Winter - Day 20 - Year 509 AV
Pale feathers drifted down from the cloud-smothered sky, bathing the earth in a blanket of downy white. Some spiraled, some drifted, others swirled in eddies…it was as though each pallid plume had a mind of it’s own as it made a winding descent. Those gathered on the earth pooled into glowing drifts of white, shifting as though encouraged by some mystical tide…the ebb and flow of the downy quills was like a hypnotic balm, soothing, lulling…
Where am I?
A swirling net of plumes obstructed Evarette’s view as she got shakily to her feet, sapphire eyes narrowed to slits as she strove to peer past the falling curtain of feathers…
Am I dead?
The question arose cautiously from the back of her mind, ringing with awe, confusion, and perhaps a hint of panic. Did a group of Glassbeaks happen upon her in her sleep? Feathers didn’t just fall from the sky and pool at your feet. Evarette’s eyes shifted to the earth, buried in drifts of plumage, and she tested a step forward. It was like…weightless snow. Her eyes widened, and she cried out into the ringing silence…
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
…She still couldn’t see anything past the swirling eddies of white painting the surrounding air. Not a sound awaited her—save the satiny whispers of feathers sliding against one another. Her voice had been swallowed, muffled by the heaps of down tumbling from the sky…not even an echo could be traced in the distance. Evarette sucked in a deep, shaky breath, turning about—
And what was that? A spear of ebony caught her eye. She froze, turning only her head, as though afraid of spooking what lurked behind her. A greater shock awaited her, however...Thick, tufted shards of ebony stood out stark against the backdrop of white plumage. Wings. Black wings. Gleaming blue-black where the muted light kissed them, they sprouted from her shoulders like a death shroud, drooping partway to the earth, the weight of them allowing the long, dark pinions to sink into the cloud of white coating the ground.
“What…” Evarette whispered, the last of her breath having been sucked from her lungs in the shock of it. Her head rang with the silence that followed, and the only thing she could bring herself to do was trade a stunned expression between each fan of black plumage attached to her shoulders. How was this possible?? What was happening to her???
Suddenly her eye caught it…a small prick of light in the darkness. Another white feather. This one, instead of sliding gently from the mass of black shafts that curled away from her shoulders, stayed...it lay pinned between it’s dark, ebony mates, defiant in it’s very existence. As Evarette’s focus narrowed on this small, white feather…another flicker of movement caught her eye. Yet another feather—this one, black as pitch—lost it’s hold, and slipped from the rest to go spiraling down…down to meet the cloud of white plumage churning at Evarette’s feet. A chip of ebony in a sea of Ivory. Evarette’s dark brows rose as another fell. Then another. She spared a glance to her other wing…only to find more white plumes shivering into place, peeking from between the jet slivers of existing feathers.
“I don’t understand…” Evarette’s voice faltered, a trace of insolence souring its tone. This couldn’t be happening. Things like this just didn’t…happen…She was no Kelvic, no winged half-breed, she was Drykas!
Breaking from her frozen stance, Evarette cried out wordlessly unto the shrouded horizon, her voice splitting the silence in a howl that was rich with implications…Her legs plowed through the dunes of white, a stream of ebon shafts peppering the air in her wake. The ground gave way beneath her, swallowing her whole, her muffled cry lost in the downy froth that washed over her plunging figure...
Evarette woke with a start, lungs sucking in great gusts of air. Her eyes were wide, burning chips of dark azure, combing the surrounding darkness, following the phantoms of her dream as they bled into the canvas walls of her tent. Just a dream, she told herself, just a dream...But the whispered reassurances in the back of her mind were not enough to prevent her from trembling, shadows of feathers falling behind her closed eyes. Ivar could be heard shuffling outside, no doubt awakened by her cries and thrashing. Evarette flipped back her heavy blanket, wincing as the frigid air stropped its icy teeth on her bare arms. She needed air...
Air. It was why she was out here to begin with. Seeking solace in the rippling grasslands of her origin, away from the clustered oppression of the city, Evarette was searching for answers. The past few weeks spent confined to the walls of the city had earned her no answers in regards to her brother. He could be anywhere...His description matched that of a hundred other inhabitants of Riverfall, not to mention he could be going by another name entirely...That is, if he even passed through Riverfall. The endless possibilities, coupled with the hopes and optimism that were wilting beneath the obstacles and misinformation, had taken it's toll. Evarette found her heart aching for the open plains, the endless, swaying horizon, the silence...Her soul needed it, just as her physical being needed water. A few days of peace away from the throng of city life, if just to clear her head long enough for her to formulate her next move.
Evarette stepped from the tent, greeted by Ivar's familiar hulking shape. Her breath clouded beyond her lips, and she knelt to pull her cloak free from the possessions tucked at the mouth of her tent. Tucking it tight about her shoulders, Evarette plucked a stick from the earth and began to stir life into the fire she'd built earlier that night. A plume of pale smoke drifted up, mingling with the moonlight to create a spiraling beacon above her camp. She tossed on a few more chunks of kindling, and a tongue of flame began to dance to life. The night was devoid of wind, and silence settled on the land like a heavy blanket. It was so reminiscent of her dream that Evarette felt a stir of unease in the pit of her stomach.
Ivar whickered, drawing Evarette's attention. The stallion's head was lifted, velveteen nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep breath. His ears drawn erect, he gazed out into the plains as though expecting...something. "Ivar?" Evarette notched a brow in the Nightwalker's direction, her indigo eyes flitting between him and the direction of his scrutiny. Her pulse kicked in her veins...Despite Ivar's intense awareness, he was not intimidated, nor did he appear anxious. Clearly, he seemed to see, smell and hear something she could not...but on a frigid night like this, what in all of Mizahar could be lurking out there that would not ignite her mount's trepidation???