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Wondering eyes snake through the room. Was it even possible?
The place felt alive, though. It felt like belonging. And he was so thirsty ...
Before he even registers having moved, the shaman finds himself kneeling at the edge of the spring, a shock of cold water flowing over cupped hands. He draws the water to his mouth, splashing as much liquid onto his shirt as he manages to actually drink down.
Crisp, cool water runs down Animus' throat; the refreshment running from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. The water, itself, is alive with him. The Thyrsus' memories returning to him like a rising tide that threatens to overwhelm.
Animus' life flashes before his eyes, fills his nose, tingles at his skin, and touches his tongue.
The moment of pride when the Consilium recognized him as a Master.
The weight of the ring Tyria gave him.
The touch of Triquetra's hand.
The divinity of every part and the sum of all of them.
Nearby, the bird looks on him approvingly; singing its song and flapping its wings.
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Imagery flashing through his mind, his immediate surroundings entirely forgotten. Sights, sounds, smells, tactile sensations. The highs and lows of raw emotion. The warmth of triumph blurs into the pain and terror of bullets riddling flesh, before passing just as quickly to sensations of love nd trust. At the last, one image flows to the surface. The feel of rough paper and slick graphite. The sight of a phoenix leaping into the air, wreathed in an aura caught midway between death and life.
Slowly, sensations begin to trickle back in. Head throbbing with pain in time to his heartbeat. Every muscle singing with pain and exertion. Thighs pressed against chest, arms clamped around knees. The entire side of his body chilled by a hard surface. Eyes screwed shut and aching.
With a great deal of effort, he pries himself out of the panicked curl and drags himself into a seated position. The room spins and hands press hard against the ground to keep from falling over. A wary gaze toward the bird, midway between thanks and grief. It was what he'd wanted, but ... His lover's likeness, pleading to be spared. A grief-crazed snarl, blood splashing across paws with the finality of a fading life.
The raw memory nearly causes a second collapse, but the shaman pushes back. In some ways, the burned-out feeling in the wake of having his memories reawakened made it easier. Besides, he couldn't keep running. Not so soon after regaining what it had cost him in the first place.
With one final glance to the bird, Animus forces himself to stand, half-staggering back the way he had entered. At least now he had an anchor for the aching familiarity of the place. At the threshold, he nods weakly to Ariadne and Leo, eyes seeming to stare through his fellow magi.
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Raised eyebrows look to Ariadne as Animus comes back out.
"So what's the deal?" He asks his Talon. "Good, better, or was this a bust?"
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Ariadne returns the nod after sharing that glance with Leo. Blue eyes look at Animus only to be looked through. The Warlock shifts to continue looking around the realm around the mages. I need to be more prepared before I do this again.
Ariadne doesn't ask any questions or say anything. Leo covered that base well.
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A wavering gaze slowly focuses in on Leo. Flickers of a shocked face slowly falling to the ground. "I ... remember, but ... you ever rip open a scab when it was only half-healed?"
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"It kind of itched?" Alex replies with out really thinking before speaking. Then she looks around. Wondering if something like pain would reflect straight to where they were.
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Leo chuckled a little at Ari's question before remembering what he was talking about.
"At least now you can associate names with actual people again." The First Talon started with a shrug. "Now that you know why you feel certain ways about certain things you can at least try to pick up the pieces. Plus me and Ari are here to help if you need it."
Leo smiled a little to Animus. Support networks were a thing, and Leo was more then happy to be in one for his peeps.
Leo's affirmation to Animus is the last thing the three can say as the Onieros starts to disintegrate around them; pulling the trio of Magi back out of the mind of Animus. The feeling is akin to standing in an elevator, that moment of weightlessness before settling on the ground. The meditation room they sit in, sans Kite, is much the same as they've left it. The night is in full swing and exhaustion settles in their bones.
Their foray has left them a lot to think of. But, that's best left for another day.
Great Scene and Mini-Plot. Feel free to fill out Truth from Dreams ♥
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