"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
I won't be what you want me to be Your picture perfect vanity I don't want to be your dirty pretty
Slowly, and with very little of her usual cheeriness, the ivory faerie wandered into one of the common areas of Beqanna. A meadow of waist high grass encircled a shallow pond which under normal circumstances would have delighted her, but today it did nothing but make her heart ache. She had found a man she could trust, but he had another mare who was jealous of his attentions, and so quietly Illusen had left Orange Country behind. Perhaps here she could live out her days as a lone mare, so that she wouldn't encroach on someone else's pride.
Making sure her mane once again hid the ugly scar upon the side of her neck, she slipped into the shadows of a lovely willow tree, the boughs encircling her and giving her the illusion of safety as she leaned against it's trunk. Delicate muzzle hung barely inches from the earth, ears flattened and disappearing into the frothy mass of her wavy mane. Dark eyes closed as she simply stood there and breathed in the scents of spring time, her heart cracked and ready to shatter into a million tiny shards. It seemed after her theft from her father's herd, nothing was ever meant to go right for the white mare. In two disastrous years she'd lost her sister, both of her parents, and all of her self respect. She had thought she had finally found a small piece of happiness going to Orange Country with Kreios, but that only lasted until she'd met Nymeria. Sighing heavily, she leaned against the tree more forcefully and simply stood there, doing nothing. More abuse from others wouldn't matter to her now, it wasn't as if she was not already broken.
Mare 4 Hispano-Arabe 15.3 hands Gray (bay roan based)(Ee/Aa/Rr/Gg) No Lord, No Home, no young Sael
Mirror mirror, you're so vain Would you sell yourself for fame? Are you the vulture, or are you the dove?
for a moment, you were wildwith abandon like a child, just a moment
She can’t say she’s experienced abuse (mental or physical, it goes both ways) and perhaps that leaves her naïve in that sort of sense. But she isn’t soft or fluffy or innocent or anything along those lines. As far as personality goes, Brisk is as sharp and harsh as they come. She could be called heartless, but that could only be a nickname given from those who do not yet understand her. She’s young, still; but her attitude is that competitive with the brutality of an elderly mare.
Nonetheless, all Brisk’s life she has lived in the Tundra. She keeps to the corners of the kingdom, away from the musk of men, and she has yet to be kicked out. She is antisocial in that manner of speaking (keeping away from the kingdom discussions, resorting her social interactions to the small, hardy creatures of the Tundra, becoming something of a purely wild horse living alone) but occasionally the strong longing for the closeness of a herd will hit her. And she answers it.
This time her feet take her to the meadow. Summer has swept through Beqanna in a vibrant explosion of bright color and sweltering heat. Although summer is much milder than winter, the temperatures in the Tundra rarely compete with the temperatures outside of the bachelor kingdom. And, although her summer coat is lighter than her winter coat, Brisk always finds herself sweating against the heat of the sun. Everything seems to increase by tenfold outside the Tundra’s border – the sun got hotter, the grass got greener, the humidity got more humid. Before she even reaches the meadow, Brisk’s bay appaloosa coat is dark with sweat and she can feel the heat radiating off her body.
Reaching the gathering place, the snake-shifter immediately heads toward some shade by a quietly-bubbling stream. The shade on her skin soothes her skin and the water to her parched lips only aids in that soothing feeling. The presence of another mare doesn’t catch Brisk’s attention until after she’s finished drinking. The sweet smell of another female glides into the bay appy’s nostrils and she turns her head in the direction of the other mare. Angular, sharp cheekbones frame the crackling harshness of yellowish-orange eyes. “Summer’s a bitch,” Brisk says by way of greeting.
