"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
The happy chill of autumn had given way to the harsh reality of winter. And though his metallic-looking coat was full and ready, his soul was not. Moggett hated the wintertime. His small body can be found beneath a large pine on the edge of the field where he attempts to shield himself from the wind and the snow. Snow was another of his many reasons to have distaste for this particular season. When one is small, snow can hamper freedom of movement tremendously. And though he is not as small as his poor mother, size has never been one of his assets. He continually tells himself it’s what on the inside that really matters anyway. (Right, Moggett… right…)
He had been a drifter, a nomad simply managing his existence on the edges of their established society. But then things had changed rather suddenly and his typical haunts were suddenly full to the brim of homeless horses. He wasn’t one for crowds, but he also thought this might be as good a time as any to try to do something with his life. He wasn’t what you would call ambitious, but he was getting to an age where a certain clock began to tick and the bachelor life was not quite as appealing as it once was. He knows he is not the most glamorous catch as far as males go, but he is willing to put himself out there at least. (Good on you, Moggett)
Where he lacks in height, he does make up for in strength and determination. He is a strong little man and he has heart, which is more than he can say of some of the males he has encountered in his years of wandering. His features are also gentle enough on the eyes, though not overly friendly (it gives him a sort of charm). So as he stands beneath his pine, frigid, he considers himself a decent enough recruit to any of the new lands that seem to be forming around Beqanna and this gives him hope. (Enough to warm his soul enough, anyway)
now don’t you understand…that I’m never changing who I am?
Reagan was one who loved snow. In the land where she came from all green, seeing another color was as grand as going to church on Easter Sunday. She too, was of a short stature, and she made her home among the pines and the conifers that grew in her home. There would be much color and life when the seasons shifted, but for now, she found that she was most content with life the way it was. And when she came through the edge of the forest and back to the field—she was not sure what drew her here—she saw a dark creature even shorter than she was, huddled in a pile next to a large tree as if he were trying to be the shadow that it casted upon the world. He looked a bit… lost? And she was a bit lost for words as to how to describe the situation in front of him.
The brash Irish lady did not stop to consider the situation—she was so curious by the short man’s stature that she could not help but look at him, and peeking into his head for a moment, she saw his name. Figuring that was enough for now, she nodded, twisted her mouth into an open expressive smile—can horses even do that?—and spoke to the obsidian colored male.
“Perfect day to freeze your ass off, isn’t it, Moggett?”
Her curiosity had been sparked when she had watched Reagan leaving their new home. However, it had been the fear of again losing someone dear – losing a mother twice had already been hard enough for the inky black girl – that had driven her to follow the short gray mare. It wasn’t like she was afraid that Reagan would abandon her, like her dam had done, but Jinju was afraid that she would suddenly disappear, in a similar way she had lost her adoptive mother. She probably could have ran to catch up, but the fair of being send back had stopped her from doing so. She just followed her ‘aunt’ a little behind.
The cold did no longer bother her, even though her dark coat was still quite thin. All due to Reagan’s magic, which had turned her pretty green necklace into a comfortable scar that warmed her from within. The Taiga was slowly starting to become more and more home, but deep in her heart Jinju still missed the Jungle’s vegetation. But the pine tree forest was still better than the open fields. Her ruby eyes glance around the field a bit hesitant, unsure if she should follow Reagan out in the open here, where everybody would be able to see her. But, her aunt wouldn’t send her back on her own now, right? That would be far too long for a filly alone.
She doesn’t run, but her walk is quite quick. She feels vulnerable, but the icy terrain is still too unfamiliar for her to move quicker. ”Aunt Reagan!” she calls out, in her mind finally making herself known to the gray magician, silently begging that she wouldn’t be send back. She stops at the gray and greenish mare’s side, only to curiously study the stranger. Jinju stood close to Reagan, hiding herself against her side, hesitant and shy in front of the silver black stallion.
He almost jumps out of his skin with the sudden voice that has appeared out of nowhere (snow has a bad habit of dampening sounds, but logic does not mean much when one is scared out of their wits). The male whirls around and finds himself face to face with a grinning mare only a little taller than himself. She is grey, has a strange melodic quality to her voice, and her smile is contagious. And, somehow, she knows his name.
Moggett has never traveled in circles with those of such powers, so he is not accustomed to such displays. His mind is baffled by such a parlor trick and his confusion is evident on his face. He does not have long to ponder such magic, however, for another joins their party and his attention is diverted to the new arrival. She is small, but young. Moggett wishes for the days when he could blame his height on his youth, but they are long past. He only smiles, a little disheveled, at the filly before returning his attention to her foul-mouthed and possibly omniscient aunt.
“I suppose so.” He laughs nervously, unsure of himself with the strangers (at least its not some huge muscular pompous asshole, Moggett, count your blessings). “Though I much prefer the summertime.” He says in an attempt to make conversation. “How do you know my name?” He asks curiously, and then as an afterthought “And what’s yours?”
Go ahead, laugh, I am delusional. No one wants to be resident of the Wasteland, no one except for those who were equally wasted in the soul department. Myself, I am simply stubborn. Likely I inherited that from my Sire, Mother was never so thick skulled. Then again there is only so much company to be had within the red wastes, most of it wasn’t to my liking and surely I was not their first choice of friend either. Some of them I’m not even sure could make or keep friends but that is neither here nor there.
Regardless of how or why, here I am, slowly making my way to a small gathering of horses. One in particular seems to be the object of recruitment and my copper eyes find him easily- he looks like Mother.
My heart tears in my chest as I find him between the others, painfully familiar in color and size. I know it's not her, it would never be her but I can’t help but want him for my own. Something to look at and remember when memories alone will not do on cold nights, when thoughts and prayers and wishes just will not replace what the eyes can see. I can hear her voice too, deep within my mind as I reach them, a tower of statue grey. I snort, mostly at myself, how did I think myself a collector? Is it in my blood?
I nod at the other two, mostly out of courtesy, one grey one black thing among him. But I’ve no care for these women, they don’t look like her. “Hello,” I try, eyes heavy on the male in front. The word is heavy in my mouth too, odd and misshapen but it is a word nonetheless.
now don’t you understand…that I’m never changing who I am?
There was a lull in the conversation as the winds shifted and the seasons changed. Moggett stood there patiently, as did Reagan and Jinju, and then a new woman—a tall woman—came calling, barely giving a word of greeting to the stunted man, and hardly acknowledging the women at all. Jinju had followed along—Reggie could hardly expect her to be left behind—and the Guardian made space for her sooty little angel beside her. Blinking nary a beat, she waits, gives a bump to Jinju’s soft head, and speaks to Moggett again.
“Summer time is coming, I assure you, though where we live does see winter—but it is winter at its most pure. Sheltered trees more dense than this provide protection for us, and summer provides shade. The girl and I reside there.” Nuzzling Jinju, she flicked her ears, and pushed the little ribbons of fire from out of her body to play around Jinju’s—so that her young pupil/daughter/niece would get a feeling of the fire that she would one day wield. Such displays were, she assumed, foreign to the two standing before her—though the tall one had the stench of Carnage about her—and she resumed her conversation with the man. “My name is Reagan, and this is Jinju. And as to knowing your name, it is a paltry example of the things I am capable of. I am the resident magick and Guardian of the Taiga Forest.”
Reagan was unsure of how to regard the dappled woman. Her mind’s eye said that her name was Tioga, but she was unsure as to what she wanted or what she was after. The magic of Carnage was nothing to desired, and yet Reagan’s ability to work beyond it was weak. She believed in God, but her magic was of the mundane—she could not herself claim to be what she was not.
The fledgeling conversation is all but thrown off course with the addition of a third female. While the second was just a filly, he can’t help but feel a little bit proud of himself for attracting such a feminine crowd. This brightens his mood and brings a genuine smile to his face. That is until he sees the strange look in the newcomer’s eyes. It is not an unknown look, but it is mysterious nonetheless. He knows it is not really him she is looking at, but he can’t help but hope that he might alleviate some of the sadness from those metallic eyes. He smiles politely at her greeting and nods his head (ever the gentleman) towards the grey.
Before he can think of a proper response, however, his attention is brought back to the first who talks more of the weather and the changing of the seasons. This year had been rough meteorologically, and he hoped that he would be able to find some sort of stability before the next frost began. She continues - providing names and the name of their homeland (which sounds like it will be cold, honestly) and Moggett files them away so he can be sure to remember them later on. It would behoove him to remember a magician’s name after all - he did not want to be made into a toad by upsetting her (he was small enough as is).
“That sounds like quite the place…. a little more swanky than what I’m used to. Would a fellow like me fit in, you think?” He asks amicably, deciding that it would be best to be on the magician’s good side, especially when she is playing with fire. And then, finally, he turns back to the grey latecomer, smiling. “Hello. I’m Moggett, who are you?” She was so tall compared to him that he had to look up considerably to meet her gaze, but he would not let such things keep him from being polite.
She might be small now, but with age she would grow taller than them both. Jinju had already grown a lot since Reagan had found her, which wasn’t too strange since every child would grow, but the inky black girl had already grown so much that she could easily keep up with the gray and emerald green mare. Yet she would keep growing and growing, until she eventually matched up both her biological parents’ height, and those were to no mean small. But for now, and probably the next couple of years, she would have to look up at them both.
Maybe she would grow as tall as the woman that joined them, her lineage would make it possible. If her dam hadn’t abandoned her she would probably be used to see someone that tall, but right now Jinju can only stare up at her with slight amazement. She’s gray, like aunt Reagan, but that’s probably the only comparison between them. The girl presses herself tighter against her aunt’s side, suddenly wishing that Reagan too had a pair of massive wings where she could hide underneath. But no, that was only meant for uncle Ruan. Her attention is pulled back to Reagan soon, offering a small apologetic smile in return of the bump.
She listens to what the adults talk about, but it doesn’t keep her attention. Jinju is simply too young to concentrate on business like that. And who could blame her? The fire that dances around her is far more interesting. Ruby eyes start to glow and a smile slowly itches across her face, temporary forgetting about her prior shyness. Her neck twists and bends, all in an attempt to have her gaze follow the fire. Soft sounds, like ooh and aah’s, escape from her lips, totally engrossed in her own world. The fire does no hurt her, Jinju isn’t afraid it would, Reagan promised to keep her safe after all. And with her fear out of the way, it was only in the red eyed girl’s nature to accept the fire from within.
I am lost in the present, the past too, frozen momentarily in this reverie. Before me is a memory of what was and it takes several minutes for me to break away- to remember what is. Breath leaves my lungs in a slow and steady stream, a sigh, had I been holding my breath? Though I have made good to give the women in the group the simplest of acknowledgement, I’ve all but forgotten them.
My copper eyes flick to their faces, tracing the lines of their noses, the creases or lack thereof at their eyes. And their eyes, those take a moment to see, to inspect. Though my hearing is gone my other senses have made up for the loss, my eyes in particular, their irises are so crystal clear.
But even as I look at them there is nothing to compare to the sheer shock of the man, he looked so much like her. Maybe it is because I wanted him to, the similarities between them simply taking hold of my consciousness and distracting my mind from truth. Trying to anyway.
I watch them speak, the fold and press of lips and teeth and tongues. Something taken for granted before because I never needed to focus on the mouths of others as a child, but really it said so much. Especially when one took care to watch the truth of the words that found themselves leaving with each syllable. I could spot a lie etched in the face easier than most could utter them. There are no farces here, why should there be? I am accustomed to looking for them anyway. Reagan, Jinju, and Moggett. I save these along with the faces I have painted in my thoughts and it is my turn to speak suddenly and find his face with a sharpness to my movements.
“Tioga, from Pangea. I’m sorry,” I stare too hard and too long as I speak, “you look so much like my Mother. If I didn’t know better I’d be seeing ghosts…” My voice fades, along with the awkward straining of its use to find the sounds of words to which I can not hear.
![[Image: Tioga.png]](http://s16.postimg.org/ceb0gz0n9/Tioga.png)