"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
Tales were often spread among the grazing horses of the Field. Tales of those who practically disappeared like ghosts in the woven mist that sprang up from the waterfall in the early morning hours, blanketing the land as if it were already the time of winter. Said season was not incredibly far off; the leaves in the trees were already starting to turn shades of red, orange, yellow, and every color in between the three, effectively making them look like an oddly painted landscape.
This morning was quiet, much like every one that passed here. On rare occasions, cries of mares and stallions cut through the silence that hung over the Field like a cloud, but a majority of the time, it was peaceful and full of serenity. The mist covered a large portion of the land, mostly near the waterfall and the big lake plastered in the middle. There were not a large number of horses that could effectively blent in due to their coat colors, which happened to include a certain bay roan filly who was out to start trouble that morning.
Since her departure from Ischia several moons ago, bored with how peaceful life seemed there, Zhenga returned to the Field and had been there ever since. The filly's adventurous spirit often drew her back if she didn't feel at home in the newest kingdom she explored, along with the adrenaline rush she got when trying to hide from stallions out looking for new mares. Zhenga had been lucky enough to avoid a majority of them, using the trees and morning mist to mask an early escape before they could catch sight of her. Still, sometimes, she lagged behind on purpose, letting the stallions get a glimpse and then watching from the trees as they fruitlessly searched for the bay roan filly.
Just earlier this morning, Zhenga had used the mist to her advantage and frightened a small family of foxes that had come to the large lake for a drink. She honestly didn't mean to frighten the kits as bad as she did, but their sire had gotten his own revenge. She had a small cut on her pastern, small enough that it would heal quickly enough and not leave a trace once it was well again.
That was pretty much the only exciting thing to happen this morning so far. Zhenga busied herself, or tried to, with running through the trees, practicing using the mist to hide (until the sun rose higher and it dried up), and taking a swim in the lake to cool herself down even though the temperature was nowhere near the level it had been in the summer.
Well, no matter. The filly was bored and basically trying to accomplish anything that could take her mind off of the fact of how bored she was. There hadn't been any interesting stallions in the Field yet, not she could tantalize with a chase. So what was she to do now? She wasn't thirsty, she'd done her morning run, and none of the other mares or stallions who weren't interested in forming a herd didn't want anything to do with her.
Was boredom really that hard to solve? Zhenga let out a frustrated sigh, cursing her unfortunate luck at the fact that she had to deal with this minor problem right now. Deciding to scratch a troublesome itch on her back, the filly tucked in her black-point legs and laid on the thick grassy ground, shifting her weight a couple of times to roll over on her back and scratch the itch before laying on her side for a few seconds and then repeating the process again.
She didn't care if any stallion or mare appeared right now; she'd hear them in plenty of time. Of course, it pays to not be cocky just as much as it pays to be careful, something the filly would hopefully grow to understand one day as her dam often prayed for.
OOC: Zhenga is free to be claimed, either forcefully, or by a friendly horse from a kingdom. I ask for no Sylva only because that's where she originally came from and I want her to explore a new part of Beqanna.
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
He would swear that the smell of ash has been burnt into his skin. Even after hours spent scrubbing himself clean, it is still so strong that he’d swear he could taste it.
It is gone, of course.
The ash and fire and seawater are only a memory.
The Taiga is gone and Azar with it. There are only so many times that the universe has to knock the stallion back before he gets the message. He’d been more stubborn than most (it had taken both a failure of his own AND literal destruction of a safe haven), but he’s finally accepted it.
For days the scaled horse had circled the flooded land, calling himself hoarse. He’d refused to step into the water. How was he to know if magical lava wolves could survive being drowned? Ivar, though a bold and carefree child, has not matured into a man without a healthy dose of caution. He had searched until he was falling asleep on his feet, until the morning when he’d finally woken up without any hope left at all. Since then he has avoided the shadows, especially those cast by a thick canopy. If he does not think of it, it does not hurt so much.
Fleeing the woods, he had ended up in the Field. Here, the water was entirely without salt, and he’d submerged his pied body in a deep pool until all remnants of that night had been soaked away. Ivar had reappeared above the water earlier in the morning. He has spent a few hours doing nothing more but keeping company with his own reflection. Unfocused but not drowsy, Ivar meets the brown gaze of the horse in the water. Pale and strikingly handsome, the tobiano stallion seems immobile.
And then, all of a sudden – he is not.
Ivar has made a decision. He needs a place without saltwater, and a place without trees. There is only one land in Beqanna that has that – Loess. He will go there, live there. Perhaps someday it might even feel like home. Gathering his thoughts to himself, the tall horse shakes the tension from his neck. The iridescent white scales on his body shimmer in the watery winter light, their brightness comparable with the snow that has yet to fall. The iron grey clouds overhead promise that it will come soon, and Ivar would rather not be still on the move when it does.
Yet even with a destination and a deadline, the dark-eyed stallion still draws up short at the sight of a mare thrashing about on the ground. For a moment he is worried, but there is no taste of blood in the air. Not injured then, he surmises, and then it clicks.
“Need some help with that itch?” Asks the young horse, amusement clear in his voice. He’s not laughing at her; there is no malice in his tone or expression. Something about her look familiar, but the angle at which they stand prevents Ivar from getting a good look at the roan mare. It has been a while since they had met in Sylva, after all. Ivar has not been gone from the woods for as long as Zhenga, and he’d still remember the slightly older girl from his afternoon with Eiria. Last he heard she had gone to Ischia, but he hadn’t even thought to look for her there when he has visited Kylin.
Of course, none of this is yet on his mind; he’s yet to recognize the rolling mare.
09-04-2017, 12:22 AM (This post was last modified: 09-04-2017, 12:23 AM by Zhenga.)
Zhenga didn't really care that this new horse just appeared; if anything, she was slightly irritated that he interrupted her when she was trying to get the itch off her back. Luckily, all her turning on the ground had succeeded in banishing the annoying twitching of her skin, so, satisfied, the filly rolled back onto her stomach. She put her front legs out and hooves on the ground to hoist her weight up, leaning back a moment before hoisting her weight forward onto her front legs. As she did, the filly managed to get her back legs under her and stood, giving her body a good shake to get rid of the stray grass blades and dirt now clinging to her fur.
The whole while she did this, the filly gave the stallion a response, "I'm good thanks, but you're sweet to offer," she said with a smile. The filly's attitude was always changing when meeting strangers, whether stallion, mare, filly, or colt. Most of the time, it just depended on her current mood, and since she'd been in a pleasant one when this horse arrived, her greeting reflected that.
The filly turned her head to greet the horse who had come up, but stopped short when she took in his appearance. Even though he looked younger than her, the stallion easily succeeded her in height, towering over her withers by almost a foot it seemed. He sported a smoky black tobiano coat, which complimented his overall muscled build and brown eyes. Zhenga's, a bright electric blue, were the exact opposite as her brain rattled itself, searching for a memory. For some bizarre reason, the filly felt she recognized this colt in front of her, but her mind was escaping her at this moment.
She hadn't met a large number of horses since leaving home, and none of them had really looked like the stallion. So, she decided to focus on ones she'd met while still living in Sylva for the short time she had been before leaving to go check out Ischia and a few other places. Who had been born in Sylva after her? Not that many foals; in fact, she could only, if vaguely, remember one that she'd gotten to know.
A certain paint-colored colt she'd befriended before he'd also left to go explore for himself... shortly after she had...
The lightbulb went off and Zhenga's eyes went wide. She gave the stallion a once-over glance again, just to make sure she was seeing things right. Yes, everything that was familiar about him still was there, and before Zhenga could stop herself, the mare's words left her lips.
"Ivar?" she asked, starting to smile. Her energetic and friendly side taking over, she stepped closer to the stallion, letting out a happy nicker and brushing her muzzle against the stallion's shoulder in greeting, "Holy... Ivar, I can't believe it! Is that really you?! It's been so long! Adulthood has treated you well I see," she said with a joking smile, referencing how he'd grown from a gangly-legged colt to the tall and fit stallion now standing before her.
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
Though some might have perfect memories, Ivar is not one of them. It still takes him a moment to place the roan mare, even when she is standing directly in front of him. She no longer smells of Sylva, and so that is no help to him. It’s not unil after she gives him a once over (while he simultaneously returns the favor) and reaches toward him that he has his own ‘lightbulb moment’.
“Zhenga!” he replies excitedly, reaching out to brush his own scaled muzzle against her shoulder in greeting.
It has been some time since he’s been truly elated, and given his emotions a moment earlier, the sensation is even more heady. She brings back memories of a idyllic childhood, and the happiness that came before. Zehnga says that he has changed, and changed well, and Ivar shrugs with a bashful smile. He had been a rather unfortunate looking child. Two stunning parents and he was clearly the ugly duckling, at least until puberty had come along.
“I’d say the same to you…” he begins, and then he eyes her with an expression that is almost judgmental, were it not for the dancing brightness in his brown eyes. “But you seem to have gotten much smaller since we last met.” It’s clearly because he is the taller one now, but he can’t help but return her long-ago ribbing about his small size.
“What’ve you been up to since you left Sylva? I didn’t even know you were planning on leaving until you were already gone.” Back then, it had never occurred to the piebald colt that not everyone stayed in the place they were born. He hadn’t even begun to feel the urge of adventure back then. Now though, he has heard the siren’s call of exploration, and wonders if Zhenga had heard it as well. Perhaps she has been exploring as well; Ivar has always been interested in stories of adventure.
Zhenga nickered again as Ivar returned her gesture of greeting, his muzzle tickling the fur on her shoulder as he said hello. She pranced in place for a few moments, obviously happy to see the young stallion. She'd left Sylva long before he had, even though they were just barely a year or so apart in age. It had been hard to leave her friends behind, Eiria and Ivar especially since they were the only two there remotely close to Zhenga's age. The only ones she hung out with anyways. Eiria had been more like a mother figure to the two younger horses. Ivar had always been willing to get into mischief with the roan filly, even if at times it got them in trouble with their parents.
Ivar fired back at Zhenga's comment, saying he'd give her one if only she'd grown taller. Feeling undignified, Zhenga stomped a hoof, turning her muzzle away in a prideful fashion. "I'll have you know I grew up just fine. I'm around my dam's height and in my opinion that makes it easier for me to fight," she joked, giving him a rogue grin as she ended her sentence.
But, in reality, Zhenga had grown up beautifully. Much like Eiria and Sirana, who had inherited their dam's bright golden coat and her body structure, Zhenga got much of her own style from her dam. The roan coloring had been passed down through her father, despite him being a paint. Raxa's own unique bloodline partially contributed too, resulting in the roan pattern. Had Raxa not passed that down, Zhenga would've probably looked more like her sire, albeit a few roan hairs scattered here and there on her flank.
Her small stature gave her a compact look, but her muscles had filled out and the filly did look rather beautiful. With her bay roan coloring and dark face, a long, silky black mane and tail, plus her black points, finished the look. Her forelock was a bit oddly cut, since some of the hairs splayed out like she'd been shocked by lightning, but it fell over her eye in a pretty fashion. Her brown eyes held that same spark she'd been known for since she was a filly.
Zhenga had not yet been attracted to any stallions she met, but she had to admit, Ivar had grown up rather handsome. Genetics had definitely done him right.
Pondering his question, Zhenga gave it a moment and then told him, "Well, since I left, I've taken time to go about a couple of the kingdoms here. Several I saw in passing cause they didn't look interesting enough. I paid a visit to Ischia, and it was rather pretty, but it got boring after a while. A place like that would be more suited for my friend Eiria, or her dam.
Tephra was definitely a lot warmer than I was used to, so I moved on. Taiga, well... it was nice before it got destroyed. I haven't seen much of Hyaline or Loess yet, but I did plan on visiting those."
She pranced again and turned in a circle, just happy to be around her friend, "So what about you? What adventures has the great Ivar been up to?"
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
Ivar grins at her display of injured pride, shaking his head playfully as if he disagrees with her claim.
“I dunno,” he says teasingly, “But maybe we can spar sometime and you can prove me wrong.”
It’s been some time since his training with Akkadian in the autumn woods of Sylva, but muscle memory is impossible to forget. The black stallion hasn’t ever fought in a battle (he doesn’t count the sparring in Nerine), but the idea of truly testing his own strength is appealing. He is equally curious about what Zhenga might be hiding up her own metaphorical sleeve. She has also grown up well, and there is more than platonic admiration in his brown gaze as he realizes this.
As she beings to answer his question, the pied stallion listens curiously, flicking his pale tail against his scaled hindquarters. Ivar smiles at the mention of Eiria; he wonders how she is doing, and if she is still in Sylva. It seems that Zhenga has been to several other lands. He does his best to keep the shadow from his face as she mentions the loss of the Taiga, but his smile does falter for a moment. That wound is still healing, it seems.
When the roan mare prances about though, his smile returns. She seems so easily happy, an excellent companion for a stallion prone to quiet periods of thoughtfulness that tend toward the morose. Zhenga asks what he has been up to, and he tosses his head enthusiastically.
“I’ve been everywhere,” he tells her. “Tephra was definitely too hot.” And smelled much too strongly of sulphur, and the waves that swallowed the Taiga. Best to rip the bandaid off, he decides.
“I’d been thinking about staying in the Taiga with a friend, but…” He trails off – she will obviously know why he’s no longer doing so. “And I considered Ischia, but decided that I’m going to visit Loess next.” It’s the first time that he’s said it aloud, but Ivar finds that doing so only cements his choice. “I have a…” for a moment he flounders for a word, a blush on his pale cheeks, “a friend. I have a friend there.” More than a friend, truly, but he’s been raised to be wary of naming a thing that does not yet exist. “I was actually heading there now, before I stopped to see if you needed some help.”
As Ivar began to tell Zhenga of his own adventures after he'd departed his foal hood home, she couldn't help but notice the excitement in his voice. Clearly, the young stallion had quite a fun time being out, away from Sylva, and having the chance to make his own shot at life. He first tells her of his time in Tephra, though, like Zhenga's, it seems to have been a short period due to its unnatural temperatures and sweltering fog layer.
Zhenga hadn't told Ivar this, but she'd also paid a visit to the Tephra in order to visit Sirana. Last time she'd gone back to Sylva to pay a visit to Eiria and Raxa, the golden mare had inquired on if Zhenga had heard any tales of another colored like her roaming one of Beqanna's other kingdoms. The roan filly originally didn't have anything of interest to say, but told her friend she'd keep her ears open as there was bound to be some juicy gossip in the Field.
Sure enough, one day, she heard of a golden mare residing in the Tephra, and journeyed there herself to see. Once she found and met up with Sirana, seeing that the mare was okay and happy where she was, fulfilling her jobs for the Tephra, Zhenga went back to Sylva and gave the news to Eiria and Anahi. It did little to lift the older golden mare's spirits, but enough that she was no longer in the same slump stage she had been since she learned of Archam's death.
Eiria had said she wished Sirana would return, but understood the need for space and simply wished her sister well on her new life and held onto hope that she'd one day visit. Bidding her friend and her dam farewell, Zhenga left Sylva again and went on the next leg of her journey, which she'd already told Ivar about.
The paint-colored stallion went on to say he'd been interested in Taiga, but in light of recent events he'd decided to move on to Ischia before ultimately picking Loess as his next destination. What he said next only served to peak Zhenga's interest more, since she'd never been to Loess really and was eager to check it out. Doing so with her foal hood friend would only make the journey more interesting.
Ivar seemed to stumble over his words as he told Zhenga his reason for visiting Loess, and the young filly did not fail to catch on here. Maybe it was unintentional, but she sure picked up on it and would not let this opportunity go to waste. The filly gave Ivar a rogue smirk, prancing around him again before moving to stand up close to him, by his left shoulder. She nudged him a bit and raised her eyebrows in a playful fashion, her grin changing to a downright mischievous smirk.
"A friend you say? Hmm, sure seems like it's a bit more than that if you ask me," she told him, a chuckle hanging on the end of her words. "My mom used to tell me the telltale signs of when a stallion likes a filly. It'd sure be nice to meet this friend of yours, and I haven't see Loess yet. Mind if I tagged along?" she inquired, the innocence in her voice completely betraying the rogue playfulness in her eyes.
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
From time to time Ivar considers going back to Sylva. He has not set hoof in the fiery woods in a year and a half. Mother and Father are fine, he is sure; they can take care of themselves. Since the day he had come across Isobell, Ivar has wondered if he might someday have siblings, but he has not returned to check.
Someday soon, he keeps telling himself.
Someday.
Loess though, is today.
It seems there are a great many things that he would like to forget. A surprising number truly, for a horse that is not yet even three summers old. Zhenga is barely older, but the soft-eyed mare seems unburdened, and Ivar cannot help but be drawn to her. She is a bright light when he had been treading black water, and the appeal of bringing her along with him is undeniable.
Even her teasing has him smiling, looking bashfully at the earth between his front hooves as the roan guesses that the mare he speaks of is more than a friend. He returns her friendly nudge with a bump of his neck against her shoulder. The liveliness in her eyes when Ivar meets her gaze is catching, and the piebald stallion replies in a tone that matches the innocence in her words – if not her eyes.
“I mean…I guess so.” He replies hesitantly. “Though I’m pretty sure you’ll slow me down.” The pause is long and pregnant, until he finally adds: “With your short legs, ya’know?”
He’s not able to keep the snort of laughter down any longer, and he reaches out to nudge her before turning and sprinting off, a clear “Tag! You’re it!” like the game they had played as children.
“Race ya to Loess!” Calls Ivar over his pale shoulder, darting southwest down the long open field. He knows that most of the trip to Loess won’t really be a race. Still, he takes the advantage of this game to choose the slightly longer route to the hilly kingdom. It would be easiest to cut through the no-man’s land between Sylva and the Taiga, but Ivar plans to follow the curve of the mountains west and then north up the coast of Beqanna, avoiding both the drowned redwood forest and his homeland.
Zhenga did not fail to miss the bashful look Ivar adopted when she spoke of the other mare, and outright laughed at the redness spreading on his cheeks. Oh this would provide sweet blackmail material for years to come; she'd never seen the young stallion show this kind of emotion before. She'd only ever seen the embarrassed type you get when being compared to an older sibling or your parents. Zhenga had seen that once or twice when Anahi and Eiria would bring up Sirana in a conversation.
The roan filly was still busy laughing, good-naturedly of course, when Ivar nudged her in the shoulder with his neck. Feeling the muscles underneath the skin as he did so, Zhenga turned to look at him, taking in the stallion's appearance more carefully now. She could see why that mare definitely thought of him as more than a friend; he'd far outgrown the 'ugly duckling' category he'd been placed under by others when he was a colt.
Ivar caught Zhenga's gaze when she looked at him, speaking in a hesitant tone about her inquiry to accompany him on his trip to Loess. At first, Zhenga thought he was going to remind her he was going there to visit someone special, and she might be in the way of things. Zhenga would've just told him that she'd spend her own time there, wandering around and exploring the kingdom while Ivar hung out with his own special friend.
But it was the next few words that left his mouth which had Zhenga staring at him wide-eyed and slack-jawed. For a moment, her mind had trouble processing the (playful) insult Ivar threw hew way before the stallion's fading hoofbeats drew her back out. Zhenga gave him a hard look, somewhat offended by his comment, but knew it was nothing more than in good fun.
That was one thing Zhenga had not inherited from her dam; she knew when to take a joke.
Rearing up on her hind legs, lashing out with her front and letting out a challenging call, Zhenga raced after her foal hood friends, her hooves pounding over the earth as she strove to catch up to him. Though Ivar was taller and had longer limbs, Zhenga had been trained her whole life on how to use her more compact frame to her advantage. Even if it may not look it, the filly was gifted with speed, which meant that Ivar might have a bigger challenge despite the roan's shorter stature.
The two continued their race over the grassy field, heading in the direction of the mountains that lined the coast in the north. Zhenga was excited to see their sheer size, for she had never been up that way before. For their race, Zhenga was content to gallop behind Ivar, but finally decided she should let him have it.
Putting on a burst of speed, her legs a mere blur as they propelled her over the ground, Zhenga started moving faster and catching up with her friend. It did take longer than normal thanks to Ivar's growth spurt, but in time, Zhenga finally caught up to him. The roan ran alongside the piebald colt for some strides, shooting him a playful smirk before firing back with a challenge.
"Won't be much of a race with me leading the way!" she shouted over her own shoulder as she pulled ahead by a horse length.
