"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
in the morning when I wake and the sun is coming through, oh you fill my lungs with sweetness and my head is filled with you
The world is cold. Frosty. A thin layer of snow lays across the open space of the Field. The grass has withered and died and all the world is white in it’s absence. For a moment, through the trees, the snow seems to shift. It’s as if it has come alive, a small abominable snow monster in the flesh. It’s not a monster but a white horse, a mare. Her body just as clear and ivory as the landscape she is crossing. Everything about her screams confusion and bewilderment. Her thin body is trembling as she staggers across the snow, her hooves slipping against the hidden ice. Wild eyes of crystal blue are filled with fright. She knows this land, she knows it! But where did she come from? She can’t remember anything. Anything on where she had been or where she had come from. All she can remember is her name.
Silence. All around her is silence. The soft fall of snowflakes and the crunching of snow beneath her hooves. That’s it. She’s alone, not spotting a single being within her vicinity. It sets her panic into full force once more. She’s frightened by the way it feels as if her heart might explode from her chest, the way it beats so frantically against it’s cage. Her breath comes out in short spurts, ghostly mist hanging in the air as the ice burns down her throat and freezes her lungs. Too weak to call out, she sinks into the snow with a mind to rest. The snow falls harder, beginning to blanket the already snowy mare. This is where I will die. I will die only knowing my name.
I do not deny that the feel of the cold, crisp wind feels good from the summer's unrelenting heat. But I do not share fond memories of the harsh, cruel winter. As I walk through the growing mounds of ivory, I am careful and purposeful withe every long stride. Red feathers slick with the touch of snow, the still-falling flurries like teardrops against my bright strawberry skin. They melt as soon, trickling like the tears of fallen angels, down my shoulders, my neck. Within the damp knots of my mane, the forgotten summer flowers still sit, dried and fragile. They feel part of me, like the soft rays of light that reflects from the Falls. the sweet smell reminding me of the place that has stolen my heart. Home.
I had seen Gaza, again. We spoke of the child swelling within. I was concerned, in the way all new mothers are. What will it be like, what will happen? Akos had been fine, he still is the little adventuring boy. Texas. He is as good a father as any, I'm sure. It is still fresh and new for me. Shatter's own child, grows with every day that passes and I am reminded again that time, it runs away with us. Spring will be here soon and another child will be by my foot. Another sound of laughter to fill the Falls, another mouth to tell of wanting tales and desires.
Yet, the Falls needed more than children. Thus, I found the trek between the Falls and the Field, quite observational and contemplative. the snow falling across my vision, decorating the trees with icicles and a foam of white where red and green leaves once sat. It pulled me into a fairytale and there, walking through the field, I remained. until I saw a form, at first I thought it was a deeper mound of snow, but then I noticed her flanks roared with life. I increase my pace, concern snapping my heels and forcing my heavy frame like a tank through the snow. I'm by her side soon enough, lowering my muzzle, breathing hot air against her cold face.
'Here's not the safest place to rest, dear petal.' I reach out to touch her, but stop myself. Remembering what had happened when the ice had felt like iron in my lungs that time. The cold leaden weights against my joints, weighing me down, pulling me under into the throes of sleep. Oh how I wanted to sleep. I shook my head, dropping to my knees and sidling up to the pale mare. My body is vast a vessel, large and warm with the thick strawberry fur. 'You mustn't close your eyes. Tell me, your name. What is your name, dear petal?' the ice berates me against the wind and though my windswept tresses cling wet to my face, my neck I whisper against them, close to the mare. 'Anything. say anything. Spring will soon be here, the wildflowers, the birds. Think of their song in summer, the glorious sunlight filtering through the trees.' think of anything but the cold that weighs like lead in your bones, think of anything else...
He’s battled exhaustion every day since he returned from the land of the dead with one of its inhabitants. The guilt had pulled at his mind, but the journey itself had drained his body, left him a husk of the man he’d been before. It was going against all the laws of nature, he knew. Wrynn had been right years ago in the Meadow; she’d tried to warn him against his desire to blur the lines of death and life even further than Carnage had made them. It hadn’t worked, of course. Ramiel’s curiosity was a deep well dug into his very soul. He couldn’t stay away from the Other Side any more than he could stop the beating of his own heart. And hadn’t he succeeded in some small way? Wasn’t the corpse girl proof enough of what he could do?
It had taken a toll, but it was a price he was willing to pay.
He’s mostly restored as he leaves the Dale this cold winter day. It’s an easy trip (anything is, compared to melting into the afterlife and all its effects) that’s he’s taken plenty of times. Unfortunately for him, it is also a trip he’s taken back alone plenty of times, having failed at his recruiting attempts in the past. Too many horses were too quickly swayed by promises of power elsewhere. The Dale is different, he knows. In its recent history, the once-neutral kingdom was focused only on its family values. He understands the need to foster good relations between the herdmates, but he also understands that, as their only selling point, they couldn’t hope for much in the way of numbers.
Ramiel wants to tweak the formula without losing their feeling of family; he needs only to learn how best to phrase it.
Snow covers much of the flat expanse, including the backs of the gathered horses. Most look about them with searching eyes – desperate to find somewhere, anywhere away from the harsh realities of the homeless grounds. The greyed stallion wants to bring them all to the mountain kingdom, but knows it isn’t realistic. He’ll be lucky enough to find one willing follower on such a blustery day. His feet sink into the powder as he moves towards one forlorn stallion. The buckskin paws at the ground, trying to uncover some sort of sustenance, Ramiel figures, but he’s heart isn’t in the motion. The ghost-man is about to call out when a motion catches his gaze. The snow moves. A big pile of it shifts, but upon closer inspection, he realizes it is only a mare burying herself within it.
He changes course, heading her way instead. Another mare beats him to the punch. She’s big and red and ridiculously nice in her tone and manner. He likes her immediately, though at the same time, he’d never take the same approach. She tries to comfort the burrowing mare, telling her of the oncoming spring and all its trappings: the birds and sun and flowers. Ramiel wonders if it’s too much. He nods at the tall woman before looking back at the white mare. “I wouldn’t advise staying there too long, either. You’ll freeze to death in this weather.”And I don’t fancy finding you on the Other Side when you do, he thinks to himself but doesn’t add out loud. “I’m Ramiel, he says to both of the women, his face neutral in response to the situation. The girl seems to be having some sort of crisis. He wants to help, so he offers it in the only way he can think of. “Spring is a ways off, still. If you need shelter now, I can take you to the Dale.”
08-27-2015, 10:19 PM (This post was last modified: 08-31-2015, 05:01 PM by Soliel.)
in the morning when I wake and the sun is coming through, oh you fill my lungs with sweetness and my head is filled with you
Her eyes are too heavy, they refuse to open. The snow builds up around her and she resigns herself to fate. It’s not so bad, freezing to death. In fact the sense of cold and warmth seems to not matter anymore, her strength seeping from her stiff ivory body. She knows that with every second she lays here, her blood is condensing and her heart beat is slowing. There’s a spark that flickers in her chest but it sputters, threatening to extinguish forever. For why should she continue? She can’t remember anything or anyone. The land looked familiar but she has no family that she knows of or can recall. She has no home. Little lost lamb with no reason to live.
There is a soft floral scent in the air, warm breath mingling with her own frosty gasps. Suddenly something warm next to hers. Warmth and a comforting voice, reaching towards her through the frozen wasteland her body is becoming. Eyelids flutter, a glimpse of red. A name, a name. She asks for her name. The only thing she has. ”Soliel.” A mere whisper, the act itself of speaking exhausting. Petals and spring and summer. All seem so far away. And then another voice, calling her away from sleep. Sweet sleep. “You’ll freeze to death.” Oh I know. I know but how can I not?
His name escapes her ears but when her eyelids flutter again she catches strands of gold. It’s not enough to motivate her in the throws of teetering death. “I can take you to the Dale.” That works. ”The Dale?” She asks weakly, forcing her blue eyes open towards the stallion as she leans slightly into Eld’s warm embrace. ”The Dale.” She repeats again, stupidly. For there is a one single cobweb that seems to fall off a corner of her memory. ”I remember the Dale.” She can’t remember what it looks like but the name, it’s like a bell. The flame in her chest flickers and spits with a gust of snowy wind blowing in her face. ”Please…” A quiet plea to them both, to the helpful strawberry mare at her side and the black stallion who may hold the only key to who or what she is. Words that she can barely manage on her numb tongue. ”I need to go to the Dale.”
Perhaps it is because I have been in the same situation; heavy with ice seeming to bury itself into my bones, the cold, unrelenting wind that tugs and pulls at every inch of my weary frame. It is because I have been in the same situation, that I long to help the ivory girl. Dipping my red nose, I press it softly against her cheek, willing her to stay as conscious as it is even possible, given the way the snow melts into the warmth and freezes almost immediately. She stirs, ever so little and that is when my emerald gaze flickers, hearing the shuffle of snow mounds and the shadow of another out of the corner of my eye.
There is a sigh in my throat, of relief, perhaps even reassurance. I could only do so much, vast red frame radiating warmth, keeping the pale girl from turning into a snowy angel, lost within the backdrop. As the steed announces himself, his tone warm, welcoming and friendly. I nicker back, turning my head to quietly observe him. 'Ramiel.' I say, announcing his name, a lilting voice, lost within the spires of wind.
The girl whispers her name. Soliel. Beautiful sun, beautiful, delicate rays of light. I shiver as the wind berates me even, and I bury myself closer, only to shift away once more when the girl stirs, a brightness taking her, as if pulling her from the trance. Ramiel's mention of the Dale has awoken her. reassuringly, I lift my head and emerald gaze settles upon the dark stallion. I nod, in agreement. The poor girl, if she stayed here any longer would disappear into the snow that patches her ivory skin. I unfurl my knees, gently as to not disturb the girl and whilst half risen, I turn to Ramiel. 'I can help you get her to the Dale, if you'd like. A pair makes lighter work than but one.' I mean no ill of his offering, and I only wish to help the girl. After all, if someone had not helped me, when I had fallen through the shattering ice, then I would not be here to help Soliel. Perhaps fate works in wondrous ways.
I turn my crown and rest my chin atop the girl's poll, a reassuring touch. 'The Dale. Do not worry Soliel, you'll go to the Dale.' As if the momentary trouble and trauma has slipped my mind, I turn, to Ramiel and whicker softly, to both he and the frozen girl. 'I'm Eld.' I pause here, perhaps bettering myself, to tell of why I try and why I had pressed myself up so close to a stranger. 'I have been in the same predicament. If a kindly stranger had not found me, then I would not be here today... Ramiel, if you take her other side perhaps we can help her up?' I say, as I do so, my body cranes itself from the ground, dripping with icicles from my thick-skinned barrel. Snow drifts forming upon my mane, I shake them out and sidle up close to the girl, lowering my head to attempt to hook my neck around her and try and lift her to her feet.. that would be a good start.
The snow falls heavily now, appearing thicker for the winds that whip it all around the trio. He’s never minded the changing of the seasons (as a serious boy years ago, snow had been one of the only things that could entice him to gallivant around like a boy should). But today, witnessing the mare who burrows ever-deeper into the frozen precipitation, he finds himself cursing old man winter. How much easier it would be to help the confused woman without the added possibility of her turning to ice before they can. If they can’t get through to her, it’s not if she freezes, but when. He tries the only tactic he can think of by asking her back to the kingdom.
Recognition brightens in her eyes when he mentions the Dale. Ramiel can see the moment of clarity, can see the lines of worry soothe on her face when she hears of the mountainous land. It doesn’t last long (not long enough to convince him she’s over whatever instability has shaken her) but it is enough to stir his movements. They have a plan and a diversion to save her life, at least. He will take her there, if it’s what she wishes, but he’ll need the larger mare’s help.
Ramiel looks to her now as she introduces herself. A Falls woman, of course, he thinks and smiles back at her. He tries not to have any prejudices – good or bad – for any of the kingdoms, but it is hard not to equate the watery place with kindly citizens. They have a healing waterfall, after all, one which has stitched the wounds of as many outsiders as it has Falls citizens. There’s no time for pleasantries or conversation, though (he figures there will be plenty of time for it on the way home) so he gets right to the point. “As good a reason as any.” The grey stallion turns to the prone white mare, smiling encouragingly. Eld attempts to lift her, and when she’s to her feet, he goes to her other side. He leans into her side, testing the stability of her weight between them. “Are you ready Soliel? Just one step after another – take as long as you need.”
…
They travel in this strange-sling fashion to the border of the Dale. Ramiel is glad to see the familiar mountains rising in the distance. The white mare should be warm, pressed as she is between the two larger horses, but he hopes she’s alright in other respects, too. The snow had greatly slowed them on the way to the Dale, but as they got closer to home, the storm started to relent. Now, the snow is barely a trickle as it falls from the grey skies above – more of an annoyance as it brushes against him than an actual threat. The young stallion turns to his companions, his relief and exhaustion evident on his face. “We made it.”
He’s so grateful the red lady has made the trip with them – he’s honestly unsure if he could have helped the distressed girl all the way here by himself. “Thank you for accompanying us, Eld. You are more than welcome to stay to rest and recover if you wish.” Ramiel acknowledges the land spreading out before them. The rising hills block much of the frigid winds that had whipped against them in the Field. It’s as comfortable place as any in the cold months (besides the Desert and Amazons, of course) and he hopes the mares will find it comfortable should they stay. He turns to Soliel now, concern in his golden gaze. “Are you all right?” He wonders what is here that has drawn her mind back to the place. What does the Dale hold that has pulled her from her obvious distress?
Ramiel
ghost king of the dale
ooc: I went ahead and posted this in the Dale as well, if you guys don't mind! <3
