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Post by aAshleyB on Aug 27, 2016 16:34:01 GMT -6
Savvy | Iron Hoof
Everyone had reacted simultaneously, and Savvy quickly made contact with the white stranger as he seemed to freeze in place, knocking him forcefully into the ground.
Savvy stood with his head low, body ready to shield the sultan if need be. He calmed slightly as Osprey gave the silent-order to stand-down. His heart was pounding in his ears, not because of fear, but because of how quickly everything happened. He had been lost in a dream-state only seconds ago, and was relieved his muscles hadn't been in slumber long enough to seriously hinder his ability to move. He listened as Osprey addressed the newcomer, Ishmael. He spoke like a Breimen. Dumbfounded at Ishmael's words, he thought If that's the impression you're trying to give, how about an introduction first the next time you feel like touching the sleeping leader of a band of horses. He was unconvinced; notwithstanding, he remained braced, ready to defend in case the horse attacked. Actions spoke louder than words, after all. Savvy didn't take his eyes off Ishmael as Osprey briefly assessed his band. Savvy's head lifted slightly, eyebrows raised, when he said he didn't belong to a herd. That was a mistake, he thought; surely this horse is ignorant of the current situation between Serora and Aodh. Unease filled his belly; Savvy had been silently against the conditions of the agreement their Sultan made with Aodh; consequently, the fact that it was a deal made in desperation didn't ease how uncomfortable it made him. Savvy noticed the questionable behavior in his sultan, affirming Savvy's own unease; a flicker of relief teased his muscles as he glanced from his sultan back to Ishmael. The feeling was short-lived as the white stallion suddenly lunged at Osprey, sending Savvy's reflexes into overdrive and placing him between the sultan and the wanderer in just a single step. A warning nicker sounded from his throat as half-reared before the aggressor, ears pinned back. The stallion may have been small, but not too small to be a threat. He quickly dropped his front-end back towards the ground as Ishmael backed off once more. He stood at ready as he listened to the horse's plea. Waiting for us? He couldn't stop an irritated smirk from pulling at his lips.
As the stallion continued, Savvy's expression merged from irritation to comical disbelief. His blunt and skeptical nature surfaced when he mumbled a quiet whisper "Alya help you.", barely keeping a chuckle from escaping his lips at the tone of his own voice.
Post #4 | WC: 420
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Post by hiddenbubbles on Aug 27, 2016 17:37:40 GMT -6
After such a sudden awakening, it seemed the situation was diffused within moments. With quick, calculated moves, the newcomer was downed. Toni's neck arched and his ears flicked back as the stallion wheezed. He listened with pricked ears as Osprey and the horse, Ishmael, spoke. Antonio stepped forward carefully, staying behind the wall of Iron Hooves but close enough to get a good look at their intruder. His advances were halted as Ishmael lunged for Osprey, causing him to leap away. However, his curiosity was not shaken.
The wanderer spoke again. 'The gods have led us here?' He tilted his head just slightly, eyes wide like the moons that they traveled under. The bay stallion glanced at his companions, registering their disbelief. It sounded like crazy talk, and the look in Ishmael's eyes didn't help his cause, but Toni decided that he should have a chance to explain himself before being written off as a mad man. After all, Ishmael must truly believe in his cause to wait for them. Finding his voice, he spoke.
"What do you mean? Have you received a sign from the gods?"
Post 5 | 187 words
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Post by dayzea on Aug 27, 2016 18:19:07 GMT -6
An eyebrow raised at the sight of Salvatore's fellow Iron Hoof plowing into the stranger, keeping his crossbow raised and ready to fire at any given moment. Osprey greeted the stark white horse with his usual kindness, and tentacle-hair introduced himself as Ishmael, stating that he wasn't out to cause anyone any harm. Keeping his guard up, though, the unicorn kept his crossbow ready to fire.
Blue orbs flicked from Sultan to stranger as they conversed back and forth. Noting his leader's command to lower his weapon, he immediately obeyed, but kept the trigger locked to be on the safe side. Salvatore couldn't help but let out an exaggerated chuckle as Osprey suggested he return to Sirith with that obvious accent of his. Whether he was serious or not, the statement had a comedic air to the stallion who found he could get a good laugh out of any situation.
Immediately Salvatore snapped out of it as Ishmael made a move. No, a lunge toward Osprey. In the blink of an eye, he fired his crossbow, and the bolt whizzed through the air and landed directly beside Ishmael's hoof. Aim practice had really paid off, as the bolt was literally an inch from his sand coloured hoof. Simultaneously, Tulum lunged toward the stallion and placed herself between him and Osprey, as Savvy had done. Back arched and teeth bared, she hissed at the stranger, telling him to back off in her unique feline language. One more step and it's going up your ass, Sal thought to himself, knowing it would sound a little too harsh (and just plain wrong) if he said it out loud. He was ready to caution the stallion further, but he felt his crossbow bolt sufficed, and the white stallion spoke was explaining himself anyway.
Waiting?
Creepy as hell.
Eyes flicked back toward Osprey, who seemed just appeared equally as bugged out. "You've been following us?" Salvatore asked, slightly annoyed at the matter. "No. Yes. All of you. You're meant to be here. I'm meant to be with you." Well, now things were getting romantic. The Iron Hoof lowered his crossbow to his side and pricked both ears toward tentacle-hair. He claimed the gods had led them to each other, and the stallion tossed his head back and exhaled in a monstrous laugh. "Oh, yeah? Did you run into them in the desert? Have a nice tea party?" Salvatore cackled, mockingly.
Post#: 5 Words: 405 |
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Post by grumpyhyena on Aug 27, 2016 20:10:02 GMT -6
Basyl | Fleet Foot
The dusty mare's ears were laid flat, her blue eyes keen. She had placed herself close to Osprey, ready to lunge in front of him to guard him if it came to it. Basyl listened intently to the white octohorse. The curling and flicking of the tentacles made the fur prickle along her back. It was unnerving to say the least. The sharp lunge forward, set her nerves off. While Savvy and Salvatore responded viciously, Basyl thrusted herself in front of Osprey. A deep snort came from her, she was only a foot away from Ishmael's face, eyes glowering harshly down to the smaller stallion, "Stand back." she growled, her hooves stamping threateningly.
She had bitten him once in warning, she'd do worse if he didn't get the message. Chai had calmed down a considerable amount though, she was still rather puffed up and bothered. The big black lizard crept closer to Basyl, playing herself between her hooves and hissing ominously up to Ishmael, obviously threatening to chew on his ankles if he dared to touch Basyl.
Post 5 | 184 Words
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Post by PaganStars on Aug 27, 2016 21:43:49 GMT -6
As the man stepped out, Jack finally got a good look at the offender. He seemed all to bright against the shadows of the rocks that offered protection from the harsh rays of the sun. Furrowing his brows, he stayed back from the conforntation, watching as the horse was pushed down and the Sultan began to speak to him. He felt a pang of guilt in his heart as the Sultan shoved a herd under his name, even when the horse protested. It was dark times for the Serora herd, everyone could see that. Dark times led to dark deeds and Jack felt little honour about the idea of capturing vagabonds and shipping them to a life of slavery. But everyone needed to be steel hearted during these times, even a shaman.
As pain began to creep up Jack's leg, he took his eyes off of the intruder and glanced down, frowning at the blood that trickled down. He was glad that he had not snapped his jade jewels or scratched the tattoo that wrapped delicatly around his other leg, but it still hurt. Prying his mind away from it, his gaze flicked forward just in time to see the stranger lunging at the Sultan, jumping when he heard Salvator fire a bolt from his crossbow. Gasping, he rushed forward, hoping that the horse wasn't hurt. Realizing that it had only been a warning shot, Jack let out a soft sigh of relief and glanced at Sal.
"The River of Time is set, it is fate. The gods have led us here."
Jack's ears flicked forward as the stranger spoke again, his brows furrowing. Looking down in a moment of thought, he wondered if Ayla really had sent him here. Sure, Jack had prayed asking for anything to guide them but...this pale ghost was not what he had hoped for. Stepping forward, he looked at the horse "What do you know of fate and gods, ghost." he asked, voice unwavering.
Post 5 | Word count 336
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Post by moonlightwalk on Aug 30, 2016 15:04:34 GMT -6
Eyrin | Medicine horse
All of his hair stood on end as he stiffly watched the whole thing from the sidelines. He wondered if the horse was delirious. The way he was talking seemed kind of off... He took a step forward when he jumped towards their Sultan but immediately stopped when the iron hooves blocked him. Still it wouldn't keep the stranger from talking. He eyed the other horse with cautious curiosity. He seemed to act like he was waiting for them. He shivered as Jack called him a ghost. Was that what he was a ghost? His ears twitched at Salvatore's mocking, he himself not above believing in visions. Or maybe their guest had hurt his head when he had been thrown down. Gulping he braved a step forward. "Want me to take a look?" His eyes darted between his sultan, Jack and the stranger. Of course their Shaman was the highest ranking healer, so if he'd rather look himself he'd stand down. But he did notice the stallion was hurt and he really did want to make himself useful, whether that was by looking over their strange visitor or checking their own for injuries.
Post 5 | 197 words
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Post by Queerly on Aug 30, 2016 21:05:07 GMT -6
Ishmael’s gaze darted between the assembled horses, the mad glint in his gaze becoming almost tangibly desperate. They didn’t believe him. He wasn’t… surprised, not exactly, for he couldn’t remember the last time a horse had looked upon him with anything but bemused pity. They branded him a madman, and every word from his lips served as verification, for they did not see, they did not know. But he did.
Yes, he knew it all. The devastation, the loss, the lives torn asunder in one shining moment of white oblivion--
“I’m not crazy.” He whispered. His sides were heaving, blood from Basyl’s souvenir rolling down his haunches. “I’m not.”
His eyes flickered to Antonio, the first one to address him after their Sultan had grown silent. His question held a seed of charity, a desire to understand, and Ishmael latched to this show of compassion as the sinner falls before the visage of god. “Yes!” He cried, taking a more tentative step towards Antonio than he had Osprey, “Signs they have sent, and signs I have found. The River of Time repeats herself; we are all of us caught in her maelstrom. The cycle must be broken; we must divert our course before we repeat the tragedies of those who came before.”
Ishmael spun, looking to Salvatore, the Iron Hoof’s mockery ringing in his ears. His brow furrowed, and he shook his head in desperate frustration. “Listen,” He muttered, the words hasty, “Listen to me. Salvatore, Sal, she called you that, your mother. She loved you, she fought for you, but now she is gone, the trade ship overtaken by rogues. They sold her to the Valorians, and now she fights for entertainment and profit.”
The Ghost swiveled yet again, gaze flickering to Jack. “He meant to do it. If he moved quickly, he knew you’d be lost to the crowd. He couldn’t be a good father, not to anyone, so he left you there, let the good people take care of you.”
He peered into the Shaman’s mismatched gaze for a moment, nostrils flared, searching for some sign of recognition. When it struck, he did not linger upon it. Ishmael spun away from the healer, allowing him to process the words without his vigilance, and addressed Savvy. “Alya help us all. Flawed creatures we are that agonize over what cannot be changed, what has already occurred. How many more times will you hit the water? You were just a child; it wasn’t you, it was her head.”
Lastly he turned to the Fleet Foot. “Basyl. It isn’t your fault. It isn’t your fault that she died.”
With these last words spoken, Ishmael went very still, his ears swiveling amongst the crowd, awaiting a reaction. It was risky business to speak so frankly of his abilities, to let strangers knew they were not so very strange. Some attacked; others accused. But how else was he to convince them? How else could their minds be changed, and they recognize that his madness was not madness at all?
“I know much of gods.” He whispered, and at length he raised his head to regard Eyrin, willing to be approached if such a thing were even permitted by his superiors.
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Post by hiddenbubbles on Aug 30, 2016 21:24:19 GMT -6
It was Ishmael's crazed look that called out to Toni. The poor horse looked like he was begging for someone to listen and it unsettled the bay. He listened intently, searching for meaning, and finding none in the ghost's words. His mind latched onto the sentence 'The River of Time repeats herself'. It was a familiar phrase, he was sure that he'd heard it before, but he could not remember who had spoke it. The unsettling feeling turned to nervousness under his blue gaze, and as he stepped closer, Toni felt a lurch in his stomach. A longing to know what he'd seen.
As he opened his mouth to ask more questions, Ishmael turned from him. As his blue eyes released from green ones, the feeling of panic subsided. The serenity did not last however, as the wanderer seemed to spit out words -crazy words- at his fellow herd mates. Words he couldn't hope to understand. He stood in shocked silence, trying to comprehend it all. 'Fights for Entertainment..' 'He couldn't be a good father,' 'It isn't your fault' . Perhaps if he knew his group better, he would've known.
It was much too hot. He wanted to escape this sudden heat that bored down upon him. The sun, yes, it had to be the sun that got hotter... As silence settled around the group, his questions were long gone. For as oblivious as Antonio could be, the tension that surrounded him was thick enough to be cut with a blade. No, he couldn't ask for anything after that. He couldn't pretend that this stranger didn't know their histories, however dark or convoluted they may be. The others needed to get their answers before he did. Then, he would find out the signs that he had been sent.
Post 6 | 297 words
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Post by grumpyhyena on Aug 30, 2016 21:34:45 GMT -6
Basyl | Fleet Foot
It felt as if she had been hit by a rock slide. Basyl stumbled back as if he had struck her, her eyes going round and glazed. She? She? The word burned like a brand against her skin. It isn’t your fault. It isn’t your fault that she died. There was an old pain that sprouted across her chest that she had spent months to stitch back together. How did he know? She hadn't told anyone. Only anyone that knew her, knew that she was... The Fleet Foot seemed completely thrown off course by what the white stallion had told her.
Her knees were weak as she stumbled away from Osprey and the rest of the group. Her stomach churned as if it she were going to be sick. Chai, who had been enthralled in appearing imposing to the white stranger, turned- tongue flickering in concern to follow after the mare. When she... She couldn't bring herself to think of the moment. A moment of calm broke the distress of her mind and heart. A sharp, blue gaze found the white stallion. HOW did he know?? It wracked her mind, cut through the turmoil like a blade. There seemed to be a quick shift in the Fleet Foot's attitude. One moment she was wide-eyed and on the verge of tears and the next she was storming forward.
Her voice cut over the soft discussion, the shell-shock of how the stranger new intimate details of their lives, "What do you know?!" she snarled, getting dangerously close to Ishmael. A suppressed rage that she had been restraining for months seemed to unfurl like a dragon's ire. Basyl shoved her mass into Ishmael's space, forcing him back, "If you can speak for the gods, then tell me why Alya didn't save her?!" her voice was frighteningly loud, to the point it cracked through the still desert air. Hot, angry tears brimmed her eyes, the only thing that burned hotter was the damnable sun above.
Post 6 | 340 Words
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Post by aAshleyB on Aug 30, 2016 23:34:50 GMT -6
Savvy | Iron Hoof
He stood and watched as the white horse proclaimed he wasn't crazy, his face falling from amusement to indifference as the stallion went on. His curiosity piqued when the horse turned to Sal, knowing his name and saying things Savvy was sure he wasn't meant to hear. He glanced at Sal, calculating his reaction to see if this crazed stallion could possibly be telling the truth. His brow furrowed, still skeptical but listening, then the ghost turned to Jack. Savvy couldn't stop his head from tilting slightly as the horse continued, glancing to Jack and back to Ishmael. A frown tugged at his muzzle before Ishmael suddenly turned his icy blue eyes to him, throwing his sarcastic remark back with such impeccable execution and seriousness that his icy-blue eyes seemed to have lit on fire.
'Flawed creatures we are that agonize over what cannot be changed, what has already occurred.' Savvy's face lost all expression as his frown dissipated, listening carefully as his eyes were locked onto Ishmael's. He heard echo's in his mind from a time 11 years ago, his mothers laughter sang deep within him. Her once compassionate face of love distorted into one of intolerance, and her melodic voice screeched into chastisement.
The world around him closed in on the two stallions as Ishmael continued:
'How many more times will you hit the water?' Shock, but his facade held. 'You were just a child...' he relived vividly the moment from that day, the moment when his skin grew around the invisible chains that'd been carrying all the pain and guilt he felt for every frown and tear that pulled at his mother's face. The same moment he put his walls up and stopped letting others in; it was as unshakable as the nightmares that drowned him.
It'd only been seconds, and an acute sense of numbness had started at his hooves, wafting up to a prick at the center of his poll. Then, just as suddenly, self-loathing took it's place, lolling through to every nerve-ending in his body. It was the ghostly presence of the white horse before him, speaking unspoken truths that kept Savvy from completely losing track of present reality. With that, all of the emotion that played like a violent orchestra for a mere moment before had vanished. Only the jaw-line of clenched teeth altered his facade, but inside he felt as hollow as the day she left him. 'It wasn't you...it was her head', with that, Savvy un-clenched his jaw and the ghost finally broke eye contact with him.
He remained focused on Ishmael until his old friend unfolded before them. As Basyl advanced into Ishmael's space, her distraught voice carrying far beyond them, Savvy subconsciously stepped forward, ready to come between them if need be. She felt like less than an acquaintance anymore, but the familiarity remained. Pain...that was something he was drawn to protect others from. Before he could stop himself, he spoke ever-so softly, "Basyl...."
Post #5 | WC: 497
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Post by dayzea on Aug 31, 2016 8:01:14 GMT -6
The unicorn's expression changed when the ghost spoke once more. His curled ears swiveled forward as Ismael tried to convince the Serorans of his sanity. This time, Salvatore would listen, yet he remained hesitant. Even Tulum seemed to have relaxed, and she removed herself from Ishmael's space, returning to Salvatore's side. The Iron Hoof snorted when the hippocampus turned to Antonio and lunged toward him, more drastically than he had toward Osprey. At that point, Salvatore could sense the action was non-aggressive. It seemed Antonio had a more open mind than all the others, including Sal himself. The bright bay tilted his head and pinned his ears, narrowing his dark brows as Ishmael spoke once more of the River of Time. Could this guy actually be serious?
Another snort erupted from Salvatore as Ishmael turned once more to him, clearly frustrated he wasn't willing to hear him out. "Listen," he demanded, triggering the significantly taller stallion to puff out his chest and raise his head, jokingly standing at attention. What more could this stranger have up his sleeve?
And then he spoke of his mother.
As it was, many people called him Sal, but indeed it was true, it was his mother who started the trend. As Ishmael went on, Salvatore utterly caved. His telekinetic grip on his crossbow lost itself and the weapon fell to the hard sandy ground beneath with a thud. The Iron Hoof huffed the breath he was holding, and his ears returned to his skull as his eyes widened and reverted their gaze into nothingness. He lowered his head, mourning the disappearance of his parents. Could it all be true? He was willing to take any lead possible. His mother had been a servile slave in Aodh before his father brought her to the Serorans, so it was certainly a possibility. It wasn't at all how he wanted his mother to live, he wanted her home, more and more every day, but hearing she was alive was more than enough. He had journeyed to Aodh once, he was willing to go again. "Forgive me," was the only thing Salvatore could muster the breath to say. He regretted everything.
As the ghost continued to prove himself to the rest of his band, they all reacted in a similar manner. Salvatore remained in his shocked trance, though quickly retorted when Basyl launched herself toward Ishmael once more. The stallion shook his head, understanding, and moved toward her despite her frenzy. "Basyl, at ease," he consoled her, practically at a whisper. He kept himself at a respectable distance. "Perhaps we misunderstood Ishmael. My friend, Alya cannot prevent all tragedies. If She could, the stranger may not have so much to say..." His gaze returned to the hippocampus and spoke once more, head low to meet his and voice louder. "You know so much of my mother... what of my father? Are they together"
Post#: 6 (+ 1 AP)
Words: 485 |
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Post by PaganStars on Aug 31, 2016 18:23:33 GMT -6
Jack could only watch as the ghost shook his head, eyes to the ground and mouth moving fast as he talked. Jack did his best to listen and try to decode his cryptic messages. And when the ghost seemed to peer in each horses eyes, gazing at their very soul almost and spotting nonsense he believed that each horse would in turn shake their head and tell him he's nuts but...
One by one they looked away, the words rocking them to their core until they were lost in thoughts. Jack looked at his friend Salvatore as he spoke his cryptic poem to him and mentioned a mother that had been stolen away. Eyebrows furrowing, Jack stepped forward to command the ghost to stop this immediately when the blue gaze turned to him. Jack froze, raising his head and flattening his ears, his mind telling him to look away but at the same time he wanted to know what this ghost held in store for him.
"He meant to do it. If he moved quickly, he knew you’d be lost to the crowd. He couldn’t be a good father, not to anyone, so he left you there, let the good people take care of you"
His nostrils flared and Jack's heart dropped, his shoulders slumped as the memories of that day came flashing back. The tightness in his chest as he stood among the horses around him that went about their business, thick tears trailing down his face as he called for the father he couldn't remember. But then he was being embraced, shooshed and taken to a warm home with the smell of cinnamon lingering in the air and the sense that he belonged. That he was loved and that he would never be forgotten or left behind again.
Breaking his gaze from the ghost, he closed his eyes and turned around, head lowered slightly as his muscles trembled. He was deaf to the others (or at least more so than usual) the only thing that rooted him to the earth was the coolness of the jade that wrapped around his leg, the sting of pain that ever so often went up his leg. When he was young he wondered about his real father, wondered if he should search for him But he knew that that horse didn't deserve to see what his son had become, didn't deserve to see the determination that coursed through his son as he helped those in need. Opening his eyes, Jack took deep breaths and turned to look at the ghost once more "If you really know of the gods and fate itself, then tell me this. Why has Ayla turned her gaze from her children?"
Post 6 | Word count 460
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Post by moonlightwalk on Sept 6, 2016 16:09:02 GMT -6
Eyrin | Medicine horse
Eyrin tried to make sense of it all as more words came tumbling out of the stranger's mouth, adressing one horse after another. The words were seemingly random, but from the other's reactions they clearly held meaning to them. It was so odd though as if he was mumbling about things long passed. As if a recoubt of reality. It vaguelly reminded him off... A light of recognition flickered on in his head. Yes, it reminded it of one of the horses in his aunt's caravan. She had been blessed with "Retrocognition." he blurted before realising he had said that out loud. His ears perked, remembering the blessed wanderer that used the ability to make her living on the road much like others who predicted the future. Was this the same case? Had this stallion seen the past and perhaps the future? What else but madness could be otherwise be an explanation? "Have you been blessed to look through time?" He questioned softly. He noticed the blood dripping down the male's leg, but didn't want to act before his superiors gave the okay. His eyes shifted nervously between all of them.
Post 6 | 195 words
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Post by Queerly on Sept 12, 2016 20:03:09 GMT -6
In an instant, Ishmael’s entire body grew attuned to Basyl’s energy, his nervous eyes tracking the quickness of her hooves. She had moved away from him, and then she was upon him and she was screaming, the sound and the fury of her voice reverberating in his chest like some mad beast clawing at the cage of his ribs. The white horse flinched low and flattened his ears, a tentacle coiling over his face as though its meager protection was worth something.
“I don’t.” He cried, and kept his eyes tightly shut and his head rightly bowed, as though he sought divine repentance itself. “I don’t speak for the gods! How could I? How could any of us? We are little more than flecks of dust, holding on to this world by the skin of our teeth, existing for no longer than the lifespan of a spark! The mind of a Star is incomprehensible to beings such as us, and so… and so.”
The ghost trembled, his breath growing ragged. His eyes slid open and peered at the cracked earth- through it, perhaps, to something beyond. “I know of gods. I know of the past, and patterns, and signs. I know the future we careen towards with quick hooves and blinded eyes. I do not speak for the Stars, but I follow the path they have laid before me, and I trust in them, yes, I do trust.”
An exhale shuddered out of him, and Ishmael raised his head, noting that Basyl had been reined in by her fellows. He turned his pale gaze to Salvatore, the first to speak to him directly and without volume, and in an instant he wished that he hadn’t looked at the stallion at all, had never heard his question. For as he looked at Salvatore he saw the answer, saw the flames and the ash and the blue Eithnian sky. “No.” He said, his voice shaking, “No, he is gone to the Stars.”
Jack was speaking. Ishmael swung his eyes to the Shaman before he could witness devastation cross the young Iron Hoof’s face. He didn’t want to see it. “Turned her gaze? You misunderstand, or forget. The Oncoming Storm has always watched us, and watches us still. Praise Her generosity; She suffers the distance for the sake of our lives.”
A voice caught his ear, and Ishmael turned his attention to Eyrin, whose words rung a clear, golden note in his heart that quickly soured to black. “No, but yes.” He murmured, and for a second time his eyes glazed as though he saw beyond what he looked at- in this case, the Medicine Horse.
But then he was moving, his quick and graceful movements almost worthy of being called a scuttle as he ducked close to Antonio, the first horse to have branded him something more than a mad man. “You trust me? You do. You must, please.” He questioned, searching the appaloosa’s gaze before he turned it to others, familiar desperation in his face. “I will take you to the gods’ Salvation.
“I will take you to the Oasis.”
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Post by hiddenbubbles on Sept 12, 2016 20:32:28 GMT -6
Basyl flashed forward, getting in the white stallion's face before being pulled away. Toni could feel his group's emotions: it was thick in the air and their faces portrayed the horrible truth in the words Ishmael spoke. His head, usually held so high, dropped low and he averted his eyes in an attempt to avoid their pain. He didn't wish to experience their agony. Yet, despite his best efforts, he could not block out the hippocampus's words.
Finally, Ishmael addressed Eyrin, and Toni forced himself to straighten up. His ears twitched in confusion as the newcomer spoke more convoluted words. He lifted his eyes to see his cousin's reaction, but instead he was met with Ishmael. The poor arabian seemed to be seeking refuge at his side.
"You trust me?" The white horse questioned, and a tremor of nervousness rose in his chest. Turning his head, he was face to face to the ghost, who now seemed all too real. His vibrant green eyes locked onto the stallion's pale blue ones and he nodded his head just slightly. Ishmael clearly knew something they did not, and Antonio couldn't help but place some trust in him. He prayed to Alya that this wanderer could help them. They were all out of options. They had to trust him.
"I will take you to the Oasis."
The bay's confusion was heightened, but he kept his silence. Would he get a straight answer if he asked about this so-called 'Oasis' ?
Post 7 | 246 words
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Post by grumpyhyena on Sept 12, 2016 20:38:30 GMT -6
Basyl | Fleet Foot
The emotions that were storming through her chest were turbulent and uncontrollable. Had Salvatore and Savvy not apprehended her, she might have genuinely attacked the octo-horse, given the opportunity. A small realization crashed across her face, twisting her expression. The sorrow bore down on her like the weight of the sky. Her breathing was hitched and she turned away from her companions. Her gait was slow and pained as she walked a decent distance from the cluster of stallions. Chai followed her profusely, using an outcrop of slated rocks to climb up and leap up onto her back. Once she felt she was far enough way for some solitude, her eyes shuttered themselves and she breathed, trying to reclaim her mind from the calamity that Ishmael had released on her.
Basyl had stood a distance away for some time before she was collected enough to turn around and rejoin the group. She stood, warily and uneasily, on the outskirts of the group, her eyes dull and distracted. She leered at Ishmael, untrusting and doubting. Who was he? Where did he come from? And how did he know? They were answers that she was dying to know. But it seemed before she could even thing to interrogate him, the rest of her comrades were seemed over-eager to trust him. To take them to whatever Oasis he was speaking of.
Post 7 | 235 Words
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Post by Queerly on Sept 12, 2016 20:48:49 GMT -6
For several minutes now, Osprey had been listening. Listening to this stranger, this ghost, and listening to the voices of his people as they shifted from skepticism to wonder… and indignation. As Basyl became a whirlwind of fury, Osprey raised his head, nostrils flared with alarm that quickly gave way to gentle disapproval. “Basyl.” He had called, his voice joining those that had already attempted to soothe her anger. “Be gentle, my friend.”
Ishmael had been hurt already, and though the alarm of his protectors had been justified, it was clear now that the ghost was no harm to anyone- save perhaps himself. The Sultan watched a thin thread of blood trail down the stranger’s flank, and then swept his gaze to Eyrin. The Medicine Horse seemed to be chomping at the bit to offer assistance. With a slight nod, Osprey gave him permission to do so.
Still politely bemused by the entire situation, the pegasus allowed Ishmael to reclaim his attention. The stallion’s warbling tangents didn’t make for easy listening, but Osprey was not fool enough to dismiss them, not when the stranger had proven himself oddly extraordinary.
Salvation. Oasis.
At these words, the stallion went very still indeed. He did not speak, his tongue curbed by shock and a desire to hear the responses of his fellows. The Sultan would make no move until he’d read the response of his people; rarely did he act without first consulting their opinion.
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Post by aAshleyB on Sept 13, 2016 0:30:01 GMT -6
Savvy | Iron Hoof
He remained unmoved as Basyl seemed to snap out of her fierce rage and place distance between herself and the group. He brought his eyes back to Ishmael, but held his head high. His thoughts were empty, with only the faint voice repeating 'It wasn't you...it was her head' echoing in the deep halls of his mind as one equus after the other addressed the bizarre ghost before them. Only bits and pieces of Ishmael's new sentences seeped past the echo in his head, distracting him from attempting to grasp if that could possibly be true. A faint cry inside his bones desperately wanted them to be; on the other hand, there was a part of him that didn't want them to be. 'It was her head'? The idea that his mother had been sick never occurred to him before. A flicker of guilt for his ignorance made a pass through him and left just as quickly as it came. Chains he bore for at least a decade now refused to loosen their grip as he stood there battling his own desire to hold onto that fleeting feeling, a feeling he forgot how to feel: the feeling that one was beloved.
He'd begrudgingly accepted the burden as something he deserved, even coming to recognize it as a token of his mother. He carried it with such stride anymore that not even his father would know how great a burden his son still carried for Kalea. But this hippocampus, this ghost, this stranger, saw right through it. How does he know about the water...my torment.... He stole a quick glance in the direction Basyl went off to, reassuring himself that she was OK, before returning his eyes to the stallion, listening once again to his babels.
'Turned her gaze? You misunderstand, or forget. The Oncoming Storm has always watched us, and watches us still. Praise Her generosity; She suffers the distance for the sake of our lives.'
Savvy gently nodded at Ishmael's words. Alya helped him realize his destiny, to be a protector and to help those suffering from pain that surpasses the affliction of flesh. She helped him to realize that to live was not to live for ones self, but for the sake of others.
"You trust me? You do. You must, please." Savvy didn't trust him; his skeptical and cautious nature reared against it, trying to reason within himself that it could be an ability to manipulate the will of those around him. However, the behavior from most of his band deemed this illogical, and the only thing he was left with was hope. Perhaps this was the remnant of his attempts to hold onto hope that the stranger's words were true; whatever it was, something was drawing him to give the ghost a chance. He glanced over at his sultan only to find that he was waiting for his band to express their opinions. He could hardly believe what he was saying as the words came out of his mouth, "I'm willing to see what Ishmael has to show us, but I support whatever decision you make, Osprey," he nodded, passing a look of faithful devotion on to his leader.
Post #6 (+1 AP) | WC: 535
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Post by dayzea on Sept 14, 2016 12:45:51 GMT -6
A pair of curled ears listened attentively as Ishmael made spoke his words of wisdom to Basyl. The white horse was utterly desperate to earn the trust of the strangers, and as the hippocampus continued on, Salvatore believed more and more. What a gift he had to know such intimate details about each individual without previously making their acquaintance. It was slightly unnerving at first, but it became enlightening to hear his comforting words, even if it wasn't what they wanted to hear. Having answers was more than enough, at least to Salvatore.
The red stallion turned his head away in submission while the stranger continued to raise his voice in desperation. Flicking eyes toward Basyl, he silently begged her to listen and give him a chance. To trust in his faith.
In a flash, Salvatore flinched as Ishmael turned once more to him, his gaze now empty as visions bombarded him. The Iron Hoof's blue eyes pressed shut in anticipation of the answer, yet opened wide at the word. "No. No, he is gone to the stars."
It took but a moment for the meaning to ring in the unicorns brain. No... no. This answer, he could not accept at first. Once strong and sturdy knees now began to buckle beneath the tall stallion as his previously hopeful gaze reverted itself into oblivion. Death was not the outcome he was hoping for, certainly not what he had thought. His father was still so young, so it couldn't be for health reasons... Salvatore so desperately wanted to know how, but perhaps it would be wiser to let it settle in first. How would he ever tell little Stefan? His brother wanted to be the one to bring his parents home, he might never forgive himself hearing that his father couldn't.
Ears pressed to his skull, Salvatore remained frozen and shut out all words after that. There was nothing left for him to have hope in, until he heard word of an Oasis. So tear swollen eyes opened and, slowly, his head nodded in agreement with Ishmael. "Trust, I do," were the first words the stallion spoke. He turned to Osprey with narrowed eyes and gave a nod of approval. With his last little sliver of faith, he trusted Ishmael.
Post#: 7 (+ 1 AP)
Words: 379 |
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Post by moonlightwalk on Sept 14, 2016 15:49:34 GMT -6
Eyrin | Medicine horse
Eyrin gulped throath dry. This horse was such an engima. "No, but yes? What does that mean." Try as he might he couldn't make sense of it. When the stranger suddenly made towards his cousin, Eyrin dashed forward in defense, but when he didn't make a move towards Antonio, merely begging him to believe, Eyrin relaxed a little. The stanger sounded so desperate. Eyrin wanted to believe him. He had always fancied the fantastic and here was this horse speaking of salvation, an oasis. It was a miracle and wasn't a miracle what they had come looking for? He looked between the horse and Osprey, wondering what their leader would decide. It was his place to make the call after all. "What do we have to lose?" he asked aloud, not wanting to actually say he himself would like to go. Having received the permission he needed to treat the white one's cut which still bled, he took a little step forward, trying to look non-threatening as he approached the foreigner. "May I?" he asked, gesturing at the wound as he gave a small encouraging smile. Remembering he always adressed his patients before treating them -and realising stranger wouldn't exactly cut it, he asked: "What's your name? It's not Ghost, right?" He tried to joke.
Post 7 | 223 words
EDIT: Omg, sorry, I totally missed somehow that Osprey did give permission, sorry for that!
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Post by PaganStars on Sept 18, 2016 17:53:10 GMT -6
With a faint scowl, Jack's ears turned back away from Ishmael when he retaliated against his words, skeptical of the strange ghost in front of him. In his mind, he did not trust this desert dweller. How long had he been out here, perhaps lost and dazed and drunk off the cactus that scattered these lands. Was he some raving lunatic who stumbled upon them, sprouting words of nonsense that somehow connected to what was happening to their home? No, his words were too specific, his eyes wide and crazed but holding a deep wisdom behind them. As much as Jack's logic told him to advise the stallions words and tell the Sultan that they should turn back, something in his gut made him want to stay, to push forward to this oasis and see what the ghost was talking about. They needed anything that could help them.
Tearing away from his scattered thoughts, Jack glanced to his friend Salvatore, heart dropping slightly as he realized what the ghost's words had meant to him. Stepping closer, Jack was about to speak when Sal opened his mouth and spoke that he trusted the ghost, trusted that he would not lead them astray. Frowning slightly still, Jack turned his gaze to Osprey and simply nodded his head "I would not put my full trust into him but...Let us see what this 'salvation' is..." Jack commented quietly, glancing at the ghost as Basyl stepped forward in a friendly manner.
Post 7 | word count 252
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Post by Queerly on Sept 19, 2016 0:17:42 GMT -6
Osprey looked at his fellows, silently acknowledging each member’s suggestion. The degree of trust fluctuated, but the resolve to follow the pale stranger united them. “ Very well, friend.” The Sultan said, lowering his head in a slight bow, “ We will follow your lead.” Ishmael closed their eyes. They took a breath, and let the exhale tremble out of them fragile and warbling, a tangible display of relief that left the ghost sagging on their hooves. “ Thank you.” They murmured. Their campsite was packed as Eyrin attended to the stranger’s wounds. Ishmael watched the Medicine Horse work with an odd mixture of detachment and fascination, questioning the tools used and the salve slathered upon their fur. The ghost was glad to see the bleeding stopped, and happier yet that the balm soothed their pain. When all was packed, Ishmael turned to the west and, with their head low to the morning sun, set out. The journey would not be easy, but Serorans were accustomed to the challenges of their homeland. For hours they traveled across the burning sands, sweat rolling down their necks as they blinked sleep from their eyes. There had been precious little rest between the time they had settled in and Ishmael had appeared; as a result, fatigue slowed their pace. But onward they trudged, hardy and resilient, taking comfort in the Valley’s natural melodies. It was noon when they reached the canyons. Osprey had thought it queer when they headed towards the formation, for the canyons were a desolate place, lacking even the most basic desert flora. The tunnels were narrow and twisting, stacked upon one another like an entirely new breed of labyrinth. A horse could easily lose themselves in those caverns, and without the promise of resources, Serorans had every reason to avoid it. So why did they seem to be going towards it? Osprey narrowed his gaze, confused; did Ishmael hope to travel alongside it, seeking reprieve from the sun within the canyons’ shadow. Surely the ghost wasn’t-- Oh, but he was. Ishmael ducked right into the tunnels without so much as a pause or glance, vanishing within the winding depths. Bewildered by this turn of events, Osprey ground to a halt. He stared at the entrance, stared hard, as though he might divine an explanation into being by sheer force of will. “ Come!” The ghost called. Osprey took a tentative step forward. The cavern’s shade touched his muzzle, a welcome reprieve from the sunlight. “... Mm. Salvatore, keep behind me. Savvy, bring up the rear with Basyl.” Though it went unsaid, it was no secret that this formation would keep their medics and planter wedged in the middle of the group, where their safety was a better guarantee. “ Karay, with me.” He added, eyes finding his quiet zesla. The creature had been largely serene throughout the day’s strange events, and remained unruffled as they made the first few steps into the canyon. This, more than anything else, kept the Sultan’s wits in check. The Zesla were wise animals, capable of keen judgement. If Karay did not think Ishmael a threat, then the ghost likely wasn’t, despite his best attempts to play the part of a lunatic. “ Friends, come.” The ghost repeated, voice tinged with desperate impatience. Grounding himself with a warbling exhale, Osprey followed the call. Ishmael had not gone far, waiting just inside the first inner gallery for their companions to catch up. “ This way. We are almost there.” They assured, taking the lead down another winding path. The Sultan followed, glad for the cavern’s cool temperature and little else. “ When the darkness encroaches, the gods deliver Their salvation.” Despite being mostly out of sight, the tight quarters allowed Ishmael’s voice to echo, their ramblings as clear as though they whispered them into Osprey’s ear. “ When faith wanes, They rejuvenate what is lost. When we lose our path, They guide us home.” “ Ishmael, with due respect, that is all very disconcerting, given the current situation.” The Sultan called. Osprey had the patience of a saint, but the ghost’s oddities were growing wildly out of hoof. Religious though he was, the stallion did not wish to hear a madman’s ramblings while trapped beneath layers of canyon rock. “ The Sky Mother hears your cries, and in Her Generosity, in Her Divine Compassion, She offers Deliverance.” Ishmael called, lost to the throes of divine ecstasy. It was a wonder if he even heard Osprey at all. The Sultan stood on the precipice of exasperation. “ Honestly,” He murmured, as the echo of Ishmael’s voice bid him to round a corner, “ I think our friend has truly lost himself to the heat--” Osprey stopped. Everything stopped. His legs, his lungs, his very heart. “ Wings of the Goddess.” The turn spilled into an opening, and beyond that opening was an immense valley. Bathed in sunlight and flanked on every side by high canyon walls, the yawning chasm was alive with edible flora, hardy desert trees and a central lake of clear, blue water. Ishmael stood upon the shore, watching the Serorans with glittering, pale eyes. “ The gods do not abandon us.” They proclaimed, their voice swallowed by the enormity of the valley and its lush foliage. 881 WC
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Post by aAshleyB on Sept 19, 2016 2:02:52 GMT -6
Savvy | Iron Hoof
Savvy didn't wander far from Osprey as the band gathered their materials, helping where he was needed, but always keeping an eye on Ishmael. Partly because he was still dumbfounded as to how this stranger knew something about him that no one else knows, and the other part to watch out for any sign that this ghost was a threat.
The band set after the lead of the newcomer. Savvy kept himself positioned on the outer mid-rear, much like he did when they started their journey, as they traversed through the increasingly hot morning hours. He continued to periodically glance at all his fellow band-members to ensure they were all holding up OK, returning them to the hippocampus often. He was accustomed to doing much more strenuous activity throughout a blistering hot day, so the trek hardly affected him.
The events from the morning continued to replay in his mind, causing the sound of their hooves thumping against the sand to get lost in his ears. Just as Savvy was beginning to wonder if this stranger was leading them to an ambush, hoping they'd be too exhausted to fight back, they approached the canyons. He stopped just before the ghost reached a tunnel opening, and stared in disbelief when Ishmael ducked into it. Osprey halted immediately afterwards, and Savvy subconsciously took a cautious step forward as the word 'Come!' called out from within the canyon. He'd never been in the canyons before, but what he had heard was undesirable. His trust for the white stranger was still lost to him, but the inexplicable draw for what he had to reveal remained. Just as Osprey began to move, and confident in his fellow Iron Hooves abilities to protect the sultan, he remained in place, wanting to bring up the rear in case this was some sort of trap. Osprey must have been thinking the same thing, because he called out to him to do just that. He nodded in agreement and waited for the rest of the band to pass him, only briefly glancing to Basyl as she passed, and followed closely behind her while they entered. I'm gonna get a hoof to the chest, he thought, and he smiled to himself.
Savvy could nearly trace where every drop of sweat dampened his body as the cool air of the cavern embraced him. It was a small cavern with tight open areas and narrow winding paths, soo narrow that his size disabled him from walking alongside the fleet-foot part of the way. Ishmael's words echoed around them, reminding him of earlier, and Osprey's followed after. His ears swiveled, listening as their voices bounced off the rock-walls. Ishmael spoke once more, and an odd sense of relief rushed through Savvy's body like a welcome breeze, causing him to question if he was really awake and this was really happening.
Grass? Just as quickly as he questioned the smell entering his nostrils, the sultan halted before them. There was enough room in this opening that he walked on and halted along-side the others, taking in the sight before him with an expression that couldn't hide his awe. He's never seen anything that quite rivaled the beauty of his mother's smile, causing his eyes to involuntarily glass-over as he tried to swallow the knot forming in his throat.
Yep; I'm definitely asleep.
Post #7 (+1 AP) | WC: 558
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Post by dayzea on Sept 19, 2016 7:25:10 GMT -6
Salvatore was both thrilled and nervous to hear Osprey make the decision to follow Ishmael's lead. Even though he had stated he trusted the Ghost, there was still that marginal amount of fear that lingered at the back of his brain. What if it was a trap? What if Ishmael was some freak cannibal that was also looking for a meal? While the latter was an over-exaggeration of the worst case scenario, and at the same time extremely unlikely, Salvatore couldn't help his mind from pondering over all of the possibilities. Even if Ishmael were to turn and go bat shit crazy on them, Salvatore noted that the porcelain white stranger was literally half of his size and the Iron Hoof could take them out with merely a swing of his horn. But... what if there was an army of cannibals waiting at this "oasis"... Salvatore shivered and shoved his paranoia aside, giving one swift nod of his head, acknowledging the Sultan's decision.
Swiftly, the bright bay packed up his tent and assisted his herd mates in doing so as well. The time it took felt like forever, even with everyone pitching a hoof, and the anticipation quickly began to eat away at his thoughts. Finally, they were all packed up and ready to move. Salvatore followed the group from the sidelines, hoping his position would make it easier to spot anything unusual... as if the current situation wasn't already out of the ordinary. This time, he allowed Tulum to stay on his back, as she, like the rest of the band, had hardly gotten any rest. As the hours went by, Salvatore was thankful that he had nothing unusual to report, but he reconsidered when they approached the wall of a canyon, and Ishmael drew himself into its walls. The unicorn snorted in discomfort at the idea. He narrowed his eyes, wondering how the hell he and Savvy, the two larger members of the group, would even fit inside in the first place.
He peered inside; the paths inside were just as narrow as its entrance, and it made Salvatore's stomach turn. He turned to Osprey. "Sir, maybe this is-" he silenced himself as the pegasus began to speak. "Salvatore, behind me," he ordered, and the Iron hoof nodded in agreement. "Your grace," he obeyed with a nod, and followed suit directly behind the Sultan. "Tulum," he called, and the cougar assumed position on the unicorn's back once again. "Let me know if I'm about to bump into anything," he turned his head and said to his feline with a laugh, happy to have a companion with night vision. "Just give me a swift smack with that paw of yours."
And so they entered the cavern. Thankfully, it was cool within its interior, and although Salvatore embraced the heat of his homeland, it did get to him at times, especially when he was already running low on energy from lack of sleep. He pinned his ears as Ishmael preached their worship of the gods. Salvatore himself wasn't overly religious, but the herd's current epidemic had him low-key praying to Alya as of late. He did hold faith in Alya and trusted She would grant them a reason for hope, and maybe today was the day they would find it. They would just have to wait and see.
As the group neared another turn, Salvatore could smell a freshness in the air. He raised his head to the cavern ceiling and inhaled deeply, inspiring the new smells that threw his heart into a gallop. Continuing around the turn, a light began to illuminate the path ahead.
The Oasis. Salvatore nearly bumped into Osprey as he halted, so he shuffled to stand at his side. "Great sky mother," he muttered, scanning the vast greenland and falling in love with the twinkling lake, where Ishmael stood at its shore. "She has granted us salvation!" He roared, running toward the Ghost and falling at their hooves. He looked up at them, tearing with joy, and thanked them a million times over.
Post#: 8 (+ 1 AP) Words: 678 |
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Post by hiddenbubbles on Sept 19, 2016 16:44:24 GMT -6
Antonio felt the slightest rush of relief as they decided to follow Ishmael. He quickly turned to start packing his tent. They had nothing to lose, right?
As they traveled, he tried to keep himself occupied with Terra, as she was in an exceptionally bad mood after being awoken. He could feel exhaustion weighing heavily upon his shoulders, but trudged on with his head held high. However, as they reached the tunnels, even the bay was taken aback by the ghost's suggestion. Uncertainty flooded his mind and he looked upon Osprey, listening to Ishmael's calls. Finally, the Sultan entered the darkness, sealing their decision.
As he followed his herd mates in, he tried to stay positive, but anxiety and claustrophobia were quickly threatening to drive him into a panic. The bay's breathing became deliberate as he struggled to keep himself calm. He felt the slightest brush of fur against his leg as Terra offered some comfort. 'Calm.' She murmured to him softly, and he thanked her.
The trek through the cave seemed to last a lifetime, but soon, the air became fresher. Toni nearly tossed his head up and his the ceiling of the cave as he spotted light flooding into the tunnel. He was all too eager to escape this tomb. When he came out into the light, it was the second time that day he was blinded.
Antonio's vision cleared, and his breath was taken away. A valley of lush flora spread around them, with a lake making the scene picturesque. After the drought that had stripped the land, his mind refused to believe it. It had to be a mirage - nothing more than a desperate brain going delusional. Yet, as he heard the cries of Salvatore, his legs started to tremble and become weak. His eyes burned hot with salty tears of joy and he laughed quietly, unable to find the words to express himself.
Post 8 | 318 words
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Post by moonlightwalk on Sept 20, 2016 15:35:36 GMT -6
Eyrin | Medicine horse
Eyrin was thorn between anxiousness and relief when Osprey announced they would follow the stranger who appeared to be going under the name of Ishmael. As camp was packed, Eyrin carefully tended to the wound they had inflicted on the equine, trying to not get distracted by his own pondering as he politely answered his patient's questions. He wondered where Ishmael had been hiding all his life as he acted like being healed was so foreign. He refrained to ask such questions though, not wanting to be rude.
Once they were packed and settled, they took off again. Under the burning sun and body tired of the little rest they managed to catch, Eyrin's mind did wander, his worries getting the better off him. Their trek had been long, maybe one could even call it gruelling, and they had nothing to show for it yet. Ismael might well be their very last hope and somewhere deep down he worried this was all just fool's play. A small sip of hope that would be crushed like a mirage appearing before the thirsty horse in the desert, only to vanish once reached. His heart wanted to believe, but his head was a little more reluctant to follow.
When Ishmael led them to a cave, Eyrin shivered, slowing his steps. He hoped they wouldn't go in there, but they soon did. He alternated between opening and closing his eyes, telling himself it would be alright and counting his steps in his head. It was so dark. He didn't want to think of what possible could lay hidden in it.
The darkness gave away for light and for a moment Eyrin was too relieved to notice the sight in front of him, but when he did, he gaped. It couldn't be. Here in the desert? "I-It can be." Eyrin muttered, trying to process the valley before their feet. "Is this real?" He took a step forward, afraid the vision would disappear. "This would take gods." Not just Ayla, no. Cascade and Kaia too, maybe more. He stared with wide eyes.
Post 8 | 353 words
(Phew, made it)
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Post by PaganStars on Sept 20, 2016 17:40:54 GMT -6
Still skeptical of the ghost, Jack slowly packed up the camp with the others, gathering his things and storing them carefully into his decorated satchel. When the pain on his leg flared once more, he finally tended to it, taking care to bandage the deep scratch and to make sure that it was clean. His thoughts wandered and he often found himself glancing back at the ghost as he wanted, watching intently as the others gathered their things. Frowning ever so slightly, he would turn his head away and continue his task.
When the clearing was finally returned to how it had been before they arrived, Jack waited silently while the others finished with the last of their things. When Ishmael began walking ahead of them, he glanced to the sultan before slowly following after, back already beginning to burn slightly as the harsh sun bore down on them. Truth be told Jack was exhausted, eyes low as he followed with the others. He knew the others must be as well, but the little sleep he had gotten seemed to burn away almost instantly as they walked. Maybe he was getting sick? he had been neglectful of his own health as that of his herd had gone down but after a stern word from both his mother and Iscah, he had realised that if the ones who helped the sick got sick themselves, nothing would get better. He had gotten himself into relatively good shape once more but now it was proving that he hadn't done that much. But Jack did not complain, he merely lifted his head and trudged along with his fellow serorans, hoping that this fools errand wouldn't end with their demise.
when they came upon the canyons, Jack let out a silent breath of relief as the suns strong gaze turned away and gave to cooling shadows. But then the ghost turned and slipped between the walls, stepping into dark caves. Halting, Jack's jaw clenched as he called to follow, his nostrils flaring as Jack looked to Osprey. Surely they wouldn't- but then yes of course they would! Swallowing thickly, Jack slowly stepped into the cave with the others, following behind Salvatore. Yes yes he lived in a cave, for Alya's sake he knew that! but these were unfamiliar, empty and cold; not filled with the bustle of horses and noises in Osulas. These caves reminded Jack all too well of when he lost the hearing in his right ear. Taking deep breathes, he trudged on through the winding caves, heart beating loudly in his ears as he prayed that they come out soon and be greeted with that damned sun once more.
And yes, the sun did come out.
It seemed all too much for Jack at first, his breath coming out in one quick gasp as he stepped to the side of Salvator, his mouth open as he took in the sights that surrounded them. The lush flora that lined the ground and crept up the towering canyon walls, the sound of distant water running and the calls of birds that Jack knew all too well from his youth. It took all his strength to keep standing as he stared awestruck, eyes falling to the glittering lake that Ishmael stood proudly in front of. In his mind, he was brought back to the day of his rising ceremony, how he had spotted the striking blue feather against the mirror like lake that reflected the skies above. And now he realised how wrong it had been of him to question Alya so strongly, to say that she had abandoned her children and left them to dry in Ignacio's sun.
Dropping his head, Jack closed his eyes and silently began to pray to Alya, offering thanks and apologising for doubting her and her messenger, the pale ghost that had led them to their salvation.
Post 8 | Word count 653
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