinions; her boredom is like a thick, wooly gauze over my consciousness though she struggles to keep it at bay with an insane game that involves darting ahead of me only to barrel back around the other way. It has been repeated numerous times as I wade through the tall, dying grasses that recolor under the cool palms of autumn, and I wonder as I come upon the first of the streams to cross our vale.

The meadow lies just past the figure of the large, uneven stone that has earned the titled Slanted Rock, my ultimate destination for the afternoon as my lips descend and pull gently the waters into my mouth. Lazy, my wings shadow a broad region where they hang almost as if forgotten on either side of me; that they have not been is evident when my head rises and their tips follow suit, the expanse beating the air several times before I raise from the earth and drift across the water rushing past.

Skýlos yips and bounds on the opposite shore, never one to enjoy fording streams or touching any body of water for that matter; she has good reason, I suppose. The poor thing isn’t much of a swimmer, seemingly too dense of bone structure to float and with minimal webbing in her toes unlike some species of water wading hound to pull her along, but as I land across from her on the other bank, a most shocking surprise meets with my mind, as if a wave of warm, delightful water is suddenly rushed over my psyche.

And then, I hear her.

”But it move fast!” comes a young, female voice, the aura of the sound strange and foreign; I had read in the library of Elysia that, over time, our companions may gain such a skill, but it takes me by surprise and leaves me whirling back around to stare with wide, pupiless eyes at the figure of my dog.

”Cee-lay, wet!” she nearly shouts at me from our bond, her blue eyes meeting my own with worry bright and shining in their depths, and while I am still shocked and curious, I find myself laughing at her panic. There is no other option for Dog, surely she knows this; to her left is a smaller stream intersecting the large one that she needs to ford to get across to me, leaving her with only one option – the same that the blue toned Dog argued against every time it became apparent they’d have to cross the waters.

"I can’t carry you anymore, you deilós of a Dog," my words are sharp and condescending, her dismay apparent (for she knows the tongue of my homeland as surely as she knows the color of my soul) as our eyes meet from across the water. Weakly, her tail wags in my direction. "You will have to ford it like all the others. Don’t make me toss you across by your tail, Dog."

As if her tail has heard the threat, it tucks beneath her haunches, her eyes sorrowful and piteous as she trots back a few paces and returns her eyes to the stream, our mental bond ushering forth a ream of curses and worries that blend together into one odd sensation that sweeps my brain and heart up in its sound. ”If I fall, you save?” she asks, the fear rippling outwards from her touching as the sweet expression she shares with me, a delight that I can seemingly hear her words rather than approximate from her body language a bright spot in the depths of her worried little eyes.

A sigh, mocking and playful, extends from my lips, a soft smile crinkling the corners of my oceanic eyes. "Don’t fall," is my simple answer, but she knows I won’t let her die; with a new boldness to her step, Skýlos bolts forward and leaps for the opposite shore, clearing nearly five foot before she splashes down in the shallows on the other side and lets forth a yelp as the water swarms her backend and her fore paws scrabble against the pebbles of the bank before she is clear of the stream and shaking away the water that clings to her.

[ OOC: Yeyah mindspeech! <333 Tagging Bellona as we discussed a thread previously between these two, but anyone is welcome! ]

deilós: coward

@[Bellona]

C e a l e s t i s</style>
who knows how deep the heart runs</style>

Bellona
Beauty may be skin deep
But cruelty runs clear to the bone.

"This is our home, little beast. You were born upon the island we just flew from, but this land of mist is our home." Earthen hooves touch down on the sodden ground as the words are emitted, adding their heavy tone to the equally as thick air. A brightly plumed wither flinches at her charge's excited scratching, but colorful wings settle against jewelled sides instead of delivering a painful warning. The haughty peahen makes use of her tongue for such an endeavour. "Stop that, or I won't let you sit there any more." The boy settles down almost immediately, and the Chieftess snorts in approval. She has taken to him as quickly as he has accepted her, but since the discovery -- or misunderstanding? -- of the bridge that links their minds she has settled for begrudging acceptance when considering the rougarou. For a more direct translation, the bird is trying to practice patience.

"See how the ground sinks when my hooves press into it?" The stationary hybrid stomps one hoof to demonstrate. The mossy earth squelches in response, and mud coats the walls of her weapon. "It is very wet here, and it will only get wetter as the season progresses. Until your other form is mature enough to fly, you will behave yourself so that I will continue to carry you. Understood?" Massive audits bob back and forth in response. A delighted mewl sounds from the onyx-hued cat as bright blue feathers tickle his ears. The maiden rolls her eyes at this, unimpressed with the boy's amusement. Her colorful body lurches forwards without warning, knocking the playful feline into a tangle of lime knots. Chuckling, the cruel bird comments on his lack of attention and the consequences that will come of it.

You'll have to focus more when I start bringing you into battle, mictla. I won't pause to help you if you cannot help yourself first. Her eyes rake across the lush scenery as she mentions this to the kitten, who has gotten one of his claws ensnared in her mane. The sense of panic that he emits from this predicament puts the watchful mare on edge, and her gaze hardens when she takes notice of two figures in the distance. Attentive harks take in the sound of splashing, and sunset orbs widen with realization. It is not just two forms that they see, but three. The watchful maiden is suddenly very curious, and she turns her head to eye the lad. "Stop messing around with my head."

Returning her attention to the creature in the water, the peahen contemplates joining it. Struck with horror by his mother's contemplations, the feathered kitten desperately urges her to take flight again instead. Much to his demise, he learns soon enough that she does not take kindly to orders. Spurred on by his protestations the stubborn bird launches herself into the water, churning her wings in the murky fluid to make sure that the babe gets wet.

Satisfied with his reaction (suppressing the urge to make his displeasure known and burrowing his face into her neck) the beauty pushes towards the opposite bank. She overtakes the struggling mutt easily, scarcely giving her a glance, and shouts a rowdy-yet-somewhat-joyful greeting to the vixens standing upon the shore. "Come on now, ladies. Afraid of a bit of water?"

"Talk talk talk."

{@[Cealestis] And so the lessons proceed!

mictla -- place of death}

Much happens at once; a splash draws my eyes back to the water where a rainbow toned damsel strides with powerful limbs past Dog, who looks over at the passing mare with a moment of panic before surging ahead to try and keep pace once it is realized she is no threat; upon her spine is a cat, displeasure vast and writhing on its dark face as his master travels the water.

She arrives on the shore, her visage a most fine regalia of color and dripping crystalline, her voice cheerful and crisp in greeting to ladies, not just myself. A second set of vocals rises from behind me, an unknown figure unseen, and my muscles tense as I turn to glare at the invisible one.

My tail is a blue ribbon that ebbs around my ankles I swiftly twist to face the trees, ears lifted to catch the feminine words that drift from their red shores and blue eyes startled and wide. She is a hesitant thing, wingless with two black horns rising from her milky shoulders and ebony barring, a beast strange and foreign, wrong. My nostrils curve in a deep inhalation of her smell and agitation at being surprised, silent curses bleating through my thoughts that the herd land smells so strongly of others that one cannot pinpoint when they are being watched from so near a distance.

The bell chimes, deep and undulating, it rattles my soul.

”No mean,” Dog’s pitiful voice intrudes, an ear flicking down to where she stands at my side as a deep breath is sucked in and held, somehow arrived during my moment of regard given to the other mare. Through our bond, I can feel her desire to be friends (as she feels with all others), her worry that I will be unable to control my temper on this afternoon and that the poor and rather odd looking mare will be the victim of its flames. I don’t know if she means precisely that I can’t be mean or that the woman didn’t mean to give me such a start – I suppose either are valid.

The other woman is more to my liking, and so with Skýlos’ soft plea for kindness and a honed resolve and tactic to evade the pull of my cursed blood, I turn my eyes to look upon the winged warrior and her damp companion, pupiless gaze cold and curious as it probes her surface to find her muscular and strong, if not a bit brutish. The dame reminds me of my sister, Brighid, in a way, both seemingly male in their carriage but for the delicate lacing of femininity that marked them as the greater of the genders. The thought is sorrowful, perhaps it softens my eyes, my words; I miss them so deeply.

Only they can feel the way my heart aches, only they can know.

"I am no coward," I explain to her, accent thick and heady in my agitated state, its yearning to rise above the peeling of my dark heart, "and Skýlos is a shit swimmer. She has reasons to balk at the stream." Turning to spare a glance to the odd creature that stands at the tree line as Dog whines at being so insulted, my tail lashes with an audible whir through the air behind me, wings folding down against my sides to cover the blue lines of the tattoo along my haunches. I can feel it burning, alive and angry that I tolerate her kind, that I refuse its lust for her screams, her blood. She is not shackled or dead.

She should be these things.

"”I am Cealestis," I share with them both, hoping neither are too stupid to assume that the name given prior belonged to the idiot, wingless Dog with lolling pink tongue that accompanied me.


[ OOC: THE MORE THE MERRIER ~~~ sorry Ceal is a butthat. :| Its her usual mode unfortunately lol ]
@[Kirah]


C e a l e s t i s</style>
who knows how deep the heart runs</style>

Bellona
Beauty may be skin deep
But cruelty runs clear to the bone.

Swift blue ears turn towards one fae to the next, taking note of the winged one's dialect but snapping back at the unicorn's muted voice. A quick glance at the maiden's shoulders alerts the bird of a possible handicap, but surely they do not affect her mind as well? The heavy horns seem out of place on the striped lass' lean body, and blue lips frown as the peahen contemplates this. Either the unicorn is stronger than she appears or her weapons are hollow, and the cruel bird's bets are all placed on the latter. What are you here for, damsel? You're certainly no warrior.

She shifts her stare to the more colorful of the two, immediately appreciative of the pegasus' annoyance; the Chieftess is not the only one who dislikes social gatherings, it seems. At least this one looks almost useful. A pretty thing, if not a strong one. Her thoughts surprise the sodden boy, who is busily licking at his fur in an attempt to dry himself. His mother appears to be in good spirits today, and the feathered kitten revels in her lovely mood. What is going on?

Pulling herself out of the refreshing water, the beautiful warrior spreads her wings out to dry. A colorful mane whips against an ebony face as the mare shakes out her body, sending feathers and hair in every direction until her body resettles. "Well met, Cealestis and Skylos." Her smile is genuine for the moon-marked maiden, and she extends her nose in greeting. If only more were like you, metzpil. I would have so few enemies and far greater allies. "I am Bellona. I trust that the two of you reside here?" The Aztec does not recognize either of these two femmes, but it isn't as if she spends much time with her herd; her inability to place either lady as friend or foe is owed completely to her own lack of interest in the herd's affairs. She is a rather selfish thing, this bird.

Yet regardless of this flaw, she still tries to put on the act of "welcoming-and-beautiful-stranger-who-secretly-doesn't-give-a-shit-about-your-life". Oh wait, that's not an act. "What is it that you two do for our herd?" Perhaps the words come out harsher than they should, but the vixen really doesn't care. Let them heed her words however they see fit.


"Talk talk talk."

{Welp... @[Cealestis]

Sorry for double tag! But metzpil means "little moon"!}

The strange one stays silent while my sister of the skies is vibrant as her pelt. A glance given to the strange horned beast that has wandered into our company accompanies a thought as to whether or not she is properly trained and knows to keep her mouth shut when faced with two greater beings – but the same thought is dark with the undulations of the bell, and the brighter part of my soul that flounders and drowns in the obliqueness of my blood cries out that I am being unkind.

I know it. I cannot stop it. I have never been stronger than what mother did to me, no matter how I’ve tried; at each point in my life that a challenge arises, a tall wall that my wings should easily carry me over, I crash downwards without grace, I fall into old ways that I know in my heart to be wrong but that my soul cannot overcome.

The cat upon the flamboyant bird’s spine perks up at my words as if I have said something of great interest, but I am not sure what that could be; historically, Dog is not meant to be friends with the sleek black animal along her back, a hostile juxtaposition of two predators on each others turf. It never ceases to amaze me how these ingrained patterns of nature are so easily discarded when among the company of those of our blood, that companions can let loose old hatreds for long enough to stand among one another, if not even get along and become friends.

To watch dragons at play with hounds and griffons in sky dance with aurous birds of starlight and flame was a most beautiful thing for a soul as bleak as my own. Such hope is uncommon in Elysia, perhaps the reason that such bonds of the spirit were uncommon in the land of my birth – it defied every law by which the women of the land ruled and kept structure.

The brusque woman shakes herself of the water, spraying droplets all about her that splatter and fleck dark patches along my pelt and make Dog whine audibly as she slips behind me to avoid the body born rain. In jilted emotions within the animal are quickly quieted as attention is turned to her, a broad mouthed and smiling face appearing from around my haunches with a madly swinging tail.

I don’t think she has any control over the thing at all.

”Nope,” her voice cheerfully chimes in within my thoughts, startling me partially and drawing my pulled wings even tighter to my body for a fleeting second.

It will take some time getting used to this sharing of thoughts and opinions among one another, of having my own mental ruminations scattered by her idiotic side notes. I can only imagine what will flood me the next time she spies a rabbit or ground bird she thinks she can catch – the way her body wiggled before she could speak to me was a good indication that the wave of enthusiasm spewing from her would likely give me a headache that would last for hours.

A deep blue muzzle extends to me, and while I am surprised by the show of communion, I return it, perhaps with more hesitance than most would. She is, after all, a stranger to me – but her strength and her beauty are prevalent, much welcome omens of good blood yet to be found among the living who had found solace outside the wicked boundaries of my homeland. This one – Bellona, as she introduces herself – is a woman that would seamlessly enter into the highest of ranks in Elysian military (assuming this was the path that she took), her fortitude and appearance outstanding in comparison to some of the droll and ordinary winged things that have crossed my path in this land of Helovia. Even Quilyan, with all his elegant words and his mind full of wisdom, could not compare to the visual splendor that this one provided, he himself ordinary and plain with a painted pelt of copper and ivory.

Bellona had been painted by the Gods.

"Near a year now," I respond, my guesses that the mare is of warrior heritage confirmed in her defense of the land (though it only reads in her words, such a gallant bird kind in disposition for her ranking), "I followed the Stoner to the coven of Seele during her reign in the Deep Forest during the season of red leaves, and Seele to here when the Lord of Earth called her to his realm."

That I still don’t know the man who led me to my home for the past year by name is not a fact that bothers me. He was unworthy of remembering, a wasted life and a body withering from the poisons he forced on himself. A woman such as myself, condemned to suffer from biological curses as I have been for much of my eleven years, cannot understand a being who kills himself for fun, for a high.

The Stoner is a fool, and Skýlos and I will outlive him.

Another demanding question falls from the mare, and where such a response in an earthbound creature would draw aggression from within my broken soul, from her it earns a smile. So much like my darling Brighid, so much like Hemera before the madness consumed her and her flames burned all she touched.

So unbroken and whole, and she cannot know how blessed she is, how intensely my heart yearns to know and feel and experience the world as she can, with her own thoughts and strength to guide her.

"Hm, Genetrix," I say, a momentary pause taken to recall the unique word (is it Latin? I only read those scrolls once, perhaps twice…), "gatherer of tales and knowledge." My tail curls lazily and with content around my haunches, another glance spared the quiet mare with the horned shoulders now that I can bare to look at her, my soul so full of hope as I talk with a sky sister unshackled and free. "You are a polemistí̱s?" I ask, blue eyes more eager than they have been in so long, seeking in my mind the English word for the Greek that has replaced the proper term for the hen’s ears, "a warrior? You express the strength and confidence for such a ranking."

@[Kirah]
[ OOC: Sorry for the slowness. D: ]


C e a l e s t i s</style>
who knows how deep the heart runs</style>