Day 2 - Horizon

Day 2 - Horizon

There was something so perfect about feeling the sun rise on his face that made Kaleh'a Quickdraw swear sometimes he was born into the wrong Miqo'te clan.

His eyes were closed, face upturned, facing east, sitting high in a sturdy oak tree on a branch and waiting for the warmth to hit him without having to see it. It was one of his favorite things to do, despite growing up and still following the Keeper of the Moon faith and customs. Sure, he loved the moon, Menphina, a strong believer in the Lover, but the sun…

He could feel it now, tickling his blonde hair, kissing the white tips, and he swore, swore it was like the kiss of the moon. Warm, kind, the dawn of a new day, a fresh start, filled with the scent of the forest all around him. He could smell the leaves and the wood under him, the dirt of the forest floor far below, and the creeping warmth now hitting his forehead. His lips twitched, upwards in a smile, feeling and seeing as the backs of his eyelids lit up, the sun finally reaching them, turning them orange, and he could see his own spiderwebbing veins through them.

The sun crept higher, and the warmth on his face continues to grow, until his face was fully lit, and a breeze blew through his hair, across his face, from right to left. North.

Slowly, he turned his face, facing the direction of the wind, his right cheek warm as the sun kept rising, and his ear flicked as he opened his turquoise blue eyes and stared out into the morning. He slowly grinned, spotting something, and his blonde tail flicked as the lion’s tip curled up, and then flicked out. Right as he let go of the branch, dropped backwards, and fell.

His hands grabbed the branch beneath him, swinging down, branch to branch, booted feet thudding firmly, squarely on the branches, near the trunk, catching the next branch with his hands and then dropping, over and over, practiced and smooth. His tail was a little radar, and balance, feeling the branches, the trunk, keeping him from tipping over and plummeting the 50 or so fulm to the ground. It only took him a few more seconds to drop the rest of the way, landing squarely on him feet, and startling the morning watch of his small traveling party, the Wood Wailer guard looking up from behind his mask and scowling.

“When did you…” the guard started, and then stopped, shrugging, shifting his spear on his shoulder, and then muttering something about stupid Miqo'te Keepers.

Kaleh'a decided the morning was too beautiful to warrant a response to that.

“Well,” he said instead, picking up his bow and arrow from beside his already rolled pack, “I know where we are going today!”

“Oh, really?” The Wailer said sarcastically, and the blonde Miqo'te rolled his eyes.

“Yes yes, I saw something interesting. Smoke, small and concentrated. Looks like a single campfire. Likely your poachers.” And he pointed, through the trees and woods and shrubbery of the Black Shroud, north. “So, we go that way!”

And despite all his grumbling, the Wailer roused their three other companions, and everyone readied with their new direction in mind. Together, the small band struck off towards the horizon, towards adventure, with an overly chipper Kaleh'a in the lead.

Day 1 - Steer

“Come on.”

Featherflame squawked in protest, her red feathers ruffling as she shook her body, and attempted for the umpteenth time to unseat her rider, a rather frustrated and worn out Brynhorn Fiske. The large soldier squeezed his knees tight, hanging on, holding on to her by sheer will and strength, almost falling off the side. He growled with frustration, pulling on the reins as Featherflame jerked her head to the side in the opposite direction, feisty as fire as she squawked again and crouched.

The next second, the pair of powerful legs launched upward, sent Bryn flying up out of the saddle, and had him roaring with surprise as he sailed through air, and landed hard on his side. The wind exploded from his lungs, leaving him wheezing and groaning on the ground, eyes wide as he rolled onto his back, hands clenching at the grass and dirt under him as he let out a pitiful wheeze, and finally managed to get his breath back with a gasping inhale. Slowly rolling onto his side, he pushed up, looking up at the Chocobo as she shook her head, bit hard at the bit in her beak, and shook her head about, sending the reigns whipping back and forth. Annoyed, displeased, upset. Understandable, considering Featherflame was once a wild and free Chocobo not too long ago.

Bryn slowly rose up, pressing up into a plank, pulling his legs up under him, and standing, brushing off his coat as he turned to face the Chocobo. She was still preoccupied, biting the bit harder, actually holding still to chomp over and over on it, but it didn't budge. At least not until Bryn approached with raised hands, motioning for her to calm just like the riding instructor had suggested.

Featherflame stopped, head cocking, staring at the approaching Hyur as he lifted a hand, and gently brushed her beak. For a moment, she relaxed, calmed under his touch, that unspoken bond between the two evident, and the reason why he was so adamant about training her himself.

They had met on the burning fields of the Carteneau Flats, right after Dalamud had fallen.

Right after Bryn thought he lost everything.

And Featherflame had nothing more to lose.

Bryn reached up, touching the scar over his left eye, the one his mount had given him in a fit of panic when they chanced upon each other in the burning fields. He couldn't blame her, she was trying to survive. But it did remind him of how he had gotten her to trust him the first time.

And that he had ridden her without all the fancy bobs and whistles.

Carefully, he removed the bit, and Featherflame clacked her beak, eyeing him with curious intelligence as he shifted the bridle, the reins, and kept them around her beak and head. It left her mouth free, free to move, but also offered him the control and use of the reins. A moment later, he stepped to the side, slinging his leg up and over, onto Featherflame, onto the saddle, and positioning himself comfortably. He sat there, let the Chocobo cluck and click, a sharp fweeee, and then he picked up the reins.

A gentle tug, like the tap on her neck when he had hung half off her barely conscious, and she responded, starting out in a slow trot to the left, just as he had guided. Tug to the right, and she responded again, calm and steady. And he chuckled.

“So it was the bit, hm?” He patted her long neck, and she ruffled her red feathers, in reply.

He spent a long time just riding her around, getting her accustomed to him, and as he lead her back into the stables, he patted her neck and looked into her red eyes, his silver ones gleaming. “Well what do you know, just takes a gentle hand to steer.” And Featherflame let out a sharp fweeee in agreement.

FFXivWrite2024 - Be Kind to Yourselves!

We WROTE anyway! That's the point. WE DID IT. WE'RE DOING IT. WE WILL KEEP DOING IT!

I've loved what I've been reading so far personally. Not a single one have I read and been like wow they forgot a period, or man that was brutal to read.

Praise yourselves the way you want to hear others praise you! (Shoutout to my therapist.) "But that's bragging!" SO BRAG A LITTLE! You did a thing!

It's okay not to like things too. Just make sure you're not holding yourself to any standard other than "an effort was made, go me."

I'll try to remember that too, ay? Cause spoiler alert, one of those tags was mine. Guilty! On a positive note- I did love this tag I saw this morning:

Yes, yes you are.

I have just become aware that Tumblr will actually show you how many seconds ago a post was made.

I think I'm too fast on the like button.

Day 4 - Reticent

It was one of those warm, easy nights where the Maelstrom company could relax, circle around the fires, drink ale, and sing sea shanties. A moment of peace, so hard to find, but for that moment, everyone could relax, and Brynhorn Fiske could relax.

He remembered these days, where he circled with the new members of the Maelstrom, swapped stories, told tall tales, joked about each other or their families, and built that camaraderie that kept a myriad of different walks in life together. But now, he was no longer part of that.

It was his choice, five years ago, to resign from the Maelstrom as a Storm Sergeant, Second Class, taking his menial pension and throwing his lot with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. He had his reasons…reasons he hadn't told anyone besides those closest to him, but even then, he couldn't keep away from his old haunts. The Scions worked with all the grand companies, and recognizing Bryn’s connection to the Maelstrom, they often asked him to liaison with the red coated soldiers. Which was why he was among old friends right now.

He heard raucous laughter, and he glanced up, noting a pair of younger privates stumbling towards him, ale in hand, grinning like fools as they plopped down next to him, the ex-sergeant shifting his rifle to make room for the one on his right, silver eyes flicking between the two.

“Hey, you're the Silver Wolf, aren't ya?” Bryn’s eyes flicked to the one on the left, poking the fire with a stick, as he nodded, his left hand shifting to lift the patch on his green coat. The Silver Wolf emblem winked in the fire light, and he grunted in affirmative, the light playing across his bearded face.

“You're legendary!” The soldier on his right chimed in, a Miqo'te, jostling his shoulder as he took a drink. He let out a pleased sigh at the taste, and then sloshed the tankard about. “Scouting for the front lines, pushing back the Garleans.”

“Why'd you retire?”

He froze, his gaze darting to the Lalafel on his left, his question not one he really wanted to discuss. Ever since that day…

“Dalamud,” he growled out, and both soldiers fell silent. It was a half truth, but Bryn was far too reticent to reveal more. To reveal the real reason he had left. It wasn't just the horror of watching Bahamut fall, killing friends, wiping out his squad. It wasn't just the burning and the fire as it seared his skin.

It was what came after, in the moment before death.

When his old moniker became far, far too real.

He closed his eyes, suppressing the memory, the way he had felt the fire no longer just on his skin, in his veins, drawing something up inside him, dragging it to the surface in a last ditch effort, to fight for life. Changing him, forcing him into something he didn't recognize. White fur singed black, but his eyes…she had said they were the same the first time she'd seen them.

He wasn't sure he believed her.

Bryn’s deep breath startled the two beside him, poking the fire again as he glanced at the Lalafel. “Forget about me. Tell me, your favorite exploit?” Both were all too happy to jump at that question, regaling the Silver Wolf with story after story of their young lives, and slowly bringing a smile to his face.

And for the night, Bryn felt like he was a part of the Maelstrom again. Young, free, and with purpose. Secrets forgotten.

And it felt good.