the Rift


[PRIVATE] I only see what matters [hatching]

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#1

Erebos
nothing satisfies but I'm getting close

Victory, vengeance, and revenge tasted beautiful on his mouth. It sizzled across his tongue, forked and serpentine like a snake, like an asp, like a cobra, and he was fire, he was brimstone, he was all embers, all consecration, coiled on the banks of the lake, successful and intrepid, courageous and damned. Erebos wanted to dive against the contentment, the satisfaction, and yield to it again, roam until each and every enemy was maimed, ripped, and torn apart, buried deep in the hollows where no one would find them, where no one would remember their name. He’d be a monster, a piece of malice, a weapon against the world, and it’d be breathtaking, searing, enticing, and alluring.
 
But for now, he could settle, poised on the threshold of triumph and treachery, smiling down at the bundle nestled between his forelegs. He’d received another companion, a gift, a blessing, something his avaricious mind had gleamed upon and never thought possible. How many times had he strived? How many times had he begged? How many times had he pleaded and cried and wanted? Every time, the world had looked away, had chosen someone else, had left him one more mark of failure in a long list of ineffectual moments. But this one hadn’t been (and oh lord, to watch that other kitsune sizzle and gnarl in pain had been worth the tribulations), and it only encompassed the layers of his defiance more. His boldness, his impudence, his brazen regards had finally landed him what he’d craved; perseverance, tenacity, and abominations had favored the little lost prince, and he intended to cherish the opportunity.
 
The egg did naught, shaking a little, like an absent-minded thought, an obscure gesture, and Orsino would reach across to poke it, fascinated, curious, more than just the devil and demon locked in sable finery and Stygian pursuits. Erebos arched his brow, some semblance of a warning to the other beast, and for once in his life, the fiend listened, rocked back on his haunches, sitting, staring, fascinated. The prince and his fox could wait – stirred again by patience, by duty, by experience, by glory and its poignant facets; his heart beat longingly for so many things all at once (but this would be enough, enough for now). Another beginning curled amidst them – a revival, a resurgence, a renewal, and he looked towards the mountains again, along the tomb where his father reigned, wondered if he was somehow part of this blessing too. 

[Simultaneous hatching ftw!]

Art by Yew


@Enna

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#2
I'VE COME TO KNOW THAT MEMORIES WERE THE BEST THINGS YOU EVER HAD


You climb back to your mountains, to the melting snow and to the pines, to the comfort of home, gray satin folded to your chest. Your heart is not so heavy this time, your body not so exhausted, having gone down to the meadow where your daughter rests to place flowers on her grave, to tell her of the beauty still in the world, to remind her that you have not, could not have, forgotten her. You are not so lost this time, because it is the first time that Birdsong has brought hope instead of only death for you.

Carefully placed within the folds of the fabric there is just an egg, and within that egg is just a creature. You had known from the second you saw it what it was, understanding enough of Helovia to know that companions come from eggs no matter what they are, and that they are special because they bond to a single soul to become one with its chosen. You hadn't, however, ever thought that you would be one of the ones to find one.

You had never truly given any of it much thought at all.

You find him along the lakeside, still as the mirror before him, your mind too clouded with questions mostly coming down to what now to recognize the triumph and victory where there is usually (wrongfully) only defeat. Your steps are at first long and sweeping, bordering on the edge of dance as you go to him, slowing only as your eyes pass from the place where a man had first fallen, following the boy's gaze to the shadows, to the resting place of a lifetime of memories, of dedication, of an era—of your king and his father.

You stop near him, forgetting for a moment of your discovery and all the things you want to ask, to say, suddenly trying to bury the guilt of having not been able to do more than stand and watch, for once not crying, trying to be his strength while he was crumbling, breaking, when he had none himself, swallow against the lump in your throat (for what right do you have, standing next to him when he has lost, lost and lost again?), cling instead to the pride that bloomed within you that day; smile softly as you reach to press your lips to the curve of his shoulder in greeting, offering quiet support, mindful of the delicate bundle that hangs against your breast. It is only as you pull from him to look at the satin slip around your neck that you notice something familiar resting against his legs, round and white and wonderful, nothing able to stop the giggle that bubbles from your chest as enchanted as you are.

"Erebos, you have an egg!" It comes nearly breathless, your timid smile widening into something altogether joyful, the gloom of the morning melting away as you lean closer, gentle in your movements, for once extending a glance to the kitsune spun from indian ink and night, shoving away the questions of what it means for him, for the both of them, knowing that Erebos wouldn't simply cast the beast aside, too entrapped to recall of him ever speaking of a heathen with one gold, one white.

Before long you lower your head further, pooling the slate-colored material against the ground before gingerly shaking your neck to loosen it from its position. "I found one too." A smile before you sober, blinking once in pause before nudging the soft material to uncover the smoothness of a shell, not fully grasping the delightful coincidence of you both finding one.

"It was beneath my daughter's tree, nestled in this. I had thought that maybe someone left it, but no one ever came." You do not speak of the way the object had tugged at you to your very core from the moment you had laid eyes on it, the way that something in you shifted and you couldn't leave it, even when you had tried, of your childish thoughts of things meaning to be and that you were somehow meant to find it, as if it had been something from her, your nose brushing the material as you move to briefly admire your treasure again, finally looking up to your lionheart.




@Erebos


please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#3

Erebos
nothing satisfies but I'm getting close

  The silence was steady, and in the midst of it he remained seditious, masked by the indulgent smile, scorched by the conquest brewing from his tempestuous, hallowed figure – staring once more back at the caves, before sweeping his eyes over the lake, the horizon, the egg clutched between his forelegs. It was a symbol of his dominance, his supremacy, the ability to defy and unravel, and that someone, somewhere, thought he was capable, thought he could be more than the stumbling prince, the lackluster scion, the boy who’d steadily begun to grow into his role in life. Where the pieces fell thereafter was unknown, but he knew where he pledged, he knew what he’d promised, he knew how persistence had defined him, and all those oaths, all those assurances, would hold more meaning. He’d become the definition of tenacity, of fortitude, of defiance against the world, press his schemes, his sword, his shield into the realms and show them the keen, ardent edges of his power. He’d be justice and vengeance contorted into a singular vessel; an insurrection brought to life, an inferno, a blaze, a righteous fury born from death and rain.
 
Consumed, devoured, and swallowed by the mercenary upheaval, he almost didn’t catch Enna’s presence – Orsino alerted him with a gruff movement, and the General’s head swung to watch her approach, uncertain on how where they stood, on what would catch, snarl, and snare them again. His gaze studied her quickly, only gave a hint of scrutiny, trying to gauge if she was still scarred, still marred, still plagued by prior demons, by beasts and monsters who hunted within caves (struggling not to bite his tongue in rage – and then the egg moved, shuddered some more). “Enna,” he offered with a smile, with a slight lean towards her touch (not forgetting the last; when all he’d done was sob, weeping on the banks, trying to remember his father, strong and proud, instead of deceased, withering, decaying upon the shore). Through all their trials, arguments, quarrels over rights and wrongs, on peeling away the lacquer of distorted movements, of fiends who should’ve been broken and torn asunder (not left alone, consequences damned, forgotten, free to strike again without mercy), at least she still remained, and that counted for so many things he couldn’t express or give name to. His grin was natural again in the wake of her presence, a little haunted, a little more withdrawn, a little anguished, but the youth still gave it freely – nodding at her proclamation. “I discovered it in a cave,” he proffered, but didn’t proclaim the rest of the story (how kitsunes had hunted down its mother, how he’d granted them one chance to flee, to stray, to escape, how they’d refused, and how he’d bestowed pain, renewal and resurgence, and how he’d felt powerful, unrelenting, ferocious).
 
The weight of his stare lingered upon hers too, tucked neatly within her sash, and his smile grew for her, excited, ebullient, still reminiscent of days with charms and charisma, taunts and snickers, chases and duels. Erebos parted his mouth to speak again, to offer her congratulations, but she continued, and he fell silent, listening, ears perked, swiveling on top of his noble crown. Her egg had been unearthed by far more honorable measures, and his stare flickered to the ground as she spoke of her daughter, the little lost girl he’d never met, and how the orb had been nestled there, beneath limbs and boughs. The General wanted to bestow all sorts of thoughts and expressions, bent on ruminations and sentiments (like then it must’ve been meant for you or perhaps it was yours all along), but he didn’t know how they’d be received, if the words held enough meaning, enough grace, enough dignity. They stuck to his throat, rasped and grated there, seemingly insignificant and unruly, and all he could muster thereafter was a wild exuberance, catching fire, simmering past his bones, past his sorrows, past his anguish. “Maybe it was waiting for you,” he shrugged, curling his smile back into something regal and real, trying to ignore the sudden throbbing in his heart. He shifted slightly, patting his muzzle along the embankment in invitation for her, winking, bright, puzzling over the reel of his emotions. The prince’s gaze then found his egg again, watched as it shook, a tiny fissure, a little crack, beginning to bloom along the top. “What do you know about companions?” He posed to her, inquiring even as he found himself incapable of taking his eyes off the artifact, he and Orsino both absorbed by the significant changes surrounding them.


Art by Yew


@Enna

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#4
I'VE COME TO KNOW THAT MEMORIES WERE THE BEST THINGS YOU EVER HAD


You had forgotten the arguments, of the way he had left you with the shards of yourself, all of your tears, left you when you were crumbling because of a man you didn't even know, a crime you didn't commit, how he had tried to defend you, telling you the things you needed (but did not want) to hear and how you had only struck out in return, trying to tear down the convictions that mean(t) so much to him, and how he had stayed to punish a fiend instead of climbing back up the mountain home with you. You had forgotten, and even as his hesitation reminds you of it, you push it away, swallow the bitterness that still clings to some corner of your aching soul, smiling to reassure him, to reassure yourself, to keep the words from finding their way from you now.

'Enna,' and he smiles, losing you within the folds of its making, a little... less but still his,  your anger, his betrayal, lost once more to you, too, as quickly as it had come. Your eyes drift to the oval at his feet as he says only that he got it from a cave,  the curl of your lips growing upwards, becoming brighter in your excitement, too entrenched to ponder the depths hidden there between his teeth, in the shadow of his glances and all the silence in between.

'Maybe it was waiting for you,' you laugh, and laugh again as he echoes your sentiments, as he winks and smiles again, thoroughly delighted to hear it come from him, to have it be more than just a childish thought, the wishings of a woman who had once buried fragments of herself there beneath that tree, kept only to yourself.  “Yes, I think it was.” The pianissimo of your laugh quiets into the silence punctuated by the humming life brought by the mild spring that has reached even the Basin.

There is the slightest noise, one that you almost miss, that directs your attention back to his egg, your eyes widening at a crack that had not been there before, a fresh swell of excitement rising within you hotly, breathing out to expel the squeak at the back of your throat. His question catches you off-guard then, and you only stare stupidly at the quivering orb, for moments too stunned by this start of something new to think of an answer.

“Just this,” you begin belatedly, a hushed whisper, and like the two of them, at first your eyes do not move from the cracking shell. “That they begin life as eggs, hatching into many different creatures that bond to your soul.” You shrug, discouraged in your own lack of knowledge, fighting against the worry that begins to chew at your heart as you finally look down to your own egg, the reality of a creature, unknown to you, curled within the fragile walls suddenly terrifying when there had been only excitement.

It had been the same for your child(ren), the instinctual fear of the unknown and all of your self-doubt, the memory of a girl with black locks and dead eyes, that maybe could have lived if you only tried a little harder, cared a little more before it had been too late. You had known enough of what would come then, however, known that your body would provide what they had needed and that they would not starve, would not want.

You had known enough, and Etziel had not sunk into your soul, a second being sharing all the damaged pieces of you that even you do not want, would part with if there ever came a chance, had not been made to bear the winter that is always in your heart. And yet, for all the swirling doubt and regret, the sudden opposition to ever being stupid enough to bring this thing with you, as the little creature begins to wobble, showing its first signs of life, you find your breath caught in your throat, the heat chased from your cheeks, your reservations too selfishly far from your reach for you to want to grasp at them again just yet.




@Erebos


please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#5

Erebos
nothing satisfies but I'm getting close

  Her laughter caught him off guard; bewildered him in its eerie delight, made him wonder, made him ponder, if they’d patched things together by the decrees of silence, of isolation, or because of all the things that had happened in between those measures of irritation. He felt like he’d apologized a million times for things he never could understand, too wicked, too engrossed, embedded and enshrouded in hours of vengeance, of ensuring an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, incapable of fathoming her disapproval, her heartache. But maybe they’d tied that off for now, left it simmering somewhere else, low, embers to be rekindled later, perhaps forgotten entirely, mended and molded over in the seams of time and place, of experiences and sorrow. His ears swiveled, there atop the illustrious blue and black crown, listening to the eldritch, siren sway of her giggle, and then the layers of her hushed whispers, as if she was forgoing ancient secrets, giving into primordial tactics. There were a few stretched moments where Erebos wanted to make her smile and snicker again, like days and seasons before, when they’d marauded and joked, played pranks on unsuspecting inhabitants, mocked the world for pure amusement and chicanery; but the jocular schemes were frail, torn, blemished, and the world didn’t seem light enough to throw them into the horizon. So he let the instant sink, only stirred by his convictions, only held aloft by the sheer anchor of his will, eyes watching hers as she studied the egg clutched between his legs, whirling and crackling steadily, the beast contained desperate to make its presence known. “They do more than just bond,” he added, winking, taking the time to study Orsino and his sable outline, the creation of a terrific, terrible infidel who aligned to his whole world – and speared it too, always eager and ready for a chance to squander an enemy, to bludgeon a friend, to destroy everything and anything that threatened them. The kitsune might have even puffed out his chest at the inclination, but Erebos snorted, scoffing at him all the while. “Their thoughts intertwine with yours, and you become two halves of a whole.” One day, perhaps, no one would know how to tell either of them apart (except by the natural order of unicorn versus fox), too uniform, too connected, too whittled and sculpted and carved by the same artisan, melded by contempt, by loathing, by daring, blasphemous audacity.
 
His stare coaxed back to hers for an instant, pretending the ricocheting, reverberating egg wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. “I always wanted one when I was little. I thought they were amazing.” He tilted his head, aimed to examine the creature stuffed along fabric and along her chest, smiling all the while, quiet, gallant, intrepid. “So I went through trials and quests, hoping I’d be favored.” His adventures had been amusing at best and frustrating at the worst; always tossed aside for someone else, for a more stunning infidel, for a more cunning cretin, until one day the dark forest had granted him his desires. “Eventually, I was lucky enough to be granted Orsino.” The fox rolled his eyes, stuck out his tongue, hissed a little in response, but Erebos just laughed, a boy all over again. “Who knows what I’ve done to deserve this one.” But he knew exactly what he’d done, forging pretenses once more, ensuing defiance against the world for all its ugliness and allegiance to the damned. He turned to her, regal and noble and then everything else put together – steadfast, bright, twisted, unfurling and uncoiling and damaged beyond all reason, uttering an oath, a promise, because it was his purpose. “You’ll be fine.”
 
Then the egg finally shattered between his forelegs, and his attention severed from the Mender’s to his newly anointed companion, eyes segmented entirely on the beast that could never be heralded as a stranger. Its stare focused on him first – beautiful and black, feminine and wily, and his gaze took in the rest of her – spotted body, long, gangly legs, an illustrious, feline presence accompanied by Stygian (raven) wings and a short beak. “A griffin,” he whispered, remembering the mother he’d saved within the cavern, the egg she’d clutched, protected, despite everything the other kitsunes had done to her. The other bond slowly trickled through his skull, combining with his and Orsino’s, and he was briefly overwhelmed by the third presence there, quiet and unassuming, waiting for something, anything, to happen in this illustrious moment. She squawked, rather indignant, and he laughed once more (Orsino, for all his curiosity, wrinkled his nose), paying credence to a lost father, and to a fellow shield maiden in the making. “I’ll call her Enyo.”

Art by Yew


@Enna

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#6
I'VE COME TO KNOW THAT MEMORIES WERE THE BEST THINGS YOU EVER HAD


“From the raven. I remember.” Remember the way it was to be frightened by the unknown, frail in the face of monsters that never existed, shaping shadows into grotesque, nameless things, never once thinking that it would ever be those you trusted, the faces you knew, the hearts you thought pieces of you belonged to, to make you feel so very vulnerable and weak, betrayed. Remember the things that you always think of when it comes to him, things that you miss, before you knew of black-heart desires, of schemes of revenge and the taste of blood, for justice, he says.

'Who knows what I've done to deserve this one,' It makes you laugh then, loosens your grip on your twisting sorrow, makes you want to forget the quiver in your heart every time you look at him, forget that he had ever told you anything as his face crinkles with laughter, too, makes you wish that nothing had ever changed and you could still be the reason for it, that the two of you had never begun crumbling away from one another. “Who knows who you would be without him.”

Your gaze slips to his sable fox then, wondering just how much of an influence the creature has had over Erebos, how much he has changed from the moment the creature had climbed from his egg and all the moments in between. There is a second of stillness before you inhale, more unsure of the beast than you ever have been, shoving your doubt and the questions that you do not truly want an answer to away, down, winking at the boy, trying your best to reassure him, to reassure yourself of the changes to come, his words of complete immersion with another being sitting heavily on your chest. It would be a lie to say you understand, to say that you are ready to share all of yourself, all of another.  

And then, 'you'll be fine.'

He doesn't mean it as anything more than what it is—those same reassurances that you offer him, the gentle encouragement to believe instead of always doubting, and still the words twist between your waning soul and all the tenderly intimate memories of a man and a hurricane, moments that you could never truly regret for the good that they have brought you, however raw they are.

“Someone told me that before I had Etziel, too—that I would be a great mother.” The smile that comes is soft, wistful, and you shake your head gently, sending ripples through your curls. There is more there to be said,  more doubt that has always gnawed at the tenderness of your heart than could ever be soothed with words and consolation, as much as he has tried, as much as that man made of sandstone, soul crafted from shifting clay, had tried to convince you that a son, in all your fears, your loss, amidst trying to keep yourself from unraveling, was something that you could raise alone.

There is more, and yet nothing is said.

You look away from your lionheart then, as you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, your face as it twists, away to the sway of the water as it breathes slow against the thawing land, to the kitsune, the egg nestled, cracking and shaking at his feet, lingering there for moments in subdued anticipation, not knowing when it would be time, to the trinket swathed in slate before you. Even now you can feel its presence beneath the shell, the quiet, constant tug on every part of you, cannot help but to wonder if it can feel it too, if there is some consciousness of the world around it.  

It is not until he speaks under his breath that you lift your head again, only high enough to see a tiny body where his egg had been, its fragments scattered beneath her. 'A griffin,' he says (and even he hadn't known what she would be, like you and the veiled creature that leans against you), and you can only stare, your eyes tracing the line of her beak, the fold of her delicate wings and the wonderful blooms of black along her skin. For moments you remain still, as ensnared as he must be by the new life and all its beautiful consequences, your distance kept despite your curiosity, the excitement that begins to bubble within you for your friend, not wanting to come between the trio of them, the meeting of their souls for the very first time, unwilling to ruin a moment meant only for him, until he murmurs a name, a permanence. “It suits her, I think.”

There is an unease as you look to her, your ears tilting backwards as you smile sweetly, sheepishly, extending your muzzle ever so slightly forwards to welcome her into the world. “Hello Enyo.” And that is all that is given, your ears tilting back as a wave of heat (embarrassment) flushes through you, uncertain of how she will receive you, if she will even understand.  

And just as quickly as his had been, there is a distinct shift against your skin. You pull from her, pull from the trembling shell, glancing to the boy as it begins to crack and shatter, as your chest begins to throb with the wildness of your heart. There is nothing else there as he begins to emerge, pale like the stars, edged in soft grays, eyes of gold—as you break against him, as your entirety melts into the quiet pour of his soul, as his new existence begins to breathe in time with yours. There is nothing left of your apprehension, of your sense of a lack of preparedness or your guilt; there is only calm, a sense of wonder as you trace the slenderness of his distinctly canine frame, his long legs and snout, the comically large ears atop his head, the fullness of his tail, and you smile yet again, gingerly pressing your lips to the crown of his skull. “And I will call you Mehr.”




@Erebos


please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#7

Erebos
nothing satisfies but I'm getting close

   Who knows who you would be without him.
 
For a moment, his gaze changed, altering from staring down at Enyo and her amiable chirrups, swinging suddenly over to Orsino, lost in momentary thought, even as the griffin’s notions suddenly began to assemble in his. He’d never even given half a second’s notice or inclination towards the possibility of not having Orsino. As a boy, he’d seen his first companion (Adelric’s, newly hatched and glowing), and simply craved, like all other things, wanted and yearned and hastened to have one of his own. It’d been simplistic and avaricious, like so many other schemes (when greed took over, when pride and determination melded together), and his steadfast sedition had encouraged him again and again to try, to strive, to take. He failed on numerous occasions, stumbled and bumbled, was forgotten, was barely noticed, until one day in the woods, where the raven had spotted him and presumed he was ready, granting him an egg after trials, after tribulations, after all the corruption, all the invocations, stored within his soul had tugged at the pearly edges of the kitsune’s shell. Perhaps it’d been inevitable, through his sheer will, through his maddening rapacity, through his mercenary claws, that they’d influence the beast within the orb – or Orsino was like this all along too, from the moment they connected, breathed together, in unison, as heathens and infidels. What would he have been without the sable fox – and the answer sprung to his lips in a quiet sort of snicker, a smirk, a gesture of soullessness only given to the kitsune, because the little fiend knew better than anyone else – Erebos would still be hunting, ravenous and wolfish, surging against the grain for his chance, for his opportunity, to have what he desired. Maybe he’d be just as dastardly. Maybe he’d be just as duplicitous. Maybe the hunger would’ve swallowed him whole, devoured and consumed until he was merely a piece of maneuvering voracity, a glutton for anything and everything, reaching forward with grasping claws and belligerent fangs. Maybe he would’ve become an unrelenting force, sharpened by the weight of failure again and again; or whittled, sculpted, lined by the edges of his demonic intrepidity sooner – a monster etched in indulgence.
 
He didn’t tell her any of these things; shared the bond of turbulent brothers and then scorched his gaze back to her as she spoke, as Enyo curled against his chest, as Orsino sniffed at her baby, downy feathers – caught and snared by a passing line. Her doubt was encompassing, a veil of loss, and he frowned at how easily she damaged herself, at how she plucked at the measure of her flaws and defects as if they couldn’t be fixed, and he wanted to shout something, anything, to take her away from her own vile desolation. He’d never asked about Etziel and his disappearance, presumed and assumed many things about the absent boy (perhaps he’d gone to his father, maybe he explored), figured he’d turn up eventually like the thousand other beasts who ran into the midst and mist, who followed trails of the forlorn, who wanted nothing to do with the world they left behind. But the prince had naught to say, quiet, wishing to proclaim his faith in her abilities (because he had it there, eternally lodged in chest), uncertain how to trace it over his lips – until ultimately, all he did was ask, inquire, about the little boy who once made castles of sand. “Where is he now?” Then she shook her head, a rhapsody of movement, and it seemed the subject was over, finalized, curt, a tempest rolling over her mind, threatening to overwhelm later, when she was alone, when he couldn’t give or grant any comfort. His smile vanished, his brow furrowed, and he was utterly lost for a series of instances, grasping at nothing, watching as she bent down, reaching for the baby griffin. His heart swelled when the hatchling inclined forward, little beak clicking, intending to touch the soft velvet of Enna’s muzzle, and suddenly his voice, though quiet, became steady and sure again. “What’s stopping you?” Then he smiled without the Cheshire motions or the dastardly whims; all determination and spirit, fortitude and might, faith forged in his tone, in his words. “You should find him again.”
 
Then she pulled away, and the world seemed right once more – no sooner had Enyo emerged, than Enna’s companion does the same, galvanized by the essence of the realm, by the newness of the empire, by the need for balance and restoration. His grin was broad and boyish as the wolf followed suit, a cub, a pup, marked by silver and white, a blend of snow and ice (perfection for the mountains high above them, for the valleys down below), a predator for a healer. It was perfection to him, enough to send him into a booming, exuberant laugh, a molded, tenacious smile, phrases following suit in their same wild abandon. “Congratulations!” His stare flickered from Mehr to Enna and back again, Orsino only arching a brow, Enyo looking on (more newness; more curiosity flooding through his skull), and a sort of teasing refrain fell from his mouth, permitted to be silly again. “How does it feel?”


Art by Yew


@Enna

Blu the Bootyful Posts: 443
Administrator atk: 99 | def: 99 | dam: 99
Mare :: Other :: 5'7" :: 25 HP: 99999 | Buff: TWERK
Blu
#8
unarchived per request
 HP: 1100

Helovia Hard Mode

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#9
I'VE COME TO KNOW THAT MEMORIES WERE THE BEST THINGS YOU EVER HAD

You should find him again.

“I’ve tried—“ It is an admission of defeat, breathed out in a whisper filled with your frustrations, your worries and doubts that have hounded you from the moment he had vanished. There is hurt, too, buried somewhere out of reach, beneath the things that climb to the surface with ease, hurt in the face of the suggestion that it is simply that easy, that you just have not been trying (hard enough), and if you only looked, he would come back to you.

But he hasn’t.

There is an unspoken, untouched part of you that dreads all that that could mean, of the things that could have gone so very wrong for a child, of all the times you have looked and found nothing, nothing to ground you to the knowledge that he hasn't just disappeared entirely, that at least he is still breathing. Your spine trembles, heart quaking with the fear that any mother would be right for having, one that you have tried to deny over the months, the changing of seasons since he had gone. It would consume you, bury you beneath the crumbling pieces of your world, deep enough so that you would never find the will to rise again.

Denied it, because there is an even bigger part of you that knows he is alive, believes that you would have felt something different by now, a resonation within your bones, your soul, if he was not.

“I haven’t stopped trying.” The words come suddenly as you shake from yourself, look to the lake instead of him so that he may not see the (undeserved) accusations, the dull hurt, that lay just underneath. Even when your body had been broken, bruised, when it had been an agony to walk and your heart had been filled with the fear of being alone, heavy to the point of bursting with failures and worry, you hadn’t stopped. Even now, through feverish dreams, the feeling that he does not want to be found, you have not stopped. It simply isn't within you. Your shoulders shrug slowly, brows folding together as you look at him, forcing yourself to smile instead of crying. “The more I have the more lost he's felt to me, as if I've somehow only pushed him further away by trying,” you pause as the words become shards in your chest, piercing, reminding you of how he had always been, distant in the attempts of your closeness. “But how can I not?”

It isn’t something that is meant to be answered.

There is a soft whine at your feet and you shift, instantly beginning to tuck away the turmoil that your son’s absence brings, allowing yourself to instead meld with the comparative calm that he offers you, apologies thick in your mind. He sighs, placing his head on large paws, watching the three in front of him with mild interest. It is different, the intimate influence of another, how easy it had been to let go, knowing that it helped nothing, to have another outlet besides your own turbulence.

How does it feel?’ He asks, and there is a surprised bark of laughter in response, entangled, overwhelmed in the foreign feeling of the newness of it all, of the constant noise where there has been stillness in every forgotten piece of you. And you move against it, push closer to the absoluteness of it; finally smiling down at the pup nestled now quiet, still, at your feet. “As if I’ve only been asleep all this time.” Between the lines of his laugh, of the same smile you’ve seen a thousand times despite everything, you know it isn’t what the boy expected.

A breath of a laugh comes then to undermine your moment of sincerity, a singular moment of vulnerability (though what is once more, when he has known the deepest parts of you?), as your eyes trail to each of them in turn, your smile only growing until a desperate hunger begins to bleed through your being. Your head lifts to blink stupidly at the boy, as if you do not know what comes next, as if the dietary needs of a predator are lost on you. The how is what you do not, cannot, come to terms with on your own, and it churns your stomach to think of, suddenly aware amidst the echoing of his soul, the new, beautiful consciousness that presses closely to yours, the moments where it had all become one. “He’s hungry.”



@Erebos


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Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#10

Erebos
nothing satisfies but I'm getting close

  He’d been mistaken somewhere – there was an error, a miscalculation, because the moment the words had slipped past his tongue she’d admitted she’d tried - and he felt monstrously foolish. Trying had always been his anthem: if he failed, he attempted again and again and again until his soul was buried, until his body was withered, until his heart was decayed. It was a part of his anatomy, a contortion of his marrow, to push against the grain, to dig into the soil, to pulse and pervade all the intrepid determination coiled amidst his blood, and perhaps he’d harpooned too far now, made her believe she hadn’t done enough. The youth had only wished for something more, for her, for the light to shine back in her eyes, for her son to appear over the horizon, freshly summoned, beckoned from the shadows, reappearing the way dozens had before him – no consequences, only gallantry, pleasantries, and laughter. Instead, they altered course again, drifted down the road of rubble and ruin, and he shook his head, stared out over the denizens of the shifting water, the lost rhapsody, the valorous meanings struck down, blow for blow. Lord, he was so tired of the disconnect, the way they confounded one another, befuddled, bewildered, and as she spoke, as she quivered, as she shook, he just remained there, lost for words, measured by the strength of his stoic silence. They used to have an understanding, cravers of mischief and rebellion, musing on the intricacies of devilry and impishness, but somewhere along the way they’d cracked and fissured, and he’d tried (there was that word again, still there, resonant and bleeding) to understand. Perhaps the lines had been blurred by too many other events – loss and pain, sorrow and anguish, lines bending in alternate routes and directions, paths curving back upon themselves too soon or too late. When others disappeared around him, he searched, he looked, he craved – sometimes they were found, sometimes they’d wandered off into the midst and there was nothing else he could do (look ahead, the Sun God had said); but this was her son.
 
He didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want his fortitude, his might, his endurance, his perseverance. She didn’t yearn to hear of one more exultant phrase, one more precise, reverential pledge. He’ll come back, he longed to promise, but it’d be empty and unknown, feral and defeated, like so many other notions he’d shouted into the air, exposed for their indulgence, for their avarice, for their sedition. The shame flickered through his vessel, curved and carved its own blistering sentiments, scorched, urged, and seared flesh, bone, along its maker. So his jaw tightened, his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and he gave one brief look to her, utterly confused and a bit helpless, before shifting his gaze to the sand, to the soil, to the dirt.
 
Erebos watched her companion out of the corner of his eye though, and his bonded beasts did the same – Enyo, with her newness, with her soft, delicate feathers and curious eyes, and Orsino, with his bestial nature, coiled within their master’s mind and resumed there place within – timeless and crafty. Her laughter surprised him again though, for he presumed it was adrift, lost at sea the way they seemed to be, disunited and discordant; his stare glanced towards hers, ears flicked along her answer, and the corner of his mouth tucked upward for an instant, a ginger reunion and truce. At the very least, he can help with the next iteration of words, and he rose, power, undulating precision and devastation in the ripple of his muscles, in the keen depths of his stretch – smirking briefly to the sable kitsune, in on his own joke. “Orsino can show him how to hunt,” he offered, the Cheshire grin finding its way home, not glancing back to watch the fox sneer with disdain.

Art by Yew

@Enna


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