"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
your bones hum my name the way gregorian monks sing of god. i wonder if they’ve always known me—if every cell in your body has just been waiting for me to come home.
There is nothing remarkable about Toska or his past up to this point. As he crosses into the forest, he vaguely recalls being here in his adolescence, but he’s long forgotten his mother’s face. Really, he only held on to her stern words each time she bestowed upon him her seemingly infinite wisdom. But he’s not one to dwell on such blurred memories and so he continues on is journey through this world. The glimmering boy has always preferred to live in the present rather than fighting himself over what he should or should not have done yesterday. All that matters to him is the smell of rain drifting in with the greying clouds above him.
He pauses to glance up, but the midday sky does not seem prepared to drench him just yet. Toska shrugs his broad pale shoulders before continuing further into this alien-yet-familiar region. There are strangers in the distance, or perhaps they are friends from before his departure from his homeland. The question does not inspire any sense of obligation in him and so he does not approach anyone just yet. Instead, he drinks from the creek and rests his tired legs for a short while. The heat has not been so oppressive as to tire him, but his muscles grow weary of all this constant movement. And besides, he believes it is vital to stop and enjoy one’s surroundings from time to time.
After shifting his weight and listening to the murmur of distant conversations, he wonders what his voice might sound like after all this time. Will it croak and rasp like the frogs in the creek before him? Could it be as dry and coarse as the deserts he’s crossed? It could be just the same as it’s always been, warm and comforting like the smell of burning leaves on an autumn night. Toska clears his throat and gives a short ‘hm’ to test his voice. Like this forest, the memory of his voice is hazy but he supposes it will do just fine.
TOSKA
i tell them i am here now. i let my bones sing with your bones.
we are the kind of harmonies that make the moon rise, at night.
we are the reason the tide comes in.
The simple little 'hm' catches the bay woman's attention as she noses at a few little green grass bits. Spring was wrapping her long arms around Beqanna in the brightest embrace with a swell of blossoming flowers, honeysuckle scented air, and large fluffy clouds drifting lazily overhead. The bay woman allows dark eyes to settle on the mismatched stallion.
The dark stocking limbs move her forward once she has finished chewing the vegetation. "Hello." Vakarian attempts to brighten her features but the shyness of her nature penetrates and immobilizes her from further speech. Instead of forcing the interaction, Vaka instead settles into a smile. The young mare is unaccustomed to embarking out on her own since finding her new home but there is always a first time for everything, right? "I'm Vakarian." The mare realizes how jagged her words must sound and her she hides her gaze from under the obsidian of her forelock. "But call me Vaka." She tries again, looking from the mop of black, a smile once against blooming across her features as she works to step from the comfort of her solidarity. "What's your name?"
your bones hum my name the way gregorian monks sing of god. i wonder if they’ve always known me—if every cell in your body has just been waiting for me to come home.
As he did with the others nearby, he initially did not pay her much attention. It’s rude to stare and he’s not keen on surrendering even the smallest fragment of his morals. But her words reach him and he turns his head to give her his undivided attention, ears perked forward and a faint smile on his face. Toska takes an eager half step toward her but remains otherwise in place. If she’s timid, he doesn’t seem to notice in the slightest, or perhaps it is overshadowed by his extroversion.
He listens carefully to her name and offers a slight nod before testing her name on his tongue, or rather her nickname she offered up. “Vaka, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says with a voice like contented embers. “I’m Toska. Are you from near here? I’ve only just returned.” Only now does the boy realize how much he was hungering for conversation, for any sort of closeness that might shelter him from the isolation he had subjected himself to. It felt something like sinking into a warm bath after walking the streets in a terrible snow storm – almost too much and yet entirely pleasant. Coupled with the scent of far off rain and honeysuckle, he now feels at ease here in the forest.
“Why are you so frightened?” he asks, noticing the way she holds her head to hide her face. Toska takes another step near her and tilts his head curiously. Even as the shadows cross his face, his cheeks glimmer softly with their own light. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, entirely focused on the curves of her face as he tries to read her expression. Had he violated some sort of social etiquette he is unaware of? A brief frown crosses his lips at the thought but he dismisses it as quickly as it had come about.
TOSKA
i tell them i am here now. i let my bones sing with your bones.
we are the kind of harmonies that make the moon rise, at night.
we are the reason the tide comes in.
The world still felt immensely new. Vaka felt naked without her ability to armor herself against the physical threat of others. Had the mare always harbored such doubt in herself? Had she always been mistrusting? It felt s though she was following a trail of bread crumbs except they were puzzle pieces that she feverishly turned around and around and trying to make them fit in the picture of as a whole.
The stallion seemed kind but curious. He easily abandons any stance against the mare (if he had any to begin with) and offers his name. The quiet gentleness of his linguistic pursuits and offer of his name draw closer, watching him as she smiles more broadly. The bay woman allows her guard to slip from her like a silk night gown, pooling at her hooves. "Toska." The syllables pass from between the smile of her lips. "Frightened?" She repeats as she watches the glow of his cheeks, fascinated. "No..." Vaka catches herself with small laugh. "Perhaps shy..." But how could she not be? It's not every day you stumble upon an interesting stallion with a kind demeanor.
To combat her own shyness, the woman clears her throat and tosses the black hair from her eyes. "I am from the Coast...I imagine Beqanna is probably confusing for you. If you should need some help getting use to the place...I could help you." The smile on her lips crooks slightly in a quirky line. Vaka was not the best or most well versed in conversation but the lack of her diamond armor really tested her to expand from her comfort zone behind a shield and she considered herself lucky to have met someone a emapethic and gentle at the painted male..
