"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 Taiga is the only place in the known lands of New Beqanna that remains a mystery to the grullo mare. Djinni has been to or met with horses from each of the other lands (or in one case, purposefully avoided the residents) but has heard next to nothing of the realm beside the forest. It’s closer to the sea, she knows, and if the changes that occur alog the order of the common lands and Taiga are anything to go by – will likely be full of redwoods.
Still, these are things that she put together from the tales of wanderers who heard them from other wanderers. There is nothing substantial, nothing concrete. Djinni has decided to come herself to put her endless curiosity to rest (for now).
She arrives by foot, though she keeps a pair of magpie wings tucked neatly beside her. They add bulk to her meek physique, but there is no denying that the green-eyed mare is anything but intimidating. Her green eyes are as wide and open as a summer sea, fringed by dark lashes. Only her expression – a little harder than an innocent explorer ought to be – gives her away. She has already wished herself safe from pesky supernatural intrusions, and the mare shakes her shoulders one last time before venturing into the no-man’s land the divides the common meadow from the woods of the Taiga.
Djinni makes no attempt to be unnoticed; she follows what she thinks must be a deer trail, she audibly cracks branches when she doesn’t fit easily through the thicket, she snorts in frustration as she walks into a spider web. When she feels has come across the smells of the same animals time and time again, she knows that she must be close enough. Perhaps they are guards, and she does not know how close she is. So she stops, raises her head, and calls out. Her tone is friendly, non-demanding, and she settles to wait for a response.
current appearance: natural build - slim smoky grullo tobiano black and white magpie wings sea green eyes
Something wasn't right inside him. He'd grown so cold and distant, held everyone he loved at arms length. Found peace in the presence of strangers with deep eyes as wild as his. Enchanting, enthralling. Was he turning feral? Was her magic warping him over time to make him think he was truly wolf, as he felt he truly should be. This skin, this body was no longer home to his wild heart. His sight longed for night now, when they would become wolves like clockwork. When he would be whole again and free.
Cracking through the brush had him flinching, so loud, so sensitive. The snaps of twigs produced a snap in his mind, the snapping of salivating jaws that hadn't been there before. Ice-blue eyes sharpened, brightened as he turned toward it with purpose, moved with a fluid lope of rolling muscles akin to the canine gradually manifesting in his mind, becoming impossibly sentient.
He came to a slow pause as he stepped into view, his head low and watchful. But he was not a wary wolf, despite his mind fracturing and telling him it was so, and he lifted his skull as a stallion should. And forced words from a mouth of flat and useless teeth.
Welcome to the Taiga, he greeted, strong but low. The sight of her wings had his head tilting and muscles beneath his shoulders contracting reflexively as if his were still there hiding behind the jagged scars. It had been so long since they were stolen and torn from his body, so long since he flexed those now-useless muscles.
Piercing blue eyes returned to the sea-green of hers, and he relaxed the tension in his posture that came so naturally to him now. I am Ruan. Can I help you find someone? He was calm and solemn, curious at the sight of a traveler when so few ever came. Most only passed through as quietly as they could to get to or from the forests on either side.
Her head turns at the sound of hooves. It takes no time at all to pick out the soft press of hooves on centuries of fallen leaves; three years ago she’d have ignored it entirely. It is strange how time spent in monotony begins to change a creature. Djinni is no longer the ethereal being she’d been for a half-century; continuous time has forced her to become more nuanced, less of an open-book.
The stallion that approaches her looks – fairly – normal, but the instinct of a prey animal has the metaphorical hairs on her neck on end. When she smiles at him, her dark lips hide nearly 100 sharp spade-like teeth. Other than that, there is no threat in her posture or expression. She takes note of the smattering of purple spots on his hide and wonders briefly if the purple comes from a common ancestors with Karaugh’s son. Her eyes on his coat, the grullo mare catches the familiar flexing on non-existent wings – how often has she seen Walter do it? Had he lost his in the Reckoning? It does’nt matter, she supposes as he welcomes her to the Taiga; what matters is that she made it here.
He asks if he can help her find someone – how often do missing wind up in the foggy woods? – and she shrugs her shoulders as she smiles. “Maybe! I’m Djinni. I’m visiting a few of the new lands, and wanted to know more about Taiga.” She sounds bright, soft, cheerful. That is how she truly is, but she also speaks from behind sharp teeth and the newfound knowledge that she needs to stay dry to stay safe. “So you might be able to help me, or perhaps you know of someone who could?”
current appearance: natural build - slim smoky grullo tobiano black and white magpie wings sea green eyes
She shrugged and smiled, and when she spoke, her cheerfully bright voice had the tension in his mind wincing. There was a low growl in there, from a beast that had certainly not been there before as something separate from him. It was slowly forming, gradually gaining self-thought, self-awareness. He grit his teeth at the implication of future problems that might cause him and his eyes narrowed with a flicker before his expression was calm and stoic again.
He almost rolled a shoulder in a shrug, but instead remained stone-still and as boring as always. What would you like to know? he managed to ask kindly, unsure if they had much to tell that would be of interest to anyone outside the forest. He did shrug then, and said as much.
We don't seem to be of much interest to the world outside of the redwoods. And he didn't mind that, liked his peace and their freedom to roam and keep to themselves. To run free. And wild.
The spotted stallion seems pleasant enough, but something is not quite right. Perhaps they don’t get a lot of visitors here, perhaps he is new to the “greeting committee”, perhaps he’s more of the strong and silent type. Djinni is inclined to believe the last option, but he confirms the first as well. She waits for him to finish speaking and she is glad she did when he asks the final question.
“I live in Sylva,” she replies with a smile. Leading him on with the hope she might be a potential recruit would be unfair, though if she wore a different skin than her won this might play out differently. There are things told only to residents, she knows, things that strangers and outsiders might never know. She is not her to spy, though. She is here to ask questions in return for outright answers.
“I’m curious how the new lands have been set up,” she says, “and who leads them, and what they think of the future. ” Rather broad and sweeping questions, she knows, but she’d rather not miss out on anything. She likes to know things; she always has. “I’d be happy to share the same of Sylva, if you’d like to know that as well.” In exchange, more like, but they both understand the words she doesn’t say.
current appearance: natural build - slim smoky grullo tobiano sea green eyes
Somehow, he was surrounded and yet alone. Cold, distant, so empty. Did the fragments of his mind show in the blue of his eyes? Were they the eyes of a wolf or a horse? Sometimes he looked down and found he was confused to see hooves, only to feel so stupid afterward. Only to shrink further into himself where they couldn't find him, couldn't see that the wildness was his true self, found and released by the one that loved him.
But could she love the real him?
I live in Sylva, she answered. Not in search of a home, then. He nodded acknowledgement, but remained silent. Always so silent. She followed with what she might have come for, curious to know more about the lands. ...and who leads them, and what they think of the future. His brows just barely tugged closer, thoughtful, uncertain where this was going. Was there a purpose to know these things if she lived elsewhere?
I do, he said simply. I lead them. He wasn't alone in it, and it was Reagan who was responsible for the way things were set up. He was the one that fails to impress, the one that can never seem to meet expectations. The one to shy away from the traditional way of things, to fight against the cage of the norm and try to claw his way out of society's boundaries. To just be him. To just be free.
Where was the purpose in ranks? Where was the purpose in segregating the people into categories, slapping labels like name-tags and sending them on their way. This was their home, and if they loved it they would seek to defend it, protect it. They would want to fill it with love, joy, companionship and family. They were all responsible for this forest, for each other. For the pack.
He shook his head, brushing away his own thoughts with a light shrug. Their are.. guards, and diplomats. Why did it taste so bad on his tongue? This was what was normal, this was what was right. He was the one that couldn't fit in the box, that felt the walls and tried to get right back out. He was the one that didn't quite fit.
He glanced to the side a moment, taking in the thick redwoods of home, the sunlight dancing across scattered leaves and needles. This was his home. And maybe he was the only one that truly belonged in this wilderness. The beast in his mind agreed, wanted to break free and run. But it wasn't supposed to be there. He was born horse, would die horse. Could only become wolf with her magic. Why did it feel like a lie to tell himself that teeth and fur and claws wasn't the real him?
He turned back to her again, suddenly needing to know. How is your Sylva run? Do you like boxes and cages too?
