The air is cold.
Darkness sets in quickly at this time of year and for those who never traveled so far north it is unsettling. Between the trunks of barren trees the shadows grow deep and dark, threatening and terrifying. They reach for you, try to hold you back and lead you astray. Before tired eyes they turn to unspeakable horrors, creatures crawling and slithering, intent on catching you, harming you, stopping you in your path. And for someone who is hunted, nothing could be worse than that.
They move swiftly through the sleeping forest, silent as shadows despite the leaves and dry branches that litter the ground. Frozen breath trail behind them, soon dissipating at the touch of a breeze, crisp and chilling - but despite the cold sweat lathers in the folds of their bodies. Steam rises from overheated bodies, dust and grime blur the coats and hide their original colors. They are tired, but cannot stop. With grim determination they push onward, not daring to steal even a fraction of a second look behind. A trinity of shadows, gasping for breath but unable to pause. There's no time to rest. A stallion, two mares; the only ones who are left from a group of ten, and they are only too aware of their losses, what the consequences will be when the pursuers catch up. Because it is beyond doubt now that they won't get away. Chilling winds from the east blow their scent towards the fugitives, taunting them with echoes of pounding hooves and shouts.
One of the mares, shorter and visibly younger than the other, stumbles over a hidden rock and dive toward the ground, too tired to straighten herself up. A broad shoulder manages to stabilize her before she falls, a nudge from another urges her on from behind. A flash of despair shoot through her eyes as she is forced to carry on, even though her strength is long since gone.
"I can't run anymore" she gasps, the words punctuated by yet another stumble. This time her companions aren't quick enough and the lithe frame tumbles to the ground, slamming harshly into it with a hollow thud. A quiet grunt is the only sound she makes, too tired to register the pain that shoots through her body. She is too bruised, too exhausted.
The two skid into swift halts, unsteady on their feat from weariness but still stronger than the young flicka. The stallion comes back, nudging her skinny whithers to make her rise; a paler shadow among shadows, as the grime from weeks on the march just barely covers the pale coloration of his coat. Deep blue eyes gaze at her, trying to comfort even though he knows it is futile;
"You have to, there's no time!"
Even as he speak the sound of pursuit grows stronger, so much that they can count the sets of hoof beats. Two, three, no, more.
"There's a'least six of 'em" the older mare hiss through gritted teeth as she comes trotting back, steely gray eyes focused not on the filly struggling to rise but on the night behind them. "No way we can take tha many even with the Arts, not in this condition." She exchanges a quick glance with the stallion as he steadies the tired girl, a look full of the urgency they all felt. He nods quickly, unhappy but knowing that it's the only thing they can do. It doesn't pass quickly enough however and as the tired little horse notices the change in atmosphere the ears fold back against the neck, disappearing into silken auburn curls.
"No! Not again, please Shiila! Stay with us..." Her voice rings desperately through the night, the glittering stars illuminating the whites of her eyes and the many scars that litter the neck, hollow and thin from lack of nourishment. Shiila spare a moment to look at her, gray eyes affectionate but saddened at the sorry sight before her. So little remained of the young girl, only skin and bones and fear where once there had been a princess, strong and noble and with a smile that would brighten the day for all of them. If only they had been able to rescue her sooner, if only the pursuers had been a bit slower in following after them... But wishes wouldn't get them anywhere, and it wouldn't save the only hope their people had left. It was something only they could do, right here and now...
"Shiila!" the stallion interrupted urgently, making the expression on the mares face harden with determination.
"Take care of her, brother" she orders, reaching out to give the stallion a quick nudge on the neck. The gesture is repeated to the girl, ignoring the tired protests she continues to make. "Dun worry, princess. I'll make sure to buy ye time. T'was nice knowing ya" she smile with fake glibness, then turn the back to them and breaks off, cantering back in the direction they came to intercept the pursuers.
There is no time for goodbyes. No time to mourn the brave woman who will sacrifice her life to buy them a little bit of time. The eyes burn but won't shed any tears as the little lady is forced to continue, to once more stretch the aching legs out and run. If only she could cry. Perhaps the face would change then, turn from the numb mask of fake strength into something else; anything must be better than the indifferent look she wears now. Sounds change behind them. The drumming of galloping hooves turn to shouts, screams, rumbling and crackling as the forces of nature is set loose. Lightning, fire, the creaking of timber too stiff to be moved properly. The ears slick even tighter against the poll, as if trying to shut the horrible sounds away.
"She won't go down easily" the stallion mutters as they run, shoulder to flank; she wonders if he tried to console himself or her. He drives her on, rushing through thickets and across glens, over fallen trees and through streams of crystal clear waters that burn the skin with its cold. The sounds behind them fade with the added distance and for a moment it becomes quiet, blessedly still. Did they shake them? Did Shiila manage the impossible and take them all out?
Side by side they burst out into a large clearing, and with a gasp the princess breaks into a halt, skidding across slimy half frozen leaves. She hear the blue-eyed stallion curse and find herself behind him, shoved back by a swift movement that makes her stumble. From beneath the tangled mess of the forelock the girl stare at the figures that emerge from the shadows before them. Three large horses with horns sprouting from their heads, clad in light armor with the mark of a snake biting its tail shimmering white and horrible in the faint light of the stars. It almost seems to be moving and with a grimace the mare roll the right shoulder, remembering the sickening scent of scorched flesh as the same mark had been branded into her shoulder.
"How did they get ahead of us..." she whispered, not expecting anyone to answer.
"This is as far as you get" a course voice declare across the clearing, the words hard and rough as gravel. "Return the girl, traitor, and we'll make your death swift and painless."
The stallion snorts sharply and bare the ivories against the soldiers, defiance radiating from him like a light. The girls gaze move worriedly between them, unable to do anything to help. Untrained in the art of combat, unable still to awaken the power that slumbers within the blood, and too tired to do anything but stand and stare.
"Tiimar.." she pleads, not even knowing what it is she want him to do. Sprout wings and fly them away from there? If he'd been able to do that he would have done so already, before any of their comrades had been killed.
A faint smile passes over his lips, but he has no words to offer in consolation. They have come to the end of the line now, and there is nothing more he can do but to fight. Fight and hope for a miracle, even though none has come their way thus far.
"Little Rilo" he murmurs quietly, gentle words meant only for her ears. Her throat clenches, knowing what will come. Don't want to hear it, don't want it to be true, don't want to believe him... "I wish it could have ended differently. We've come a long way from home, but further still you must go. Turn south from here, and run until you can't run anymore. We'll be with you, all of us... so don't look back."
Suddenly he moved, lunged forward through the air towards the soldiers. With shrill cries they met him, horns lowered and necks swelling. Rilo screamed in horror as she saw how wide gashes opened up along his sides, watched him kick and rear, dance around the glen with blood running down the barrel. From nowhere came gusts of wind as Tiimar made use of the Art, sharp and cutting gales swirling around the opponents, digging deep into unicorn flesh and repaying every hit with three in return.
She couldn't move. Frozen in place the princess watched as her comrade fought for her, unable to do anything to help. She felt helpless, powerless, and hated herself for it. Anger roiled within and made her shiver, more and more for each gash in her friends hide, every bite, every kick that landed. Her heart bled for him but the anger shielded it, spared her the need to feel. Anger was what forced her feet to move, anger towards the horned ones who robbed her of family and friends, health and home and sanity. A gasp escaped her as she turned around, part hiss part sob.
It was with dry cheeks she began to run, each step carrying her away from the glen-turned-battlefield and the one who had been her support through the entire arduous journey. The face was motionless, the seeing eye dull. But in her heart she wept, silent tears for the one she had to leave behind.
Rilosanne Ka'Adina
Silent whispers, Silent tears
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Ainle and Pherick Posts: N/A
It was a quiet day. Birds were absent from the chorus of nature and only the bare tones of the howling wind remain in the cold of Frostfall. Luckily the snow was delayed somewhat and the ground was bare save for the orange and red leaves that lay scattered upon the forest floor. The sun lay close to the horizon, declaring the end of yet another day as she threw her brilliant colored rays across the expanse of Helovia. Ainle paused briefly, velveteen ears pricking up as the last of the day’s warm rays caressed her pelt and she breathed in deeply, reveling in the sweet smell of coming night. Behind her veil only darkness roamed, ever-present and ominous, but the champagne mare was quite used to it by now. Her skin was extremely light, which meant that she was equally as sensitive to the sun, which had ultimately caused her blindness. Now a blindfold of delicate gossamer covers her almost white eyes. A sweet sigh escaped her kissers as the wind tugged at her mahogany mane. A massive shadow loomed over her skin and her ears pricked to his familiar scent as Pherick neared her. A smile graced her kissers as he softly nudged her shoulder. He was always the strong and silent type and Ainle wouldn’t want it any other way. He had made it his life’s goal to protect her and Ainle couldn’t imagine her life without him. He was like the brother she never had.
Pherick drew up next to Ainle, unseen worry etched into his soft brown eyes as Ainle sighed. The sound was almost heart breaking and he often worried about her. She was such a strong soul and never complained or pitied herself when she had all the right to. Pherick was almost the opposite of the little mare. He stood tall at 17 hands and was laced with powerful muscles. He had a bay coat and black mane and tail with two ivory socks and looked quite handsome, but he had a silent demeanor mot of the time. If Ainle was in danger or threatened he turned into a fierce warrior and protector. He smiled at her, knowing she couldn’t see but somehow she always picked up on it. He didn’t need to speak either, for he knew that Ainle understood him all too well and that his gestures meant more than words ever could.
Darkness soon crept upon the land and now Pherick spoke up in a soft yet strong voice,
“Ainle, we need to get going. We need to find shelter for the night.”
Ainle smiled a sweet smile, shifting her velveteen ears at Pherick and then tiara following as she spoke softly,
“Alright, Riri.”
Pherick chuckled at the nickname she had decided to call him since childhood. It just never got old and together they set off at a leisurely walk until the thundering sound of hooves could be heard. Stopping dead in his tracks he placed himself between Ainle and the unknown collection of hooves. The massive warmblood’s ears flattened and protectiveness flooded his being almost like a poison. Suddenly a young mare appeared and his ears pricked up instead. Ainle stayed close to Pherick, ears straining for any clue as to what was happening but she remained silent, well aware of the imposing danger. She felt Pherick physically relax and so did she. His words drifted towards the stranger,
“Hello there. Who are you and why the hurry?”
It wasn’t often that Pherick was so hospitable but this little femme seemed exhausted and he wondered what could have caused it…
"Speak"
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| Deceased |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3 hh :: 38 months |
| Alex |
10-11-2012, 05:08 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-11-2012, 05:09 PM by Tares.)
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prints-of-stock@deviantart
burtn@deviantart
kittykitty5150@deviantart
I saw the mirror starin’ back at me.
And it told me I’m a self machine
------" Tares "------
Exhaustion sweeps over me in waves. I am the battle-torn mother hiding from her past in scholarly pursuits, trying to heal, trying to love. But the commitment is difficult, the emotion faltering and unsupported. It is simply there, raw and pure, exposed and dangerous. I am unsure as to whether or not this is what love should be, but I sense it is not the desired sensation. I have wandered from what is left of the battlefield and the Qian's home, put my son in good care, and gone to wander once more. I truly wonder if I am awful mother. Should I not have spent the time with him that he requested?
But how could I explain to him that he should not be witness to my pain? Arbutus has spread his wings over the wound, but my son still saw the tears and scented the blood. Alisier was not stupid, I had always taken pride in his intelligence. He knew by the sound of my breathing alone that something was wrong.
I could not bear to see that look in his eyes agin- that look that suggested I had betrayed him by going to war and putting my life at risk. That look that suggested all that he wanted was affection, that all he wanted and needed I could not give. It hurt more than the mending rib and the broken flesh- more than the scar tissue forming and more than the walk back home.
I had taken wing simply to avoid the pressure of the earth against my weak hocks and the burden of heavy breath in my lungs. In the sky everything was clearer, and so now when I have landed, my fiery wings sweeping through the threshold air and cutting through it with ease, I feel as if I am going to give in once more. My beard and tail drag against the earth as I hang my head low and gasp for breath and search for the source of the sounds I cannot help but hear. It is Arbutus who guides me, flitting before me in a fiery little form that guides me to the company.
Once before them I automatically straighten myself, but there is no hiding my injury. My wing folds over the hole in my side but the flames only lick at it and cast it in a harsher light. If anything, the white of my rib grows brighter in the sunset lit forest. My eyes, a bright yellow to match the feather wrapped in my mane, travel across the trio before me. Two equines standing side by side, one a gorgeous mare with a veil across her eyes, accompanied by another that looks particularly worn. I know I should help her, but whatever motherly instinct should rest within my bones is absent from my body and soul. I am left standing awkwardly in their company, lips parted as if to speak but only silence coming out.
At last, my voice emerges from my body- I have almost forgotten how I sound. "You are hurt and weary- all of you," I add with a glance towards the small veiled one. While her company may be healthy, she seems frail and he protective- surely anyone constantly on guard such as he will appreciate rest. "I am Tares of the Tuuli," I introduce, taking a gentle and tentative step closer towards the malnourished chestnut mare. She seems fearful, as if we will hurt her. As if someone already has.
"I can provide you with shelter and aid, should you desire it," I offer in a quiet voice, partially to save my breath and somewhat to keep the tone low and relaxed. Trauma of some sort has occurred here- I am not one to bring back any memories.
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She can't remember how long she had been running. Was it days, weeks or years? The legs falter beneath the pressure of her body, despite the dangerous lack of weight. Or was it because of it, because of the many scars that marred the skin and the grime that had been ground into it that she stumbled for each step, shaking and gasping for air like a fish stranded on dry land.
Figures appear before the hazy vision of the young mare and with a fearful look that is quickly hidden by a mask of wariness she stumble into a halt, sides heaving and damp from sweat that has never been allowed to dry. A deep maroon eye stare at the strange pair, whites glimmering around the iris. Pondering, weighing options through a haze of exhaustion, desperation and a sense of urgency that make the casual greeting of the stallion seem insolent.
"You need to help me!" the girl says, not asking but rather demanding it, in a tone that won't accept a no. There is authority to her voice, an air of dignity that doesn't quite seem to belong with the tattered and scarred little girl that stand before them, just barely capable of remaining on her feet. "You have to save Tiimar, he's trying to take on three opponents without rest, they are too many and I cannot do anything to help him! He's sacrificing his life for me, just like all the others, and I won't allow it. Come quickly before it's too late!"
She doesn't care that her words must make little sense to the pair, seeing how they doesn't know who she is or what is following behind her. All she cares about is this small miracle that might be enough to save her only remaining friend, if only the stallion and the slender mare will listen to her and follow back to the site of the battle. Rilosanne begin to turn, expecting them to follow her, but freeze into place as her gaze lands on the figure of a horse approaching from the direction she had been headed towards. Eye widening in terror she takes one look at the horn protruding from the forehead of the horse and the flaming wings by the sides and spin around, buckling legs launching into a wobbly canter - back the way she came, to terror and blood and the end of hope.
No, no no no! They are here too, somehow they had managed to get ahead of her again and this time there was no Shiila to shield her back, no Tiimar to protect her with gentle words and unbending strength. No Danaar with her wide grin and accurate aim or Siroth with the breath of fire, no Lassir or Makrik or Thaloom... The name of her fallen saviors echo through the mind, blocking out the words of the spear-carrying mare that could have saved Rilo from fear and pain and impending doom.
She run back and realizes how close the clearing is only when she bursts into it again, stumbling from nightly shadows and into a nightmare lit by burning stars and a pale moon that rises slowly over the horizon. A thin wail escape from lips pressed tightly together as she spots a pale shadow stretched onto its side, long legs collapsed and twitching slightly as the gray stallion tries to rise. Behind him lies two other shadows, clad in armor so broken that it falls from the bodies as she watches. One dead, the other dying, thrashing and moaning as blood pools from a deep gash in the neck. And above Tiimar hovers the third one, injured but steady on the feet still. The soldier looks up at the sound of her voice, surprise flashing across the armored face but soon turning into a vicious smile that send rivulets of loathing through the girl. Blood soaks the ivory horn, dripping down the face and onto the downed equine, who can only watch with desperate eyes as the princess return. Why, his eyes ask her sadly, why did she return?
She couldn't give him an answer even if the tongue would move. Fear and confusion control her legs now, anger propel her forward into the clearing, throwing her thin, abused frame in between the general and his prey. Surely this must be the end. In a way Rilo is glad that it came to this. What could be better than for a princess to die for one of her people? Better than it be the other way around, like she has seen so many times before. Almost relieved she closes her eyes, resigned and waiting for the spear of the unicorn to pierce her chest.
There are no miracles.
Rilosanne Ka'Adina
Silent whispers, Silent tears
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| Deceased |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.2 hands :: 5 years Buff: BULK |
| Blu |
10-14-2012, 01:25 AM
(This post was last modified: 10-14-2012, 01:29 AM by Ricochet.)
"Kill."
The command is silent, but the intent is the same as two bodies streak through the woods.
The first comes low and fast. A blur of black and white on paws that cut easily through the snow and the brush. He darts between the mare and stallion, amber eyes a glower as fangs flash in quick succession. The dog is an elegant mover, nimble and athletic he drives his teeth at the delicate nose of the unicorn without ever staying in one spot. He started in silence to maintain the element of surprise for as long as possible, but now the chest rumbles and the lips curl nearly to his ears as violent snarls sizzle into the air.
The master is not far beyond the hound.
Ricochet comes like a golden bullet. His hooves slam the ground with less certainty than the dog's paws, but this is not the stallion's first winter. He uses the glide of the snow and mud to his advantage, feinting before ducking shoulder first towards the unicorn. The accuracy of sliding is an imperfect variable however, so it's likely he'll bump into Rilo as he moves, but he intends to place himself between her and that horn, tacking the gash to his left shoulder if needed. He plans to use that same shoulder to slam his momentum into the horned marauder and rattle his balance, which is likely already usurped from shying at the dog's facial assault. Even as the fore hand of Ricochet comes to rest, likely by collision, his hind quarters utilize the slick of the snow to swing around and into the unicorn, making them parallel now. Back feet hike up to snap out at the back legs of the assaulter while teeth aim their own snaps as the offender's neck line.
"Ricochet the Incendiary and Guns. You're going to die."
As is customary Ricochet ensures that whoever has the misfortune of fighting with him will know his name, so that when they die they know who takes the honor of their life. His father, his mentor, would have left it at the name, but Ricochet can't ever help but add a menacing remark to truly salt the wound.
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Ainle and Pherick Posts: N/A
Ainle and Pherick stand side by side, gazing at the horizon for a moment in a moment where little else bothered them but the beauty that resonated from the darkened horizon, the glowing stars and the bright shining moon. It was a truly beautiful night but the chill of Frostfall nipped at one like a dog at one’s heels. Ainle turned her small tiara to gaze at Pherick even though she saw nothing, the gesture made her feel better and she could always see him, like a perfect picture in her mind. Before the other mare had shown up, a bright light catches Pherick’s attention, shining in the corner of his eyes. He softly caresses Ainle and speaks equally as soft to her in a whisper,
“We have company, Ainle.”
Ainle nodded at him and turned toward where she could hear something touching down. It was a Pegasus? Pherick stared hard at her, his entire body stance speaking of being exceptionally over-protective. She has many wounds and is obviously hurt, which she tried to hide with her fiery wings but failed. This thought made him even more skeptical. Pherick didn’t have the luxury of underestimating others. He had Ainle to think of, no matter how capable she was. Now the other mare appears as well, the little worn out creature who looks like a ghost without being dead. Pherick softly and tenderly touches Ainle, announcing the arrival of another. The Pegasus mare speaks though, and her words seem to be out of compassion,
"You are hurt and weary- all of you,"
The chestnut mare who had come running suddenly bursts out in speech,
"You need to help me! You have to save Tiimar, he's trying to take on three opponents without rest, they are too many and I cannot do anything to help him! He's sacrificing his life for me, just like all the others, and I won't allow it. Come quickly before it's too late!"
Her voice was strong, much stronger than she looked and Pherick lifted his head higher and cocked his head sideways. This little mare who had come so suddenly reminded him painfully of the creature Ainle had been before she became blind and he felt compelled to help her however he could. This mare was brave and Ainle found herself admiring her strength. She knew Pherick would hesitate to help the girl and so she softly nudged his neck,
“Go, I’ll be fine.”
Pherick looks at her, obviously worried but then her nudges her softly and sets off in a powerful gallop after the little chestnut mare. In sync both of them burst into a clearing and the horrific scene opens like a book before Pherick. A loud scream comes from his mouth and he charges into action just as the little chestnut mare accelerates. Suddenly another unknown male appears, instantly going for the attacker who was standing over the little chestnut’s protector. Pherick instantly changes action and stopped the little mare from going any closer to the attacker. His eyes speak more than words ever could as he gazes into her own. ‘Stay here, we’ll handle it’ his eyes seemed to say and a moment later he launched at the unicorn. After a powerful attack the other stallion announces his name, Ricochet. Pherick, tall and powerful as he is skids to a halt beside Ricochet, who in this case was now an ally and speaks,
“You will die for your crimes.”
Without another second to waste he lunges at the unicorn, careful to avoid the horn as front hooves lift up high, aiming to slam into the male’s sides. Landing with precision he kicks up his heels, massive amounts of power driving the full on kick. Once again he lands and prances a few strides away, lowering his head in a threatening manner…
"Ainle Speak"
"Pherick Speak"
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