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 Posted: Tue Jun 19, 2012 11:15 pm
Chapter One
fear - n. - a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined  Oh, how he missed sleep. How he missed the comfort of the dream, the imaginary dangers and thrills that proved to be imaginary once one reentered the waking world. How he missed the promise of the sun come the morning after, the promise of sweet grass and clean water and his solitude to follow. Within a dream, all that is feared is but a shadow, a fragment of childhood imagination calling out in rebellion. Within a dream, all that is felt is like the wind, fleeting and without harm, no matter how vivid pain or joy may be.
There is no ghostly sense of touch within the waking world. There is no comfort of a warm, sunny morning to come. Here, there is pain, sharp and flaring, like fire. Here, there is blood, metallic against his tongue and churning in his stomach. Here, there is death, stalking him like a wild cat, constantly taunting him with it's gaunt, yellow eyes. There is no peace within his dreams, now, and no sweet grass or clean water. Everything tastes of ash, and he keeps to himself, despite the fact of his company. Two mare; two victims, and both of them polar opposites of one another. He cannot even begin to imagine what a medium would be, and he cannot begin to imagine trying to balance it.
Atgas; the Venge. Lost in her own insanity and occupied with nothing but her possession of them.
Dalriada; the Quiet. Shy, and fearful of the world around them, foolishly trusting the monster that keeps them caged.
And he? He is but the thing that slows them on their escape, the arrowhead that remains lodged in his flesh, just behind the elbow, cutting deeper and deeper each day. It infuriates him, to know that Dalriada carries the burden of her past around her neck and her leg, and still somehow manages to carry on so swiftly, so surely, where he stumbles and grunts and curses every step he takes. It enrages him, and it humbles him, to have to rely on the care of a gentle mare who's only hope is a world away from pain.
Yet, isn't that what they both want?
He lies beside the creek, staring down it's path and beyond, never really seeing. The dogs have not come for them in days, and he has yet to hear the thwung! of a bowstring; he almost thinks to consider this place safe. Almost, because he does not, because to do so would be foolish. Had his home not been 'safe' for years? All that he has known has been lost, and all he has been told a lie. And yet, here they are, in some strange and foreign land, without a clue of where they are, or where to go, or when the next attack might come. It scares him, and in turn, that only makes him angrier, grinding his teeth and scowling at nothing. How can he hope to exude confidence when he allows fear to enter his mind? There is no room for fear. There is no room for error, and there is certainly no room for rest.
Despite these things, he cannot will himself up. The Venge has pushed them too far, today, and as the sun begins to crawl behind the horizon, it's tail peaking through the trees and casting dappled patterns along the ground, he finds himself wishing he simply might not wake up.
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Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2012 10:40 am
 She was exhausted, physically and mentally. The constant fear and long trek of their escape has all but drained her of everything she could give. Every step was becoming sluggish, the thick iron around her weighing her down as the days passed, it was painful. Broken skin, long since used to her stationary lifestyle, was forced to shift and move with every hurried step she mare had been panicked to take. There had been days when she could feel the pounding of her blood slipping by the irons radiating the stabs of pain from beneath. Though she had always tried to keep her head up and hooves moving along their path. As the time passed it became easier on her, perhaps it was her body adjusting to the sensation, or the fact as the time passed her mind had become more and more occupied with her injured companions deteriorating health then her own.
Letting out a soft sigh, the mare stood in the concealed out-cove her eyes gazing up at the small streams of light that managed to pass through the trees. Would freedom never come to them? Her whole life she was under the control of the humans, by both her fear and her chains. Was there no land free to the unicorns, without the bows and ropes of humans? Sighing softly she felt doubt starting to creep it's way into her as the days slowly passed. Lowering her eyes to the broken form of the stallion she let her mind wander. Would she have been safer waiting out her days in the garden? Safer yes, but she would never have been happy, yet if there was any happiness in this world she couldn't point it out. She would still follow the Venge along, finding comfort in her wild protection of them, and hoping she would provide them with a new home.
Watching Cir's laboring breath from a bit away, Dal felt the throat clenching worry fill up inside her. At this rate she didn't see how he would make it. Everything she's tried was simply failing, the would wouldn't close, the infection wouldn't leave no matter what, or how much magic she pored in. Ears pinning back she felt tears building in the corner of her eyes, was she failing? Though she had learned little in the time with her mother, she had always assumed she knew enough. Slowly approaching the pained stallions side she willed her magic up to give this wound another shot. Perhaps she could give him a moment of no pain or a bit of energy to hold him thought he night to awake the next day.
"Ciryatan.. I'm sorry."
She whimpered softly as she laid herself down beside him, her horn glowing a pale blue as she leaned it down to give healing the deep wound another shot. Every break they took she would do the same thing, and every day there were the same results, but she always found herself drawn to give him even the slightest comfort. Watching the wound slowly nit itself together she found herself wishing and believing that this would be it, she would have finally figured it out, his pain wouldn't be there in the end.
Quietly feeling her magic dissipate she silently stared at his scared and wounds body feeling pity and sadness for the situation they had been and were still forced to live. She was scared, though they had not been together very long she felt the keen urge to aid him, keep him alive as long as she was able. But there was nothing she could do if he did not have the will to live. Ears pinning back she frowned not wanting to believe he'd lost the will to live.
"I promise I'll find out what's wrong, and fix your wound."
Tail sweeping anxiously, she whispered trying to put confidence in her hushed tones as she lowered her head keeping her eyed on him.
She doubted she would get any sleep tonight.
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Posted: Tue Aug 07, 2012 1:18 am
He finds that he isn't so sure, anymore.
Belief is not something that comes naturally to him. It is a harsh sort of thing, something that clouds minds and skews judgement, and he finds that, even while lingering on the morbid thought of his own death (which he assumes will not be without a painful journey, and more long days of being forced to walk when his legs have long since gone numb), there is no after life. There is no fairytale ending in which his spirit finds it's resting place. As far as he can see, he simply ends. He ceases to be, and while that might scare some, it almost consoles him. No more pain. No more fear. No more seething anger that seems to burn a hole in his chest. He worries that, should his injuries not kill him, the sickness in his heart will. It grows like cancer, every day, and turns his insides black.
He grunts to keep himself awake, sways uneasily and grimaces when the motion brings back the sharp and steady pain in his side. He huffs, shifting only the slightest before settling back on a point where it subsides to a dull ache, and once again resorts to staring down the river. The very last few rays of sun are gone, and the sky bleeds blue into pink as the night envelops the world, and as he listens, he realizes.
Dalriada is there.
He can hear her breathing, hear the heaviness in it and the short, quick puffs that likely mean fear. He can understand her fear, and yet, it also brings another pang to his chest. How he loathes her, for her ability to stand so tall with metal biting into her skin, while he limps and pants. He is the reason they move so slowly. He is the cause for their delay. And yet, he needs her, because her sanity is his rock against the Venge and against the pain they have all been through. Even so, he does not look at her when she approaches, barely twisting an ear towards her as she lays besides him. It is her apology, her attempt to heal him where she has failed so many times before, that breaks his focus.
"Stupid girl," he murmurs, sighing and shifting again, feeling the magic work into his muscles and ease the pain, at least for now. The ebb and flow was beginning to strain him more than do any good, but he cannot punish her for trying. She only wishes to help. "This isn't your burden, Dalriada. You have no obligations to me." What connections does she have to him? What attachment? He sighs and leans, feeling her fur brush against his own, and for a moment, he contemplates offering his weight for her to bear. Instead, he suddenly leans the opposite way and attempts to gather his legs beneath him, only to stumble and curse when the arrowhead cuts new wounds against his ribs.
"Aaugh. Stay with me a while, Dalriada. I may need aid of your healing tonight, after all."
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Posted: Sun Aug 18, 2013 6:48 am
The mare expected little response when she tried to aid him, after all each time he was always too lost in his own mind and wandering thoughts. It had gotten to the point she grew accustomed to the treatment, she could never force him to speak to her, it was not like she had saved him this time or any other. So at his words she felt a sad smile pulled at her lips and her ears lay back against her curled mane. "Perhaps.." It's her only response before she hears the low groan of pain that left his throat as he shifted about beside her.
What a stupid girl she was.
Regardless of the response she'd been given each time she tried desperately to heal his wounds, a small part of her always hoped that this would be the final one. This would be the one that held his skin together. Yet it never was, each time he seemed to be in more pain then the last, was she the one torturing him? Drawing in a deep breath as she felt her limbs shake lightly, Dalraida attempted to push her thoughts away. Letting it out in a silent sigh she simply offered him a shake of her head in response. Not her burden? This stallion had saved her from her torture, when he'd stumbled into the garden he had saved her from herself most of all. Had they not arrived she was sure she'd have gone crazy.
Perhaps she was still going mad, maybe they'd all end up like the Venge one day. Feeling his body bump against her side, the mare blinked a few times in confusion and turned to look at his form beside her. "What are you doing?" She gasps as she lifts herself to her hooves, hoping to give him some aid just as he stumbles to the side with a dull thump. With gasp of his name she pulls her brows together in worry as she walks around him, nose gently touching his side as she looks him over. What a bullheaded stallion. Tail continuing to move uneasily beside her when she peered down at his face, the mare gently huffed to blow the bangs out of his face before turning her head away. She could feel the tears gathering in her eyes and quickly shut them to hide them away. She wasn't the one in pain, she shouldn't be the one to show such emotions.
"When do I ever leave your side Ciryatan." Her words were quiet and true as she circles him once more, gave now void of the tears that threatened to fall searched his form once more. Prior wounds stayed knitted tightly shut, the only sign they'd been open was the scabbing on top and even then the skin around it looked healthy. Yet his shoulder was swollen, it bulged uneasily under the skin she attempted to close. Why was this so different from the others. Giving up for a moment, she settled down at his side, this time resting against him, giving him her side and warmth rather then offering it.
"Things will be okay. You'll be okay."
Horn alighting as she spoke, her voice determined as she focused her healing anywhere but his shoulder at this moment. The pale light just barely touching the side of his neck, she would try and relieve his general pain this night. Maybe this time he'll be able to walk further while ignoring his pain with her help. "Perhaps when we get to where ever it is Atgas is taking us, we'll be able to find you a great healer. Someone who can fix your pain for good." Same false smile played on her face as she tried appear as the one who believed fully, after all she didn't want to see this stallion wither away before her eyes. She wanted him more then anything to feel the freedom she had felt when they had first released her.
"We'll find one, I know it. You just need to keep strong."
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