"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
A bit of roaming is good for the soul. By that account, Aldric’s soul should be full up of goodness, or at least evolved in some way. He isn’t sure how one would measure that, it would probably require some idea of who he would have been if he’d stayed put as a youngster.
He would probably be a bit more interesting if he’d stayed put. Aldric doesn’t have anyone dear to him, and no stories to tell that would mean anything to anyone here.
He ought to settle in for the long haul and see what happens.
He’s decided he’ll need a place to belong, somewhere to be welcome. In order to be welcome he’s likely to need an invitation. It’s been so long since he’s been back here that he hasn’t the faintest idea of where he was born or where he’d lived as a boy and so it is necessary to present himself in the field and see if he’s worth anybody’s time.
Wading into high summer grass Aldric takes a sweeping look around. For a moment he reconsiders, he should just keep wandering through Beqanna until something feels right and then do his best to ingratiate himself to the locals in the land of his choosing...but damn if he isn’t ill-inclined to schmooze with folks who don’t want him around in the first place. Of course he’s related to half the country, he might be able to find a friendly relative. But he spots a amiable looking stranger before he can further consider climbing up his rather prolific family tree, and tosses his head in their direction.
The field is like a second home to Magnus in many ways and he finds himself comfortable here, settling in to the grass and letting the warm air wash over him. It’s drier here than his home and the warmth is different because of it—better, for some, he’s sure, although he has long since learned to love the humid weight of Tephra summers. Here, though, the summer is hotter and drier and his skin nearly prickles with it, sweat beginning to form, despite the fact that he remains languid with grass tickling his stomach.
It’s only when he sees the splotches of red and white out of the corner of his gaze that his eyes flutter open, the gold-flecks of them sharpening beneath obsidian lashes. He remains still, letting the barest hint of a breeze tangle his mane even further as he studies the stallion, watching as he walks through the field, wondering if it was hesitation he saw in his gate or he was simply imagining things.
Regardless, he finally shakes the dust from his coat, the sleep from his muscles and makes his way over to the other, a roguish smile warming his scarred lips as he approaches. “Hello there,” there is a husk to his whiskey-voice, a note of ash in the rumbled syllables of it. “My name is Magnus.” One corner of his mouth tilts further upward into a crooked grin, giving the other some space as he glances around them, noting the relative quiet of the land today. When he brings his gaze back, it is casual and friendly.
“What brings you to the field today?”
An often obvious question although Magnus had rarely heard the same answer to it more than once.
The field. A place Brine had begrudgingly called home for years. A place where winters seemed darker and the summer felt short and dry. Every time she felt herself near the field border, her skin would tense. Like now.
Right. Now.
Weaving in between pine trees that had been growing for what seemed like decades was easy for our blue roan raven, someone could take her sight and she would still be able to navigate across the uneven ground and rolling hills. It took minutes to arrive in the heart of the field, green grass and wild flowers in full bloom underneath the sun that would set in only a few more hours.
Lord knows Brine will never be caught in the field at dark again.
She smells the men first, masculinity wafting into her nostrils like the sweetest of colognes. Females had never been her strong suit, being feminine did not (apparently) come naturally. Her eyes trace to the far tree line, seeing where the grass grew tall and apparently so did two stallions. Both in flashy tones, red and gold flecks igniting underneath the light of the sun.
She feels more uncomfortable in her blue-tinted feathered than any previous meet. Thank heavens she had already molted.
By the time she arrives, words had clearly already been exchanged. It is so like her, being late. It’s almost a miracle she approaches at all, knowing how awkward she can be in the company of strangers. However, it’s time she begins to venture beyond the shadows of her own insecurities.
Well, that is what she tells herself.
“Original question,” she retorts in a soft tone despite the sarcastic insinuation. Of course, she meant no offense to the recruiting stud, but it didn’t matter the intention or not. He will take her for as she is, and our little bird is only now trying to come to accept it. She silences, allowing the red dun to respond.
“I am Brine,” she nods to both, unsure of Magnus’ title and position in Beqanna. She hadn’t seen him before, but again that is not saying much. Our little bird had only recently found the health and energy to leave Hyaline after years of starvation and dehydration. Death had knocked on her door too many times before Kagerus swept her into the safety of her kingdom.
And now, being who Brine is, she felt out of place and without purpose.
Perhaps this stranger felt a similar way.
Brine
find yourself, then come find me
Bear with me guys, I am still getting into the swing of this one
12-22-2018, 10:58 PM (This post was last modified: 12-22-2018, 10:59 PM by Aldric.)
you look like yourself
but you're somebody else.
The buckskin stranger approaches and Aldric is pleased to encounter not one but two friendly faces, as an avian roan woman joins them as he returns Magnus’ greeting. “Aldric.” Giving his name without hesitation, there is some kind of relief in having someone else here know it besides himself. Magnus is friendly and relaxed, Brine soft spoken with an underlying edge that he suspects is a sharp sense of humor.
Aldric feels a little bit the debutante.
“I understand that this is a bit of a lost and found, so I thought I’d come out and see if I could meet up with someone who could offer me a more permanent residence.” Which is likely their purpose for speaking with and approaching him. “I’ve just been roaming since I got back. Where are the two of you from?” Different places, that much he could infer, they were obviously each of them strangers.
The red stallion flicks his tail against his white hocks, looks between his new acquaintances. It’s too bad that he wont recognize the names of the places they are going to give him. It would be nice to have a little familiarity in his life but sometimes we have to wait for that, slog through all the strangeness until something starts to look right.
Magnus has always loved the interactions that he finds in the fields, the back and forth, the personalities always so different from one another. It’s helped him long since hone his patience, find the edges of his temper so that he rarely reacts off the cuff anymore. When the avian mare approaches, scoffing slightly at his question, he only laughs a little, rolling his shoulders. “You will have to forgive me,” his whiskey voice is light with humor, gold-flecked eyes sparking. “I do my best, but I am a deeply unoriginal man.”
He turns his attention back to the stallion though, ears twisting in the tangled mess of his mane as he listens. “Aldric,” he repeats, tilting his head slightly to the mare, “Brine. Pleasure to meet you both.” When the other stallion refers to this as the land of lost and found, he frowns briefly, the look of it flashing across his features before wiping clean, replaced with the familiar kindness.
“I prefer to think of it as a place for fresh starts and new beginnings,” he says with a roll of his shoulders. “Or perhaps I am just softening it since I’ve come here looking for it before myself.” A crooked smile as he continues, “Either way, I’m happy you found your way here.” The stallion asks of their own homes, and he looks toward the border, to where Tephra lies beyond, his heart aching suddenly for the land.
“I’m from Tephra, a land marked most prominently by a volcano north of here.” It’s beautiful, he thinks, but he doesn’t have the words to properly describe that. “It’s surrounded on three sides by ocean and warm—even during the dead of winter.” He’s always liked that. Liked the humidity and the heat, the way it reminds him of his jungle childhood home. “As a kingdom, we are relatively neutral. We maintain open borders and seek to serve as a haven to those who need it. Especially now that we remain a safe land during this plague.” A safety earned through the sacrifice of Warrick, a safety earned through blood.
He doesn’t speak of that though, doesn’t dive further into its history.
Instead, he just gives them both a roguish smile.
“I would be happy to tell you more or answer any questions you may have.”
And then he falls quiet, turning his gaze to Brine and waiting attentively to hear of her home.
![[Image: gqYjsHr.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/KjqNDKxc/gqYjsHr.png)
