"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 soft gurgling of the river below reached up to the hollows of Nymf’s copper tipped ears as she flew above. Freed from the barren expanse of Nerine she reveled in the sight of the leafless trees that dotted the landscape. For too long she’d been forced to stare out upon the brown winter landscape of her coastal home. Her escape was a welcome relief and sighed contentedly into the breeze. Many changes had occurred in such a short time, Nymf hardly had time to process one before word of another reached her ears. An endless parade of travelers had entered into their boarders all with the same mission, to build alliances between the lands. It was exhausting, attempting to keep up with the new leaders and the lands. Instead she forced herself to think upon other more important changes taking place.
Spring was on its way.
Evidence of winter’s timely end was made known by the stubborn regrowth of grass as it pushed its way through the thinning blanket of snow. Spying a spot below she tilted downward and landed silently amongst a patch of bright green baby grass. With her hooves lost beneath the remainder of ice she kept her wings pinned tightly against her body, trapping the heat within them. Finally, content she took her time reveling in her moment of quiet and solitude.
can we rewrite the stars?
@[Svedka] I apologize in advance. I'm aware that this sucks. It will get better, I just hate writing openers.
The nearing of winter’s end could be felt by every being in Beqanna. Even with the bitterly cold air and frigid wind, the scent is on the wind and creates a bustling and vibrant world, even in the midst of the greying and melting of ice and snow. It has brought Svedka from out of Hyaline, and has him trekking in the direction of the meadow. The blossoms in that area are thousands upon thousands in the springtime, and watching that first blush of color against what used to be covered in ghostly white simply stirs something within him he cannot explain. The time it takes to travel there is long without wings, but Svedka has never minded a long journey. He would leave Hyaline at dawn, and travel when darkness still roams powerful but the pulse of the sun quickens beneath the horizon. The world is still clear and cold from winter’s breath, but it is slowly fading away beneath the warmer temperatures. Snow melts into pockets of ice, soft drips from icicles hitting the grass and rocks below, and cherry blossoms sprouting in pink and blood red buds on the outcropping of trees that border Hyaline.
Soon, however, the rocky and mountainous landscape gives way to the deeper green of the Riverlands, where evergreen stands proudly in all weather, bold and sturdy beneath snow and sun alike. Mist lives here, twisting curiously around each corner of dampened bark and pine, evaporating in the sun’s now golden light and steaming gently throughout the forest-like glade that huddles the winding river. The familiar sound of hoofbeats suddenly landing onto sweet, soft grass catches his attention in surprise, jerking his head upwards with a whuff, ears pricking forwards interestingly. It is a sound he has grown to love (it normally meant that Solace is near, or Ilma, or his father), and a charming smile finds the pale pink of his lips, moving forward at a quick trot to find what pegasus has found him today.
The trees break away from each other in a tiny glade of expanse, revealing a cremello mare with deep, rust colored legs and a milky set of wings, the color of copper feathers sparsely protruding out of the otherwise flawless color. He snorts softly, slowing his gait to a walk before halting before her, curious cerulean eyes watching her as she soaks in the silence and stillness around them. His ivory and blue mane falls around his neck and chest with the halting motion, while random blossoms of orange, pink, and red frame his face. They were snapdragons, a gift from Kagerus. The blooms are slightly wilted since their plucking from their roots, but their color are still stark and vibrant against the pastel of his mane and forelock.
“Hello,” his voice deep and sultry in the coolness of the air around them, “mind if I join you?” His gaze flickers down to the grass she had found first, bright and vibrant green against the melting gray world.
Grazing contentedly, Nymf felt herself leaning into the melodic sounds of her solitude. With the mountains lingering peacefully in the distance. The birds who nested their sand their songs down towards them, reaching the copper tinted mare’s ears. Their harmonies reminded her that soon spring would fall upon the land and, with a collective sigh, they would fall into it’s ready embrace. A disturbance in the tree line beside her draws her attention away from her precious blades of grass her eyes watch as a painted figure emerges. Blue streaks stain the hairs of his mane sporadically throughout and her ears prick forward as blue gaze catches his own. Tangled in his mane a mess of wildflowers dance with every step that he takes, an amusing sight to behold. A smile creeps upon her lips, an expression that felt unfamiliar upon her face as he strode ever closer to where she stood.
His gait was unassuming as he approached, his eyes sparkled with a friendliness that she had come to expect among those who dwelt within the great land of Beqanna. Calling out to her, his request to join her was almost startling and she found herself searching her posture questioningly. She could hardly understand why he would want to graze beside her. There wasn’t much to be found that was particularly interesting. Still she smiled sweetly and nodded.
Still slightly awkward when it came to social interactions she watched him eerily wondering how he had found her so tucked away beside the riverbed. “My name is Nymf,” she cooed sweetly, her voice barely loud enough to rise above the sound of the river as it rushed past the place where they stood. Once again, her eyes caught sight of the flowers, an adornment the stallion appeared quite fond of.
The woman nods, and Svedka quietly steps through damp earth that is mixed with melting ice and new growth attempting to shoot through in anticipation for spring. The solitude in the Riverlands wraps around him familiarly, the sound of the white-frothed rapids churning like a lullaby just nearby. He halts before her, his white forelegs now standing in the small space of freshly green grass, the smell of spring on the breeze. Just as her eyes gently fall to the vivid petals in the twisting and tangled mass of his mane, his cerulean gaze lingers on the brilliant feathered wings at her sides, already daydreaming of where the stranger had flown from. Perhaps it is a land outside of Beqanna, or a mountainside she had come from that he had yet to explore. The stallion smiles, and though is eager to learn about the copper-winged stranger, does not interrupt the sweet sound of the atmosphere around them or the quiet reverie of her voice.
“Nymf,” he says, repeating her name with a lopsided smile and a tiny thrust of his chin towards his chest, “I’m Svedka.” He notices her gaze lingering on the snapdragons that Kagerus had found (a cultivator of plants and flowers, she must be) and he turns his jaw slightly so that he could perhaps peer at their orange and red color. The motion stirs the red and black hawk feather nestled into the other side of his neck, bumping gently against the pale gold of his jawline. He must look completely out of place, with such trinkets tucked away in his ivory and light blue tendrils, but Svedka had never thought about that for even a moment of his life. “They’re snapdragons,” he muses to her outloud, turning his eyes back to her with a rising of his brows. “They grow in Hyaline, just before the mountain becomes the valley. The late winter and early spring brings them out.”
He hadn’t known this, (only that he had seen the beautiful buds before, though knew nothing of them) but Kagerus is sure to give him a bit of information for each blossom she brings him. Svedka’s nostrils quiver as he inhales deeply the smell of sun and sky (a scent that often accompanies a pegasus, he’s noted), but also of salt and brine. “Where did you fly from?” He asks curiously, a slight tilt to his head before lowering his mouth to the grass, pulling at the rich, sweet shoots of grass and chewing thoughtfully.
No longer alone, Nymf’s smile remained placed tentatively upon her lips. Beside them logs of ice drifted upon the current, careening carelessly as they melted into the already swollen river. Soon, the place would be drenched in snowmelt and the river rapids would become far too dangerous to cross as it rushed to empty its load into the ocean. She imagined the chill of the icy water and she shivered instinctively. Momentarily forgotten, Nymf’s gaze returned to the flower adorned stranger and she watched as he stopped a comfortable distance away. Breathing deeply, she relished in the sweet scent of his flower as they dangled from his mane, blowing elegantly with the slightest of breezes. The anticipation of spring was heavy upon her and she couldn’t help but make a study of the stallion who seemed to be a walking representation of her favorite season. Amidst the snow, he was refreshing sight.
The husky tenor of his voice as it repeated it name sliced through the silence almost too harshly, though she found herself leaning into the sound. Grateful for the break in the mundane as he politely introduced himself as Svedka. Following her gaze his smile never fades as he explains the flowers and she imagined the valley that he spoke of with excitement. Afterwards, his eyes trailed to the feathery tips of her wings and she spotted a longing deep within their pits. His next question doesn’t come as much of a surprise to her, though she worries that the answer might be disappointing to him.
“I’ve come from Nerine,” she explained simply. “Before that…well, I came from a far away place.”
can we rewrite the stars?
@[Svedka] Love them already. He needs to pull her out of her shell...
She may see herself as shy, but Svedka has hardly noticed. He is too preoccupied with studying her features, his cerulean gaze committing her to memory. He does believe, however, it would be very hard to forget Nymf’s face. His head is raised now, swallowing the mouthful of grass he had been pulling at, his gaze inquisitive. She speaks of Nerine - the land of cliffs and grey, angry seas - also known as the sisterhood. Though he cared not for the politics that surround Beqanna, the Heart of Hyaline did know the inner workings of Solace’s home, and found the idea that the copper and white woman being from Nerine comforted him. It meant that they were allies - friendly - and he could go back to Hyaline without Solace worrying if he had accidentally fallen into the greedy hands of Sylva (which he wouldn’t allow anyway).
“Nerine,” he murmurs thoughtfully as he repeats the name of her home, “you’re a sister, then? A leviathan?” Svedka’s eyes, though looking into Nymf’s, turn a bit unfocused as he imagines never-ending cliffs that are covered in mist from the clouds, and the yawning stretch of sea laid out before it. He had never been, and suddenly he is wondering why he hasn’t. “Is the land there as robust and wild as I’ve heard?”Are you?
Svedka is asking questions once again, and though he knows it may be overwhelming with his uncontrollable curiosity, he cannot help it. He had heard from his father (King Warrick) about the Amazons of old and now they were coming to life in his own time, though the sea replaces their once jungle. He has stepped a little closer (they knew each others names now and where they’re from, so it seems appropriate) as he questions, brows rising keenly. The best way to learn about others was to simply ask them.
“I have been to a ‘far away’ place before. What was yours like?”
The stallion hardly seems to notice her hesitant disposition, his eyes to busy drinking in her appearance. Normally such outward admiration would have made Nymf uncomfortable but, instead, she was almost comforted by it. With a mouthful of grass his head darts upwards, his eyes filled to bursting with questions. Without much encouragement they pour out from his, a torrent that places a smile upon her face.
His energy is infectious and she steps towards him, flapping her wings experimentally. He mentions the name given to them by Hestia before her death. Leviathans, they were called now even though the sound of it was slightly odd to her ears. It wasn’t that she disapproved of it, just that it felt strange to her to be a part of a collective. “I guess I am,” she relented with a tentative nod of her head. “I guess you could say that it is as unpredictable as the changing of the tide.”
Her mind traveled through the sky back towards the land she’d come to think of as her home. There were so many changes taking place there she felt almost guilty for stepping outside of it’s boarders. Scorch did her best to maintain the peace while their new queen grew and learned the importance as her position as the kingdom’s queen. It felt like the whole of Beqanna had shifted. All except Hyaline and Tephra, of course.
Svedka’s next question, however, was harder to swallow. There were so many pieces of her past that she had suppressed. She’d known a love greater than any she’d known, and she feared that she may never know such affection ever again. Leaving her homeland had been the start of her new life and it was almost painful to consider reliving those memories once more.
“It was much like this one.” Was all that she had to offer as an answer.
Nymf steps towards him, and his chin tucks gently to his chest as if to make room for her to fill in the space before him. There is a curiosity about her (not as extrovertly appearing as Svedka’s own, but it is enough to create a small smile to alight on his pale, pink lips) as she answers him, timidly tilting her head with a simple nod of agreement. The imagery she gives him - a changing tide - receives a knowing look from the gold and white painted stallion. Born from the forges of fire and unforgiving seas of Tephra, he knows all about the uncontrollable ocean and its tides, and Svedka decides that it describes the Nerinian women fairly well.
He notices her hesitation, and does not press her. He is aware of the boldness of his questioning curiosity, and offers no pushing or prodding if they did not seem interested in answering it. Despite his yearning for learning new information and stories, he didn’t like putting others in a strange and uncomfortable position, so he almost believes she will not answer him at all - which he is okay with. He snorts softly though, interestedly, as her voice offers him a simple reply: ‘It was a lot like this one.’ Svedka smiles, allowing her the opportunity to see that he did not mind that she didn’t care to divulge anymore than that. He is still a stranger, after all.
For Svedka, however, no one is a stranger.
So, instead of forcing her to give him more of her story, he allows her to hear some of his.
“My mother is from elsewhere,” he tells her with a tiny toss of his head, the red-and-black hawk feather behind his ear framing the sharpness of his pale golden jawline, “I have visited, once.”I want to go again.“They are a vibrant people, my kin. They dance beneath the stars and beside the flames, drowning out the night with their hoofbeats and songs. There is no magic there, like here, but sometimes,” the stallion pauses, his cerulean gaze sparkling with mirth, “I truly believe they hold more magic than all of Beqanna.”
The river almost grew quiet as the sun changed positions overhead once more. Time moved too quickly, she noted as she watched her new companion with a wary gaze. Her wings tingled with the anticipation of their flight home, an urgency growing with every passing moment. They would begin to wander where she’d wondered off too and the Beqanna was no longer safe. There was darkness that lurked within the shadows. She had begun to feel its presence growing stronger with every passing day as more creatures of the shadow fled to Sylva. While the other kingdoms forced themselves to forge alliances Loess and Sylva roiled in their hiding places – growing stronger with every passing day.
She wondered if Svedka noticed the changes taking place around them? While the river continued its never-ending journey towards the sea it remained perpetually unperturbed by the kingdoms, their leaders and their bickering.
The cream stallion snorts and Nymf watches the blue strands of his mane as they danced elegantly in the wind. She was glad that there were men like him, kind and gracious. He ignored her short comings and accepted her garbled attempt at socialization. There is a familiarity to him and the longer she remained in his presence the more she felt her trust towards him growing. In some ways she felt like she’d known him beyond this, their first meeting -.
There was a slight inward startle as her mind began piecing together the truth behind her ease. He was a lot like him. The easy manner in which he presented himself followed by the unassuming verve for life. It was almost uncanny, and she felt emotion prick at the corners of her eyes. She missed him terribly and she felt his loss every moment of every day.
Words spilled from his mouth once more and she listened intently. He spoke of his mother and his experience when he’d visited her in their far-away place. She imagines the stars shining above a cluster of other blue streaked maned horses of similar color to Svedka. The sounds of their hooves pounding to the rhythm of their songs filled her ears and she smiled at the vibrancy. He was mystified by the words that he spoke and her heart smiled in tune to his.
“Magic isn’t always what it appears to be,” she said almost suddenly, the sound of her voice almost startling her. “There is magic in the simple things. In love, in life and in new beginnings.”
She listens intently, engrossed in the way he has enchanted her with his story. It leaves him breathless, to think about his mother’s country and to share that visual with one who truly cares to listen. He wonders briefly (the thought is there and then it is gone) if she would want to come with him to his ancestor’s home, and dance like wildfire beneath the harvest moon and its stars. She would like it there, despite the quietness that loosely coils around her. Svedka can tell that her heart is on her sleeve, much like his own, even though it is still and tender. One only had to knew where to look to see it.
He is shining bright when she speaks, already stepping closer to her so that they may graze side by side. The grass is sweet and cold with winter’s thaw as he brings another mouthful to his lips, his pale ears trained on her as a moment passes, and then her tinkling voice greets him. It is worth the wait, when he hears what she has to say.
Svedka lifts his head, brows coming together in a knowing arch as a smile brushes across his pale mouth.
“There is magic here, isn’t there? Right now.”
The stallion falls into silence, his cerulean gaze soft with expectancy and wistfulness, the brightly colored blossoms in the tangles of his mane bouncing gently against the musculature of his golden neck.
