| SKYLLA & CHARYBDIS take what the water gave me |
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“A dead man,” came the reply, turning Skylla’s rasping voice thicker, as something primal and unreasonable was granted hold of her. Those golden eyes, once warm and bright as the sun, sought the tiny figure struggling to breath her first true breath. “This one vowed to kill him for what he did, but he is beyond reach for now…” If not for the fact that Charybdis could not bear to do nothing while the newborn filly flailed in a desperate attempt to break free (for Skylla made no move to attend to her), she would not have been close enough to save her. As it was, the attack came unseen, with her milky white eye towards Skylla, and the seeing one anxiously observing the young filly who was a beautiful thing in the eyes of Charybdis (no matter the circumstances of her conception) draw in little lungfuls of ocean air. But the half-blind mare was not completely caught off guard. She had sensed the way Skylla had drawn herself up in preparation to strike. Despite the tell-tale signs, a scream of alarm and disbelief rang out in the air, shrill and piercing. “Skylla, no!” And suddenly they were a tangled of limbs, Charybdis throwing herself upon the snarling mare, desperate to prevent the innocent child coming to harm. “Eidolon, please--,” a sudden gust of wind picked up, carrying the hoarse cry with it inland. “F-Faolain!” Somebody. Anybody. Help. The momentum of her bulk had them tumbling, away from the newborn child. Charybdis colliding with Skylla, white and stark against the sand-stone-and-earth of her (a wave crashing upon the rocks, smashing to pieces the ship that had been foundering among the jagged outcropping). “Get away, get away from this place!” Fear and desperation turned Charybdis savage, and her voice stabbed stridently through the air. She pressed close, ramping up her aggression even as her heart demanded she stop. It cleaved at her, the desire to protect innocence, the longing to bury her muzzle into the silvery-gold mane and pitch herself into the sea alongside Skylla. She’d already lost Skylla once, and did not think she would be strong enough to lose her again. Despite everything she was – a force to be reckoned with, Charybdis did not have it in her to kill that which she loved, no matter how disfigured and unrecognisable her beloved had become. If she were to die, Charybdis would serve some purpose with her death – to die saving a life was a far nobler thing than to die taking a life. And so, with a wretched cry, heart breaking anew, the white mare broke away from the savage beast in the surf, and staggered back towards the child. A sob rose within her as she contemplated her mortality, and she mourned for more than she had lost, she mourned for all that she might never live to see with her own eyes; the child of Skylla growing into something beautiful despite the brutality she’d been borne of, the figure of Faolain ascending to the high places, the rest of the herd mingling below, a family brought closer together for all the trials they’d weathered with one another, and for one another. Eidolon, and her stalwart courage against the growing evils the both of them sensed, drawn together by unseen forces, and bound together by a cause neither of them might get a chance to understand. She heard that mystic voice speaking to her now, but a fleeting glance revealed there was no midnight creature beside her. Charybdis expected to feel hooves or teeth upon her back, but she did not cower. The memory of Nzingha’s voice gave her courage to stand tall, even bruised and battered as she felt. Skylla had made good on her threat after all; she’d had her taste of blood. Charybdis could feel it trickling down her shoulder, and it beaded on her ashen muzzle from when Charybdis had blocked that first dreadful strike that hadn’t been meant for her. Behind her, unseen, Skylla retreated into the waves, crying further threats as she allowed the current to bear her away. They fell on deaf ears as Charybdis stumbled up the beach, and crumpled in a heap, curling around the abandoned child, sobs wracking her body as she wailed her grief and condemned the actions of one who’d once been everything to her. “Gone, gone, de half of me is gone,” she keened, as she had before Faolain where they’d stood huddled in the Commons in the wake of the storm that had first washed Charybdis ashore. The lament was as true now as it had been then – even if Skylla still lived, the part of her that had loved Charybdis and been loved in return was gone, the goodness in her had died. The trembling that had taken hold of the ocean-hearted mare quickly subsided, as she found comfort in the words that whistled through her mind, drowning out all sound (so that she hardly noticed the approach of one coming to her aid until they were almost upon her). ‘We should not fear death,’ Nzingha had spoken to her, the spirit in her shining brighter than any star in the inky expanse of night-sky that Charybdis often spent hours studying, seeking always for something just beyond reach. Dazed, and acutely aware of every injury that throbbed in protest now that the adrenalin ran thin in her veins, Charybdis raised her head, struggling to focus on the face (or was it faces?) before her, as her impaired vision swam. She worked her jaw soundlessly as she cast about for words, and sought to wade through her wild state in order to recognise who had come to her aid, and acknowledge them. “De girl, help her,” she finally managed to utter hoarsely, past the emotion that remained lodged in her throat. The filly was all that mattered now. Charybdis knew better than to fear death, even if it was her own. Eidolon was wise when it came to what should be feared. “On’y de end of life,” Charybdis slurred, her head dropping, even as she tried to ascertain that the tiny filly was still alive and breathing. “I would give all I am,” she rambled, shifting to lay a moment on the sand, content knowing that the tiny child was being tended to by those who would not harm her. The mare had meant to say more, but the words slipped away from her, and she closed her eyes to rest a moment, concentrating instead on steadying her breathing, so that it was strong and sure. A breeze ruffled at her mane, even coaxing the black strands that were sticky with blood to twitch. Above the voices she heard (real and imagined she could no longer distinguish), Charybdis could hear the tide approaching. Waves rushing in, out. In, out. The sea, her breath, and the aching heart beating in her breast, slow and steady, all in sync. In. Out. Her eye blinked open, the one she called chalcedony blue, and she snorted sand and salt from her nostrils. With a wince and a wheeze she righted herself, her visage calm, her gaze clear, and her voice steady as she looked to the figure tending to the filly, to claim an answer for herself, before giving reply to any question asked of her by those who’d heard her cry on the wind and come to her aid, helping her to save the life of a child. “Is de girl okay? Anyt’ing I can do for her, I will.” |