"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
It was his first time being this far from his mother. The Playground was the only place she’d allow him to go completely on his own, simply because the area was watched over by Fairies. Thorgal, nor his mother, completely understood what the Fairies were and what they do, but from what they heard the Fairies were extremely powerful. His father had apparently met one at the Mountain, where he got his scales and oddly changing eyes. Thorgal knew his father didn’t always look the way he does; his mother still wasn’t completely used to his new appearance. Apparently it had happened between the time his parents stayed with each other in Ischia and when his mother met his farther for the first time after that. But, he supposed knowing when it happened wasn’t necessary. It was before he was born, and the information was irrelevant.
He trotted along, examining the Playground intently with dark eyes. There was a hint of curiosity in the back of his mind, wondering where the Fairies were and if he’d be able to see them. He couldn’t see anything odd, nothing but other fillies and colts running about and playing. He wouldn’t even know what to look for. For all he could know the Fairies looked just like any other horse.
Averting his attention elsewhere, the Fairies vanished from his thoughts like a flame. Instead, he looked for someone to meet, someone his age. His step-siblings were the only horses he’d met that were anywhere close to his age. This would be an interesting experience.
10-30-2018, 01:52 AM (This post was last modified: 10-30-2018, 01:53 AM by Briella.)
Briella
your eyes are lined in pain, black tears don't hide in rain
Not immune to curiority or to wander, to the wiles of adventure: Briella is driven by a sense of childlike glee when she moves, when she walks and when she guides herself just outside of the boundaries of Nerine. Wide eyed and astounded she surveys the varying land and all the distance that exists around her; but more the flitting of wings and the quick movements of a creature that she does not understand. With guided steps and measured speed she follows, frolicks and carries on until the border of Nerine is behind her and mottle of blue and white is no more: instead there is sun, warmth, and soft grasses. Moss and the songs of birds, the smell of a creek, and all the sounds of Spring and its joys. Yet orange leaves indicate Autumn, and she feels the faintest chill; but its dismissed without reason or natural cause.
Wild roses and their tangled vines become a thing of interest and she wanders through them with tiny teeth nipping and her legs absent the thorns and their wrath. Instead she hears something else, some rustling of leaves and some sound of breathing much like her; but not. Wide eyed and staring she freezes, like a deer, and her hazel-green eyes are locked on the other foal. A colt similar in age, and someone she cannot recognize: a complete unknown in her small registry of people she knows; but nonetheless she unfreezes after a moment and promptly saunters forward on spindly limbs and bouncy footing. “Hi!” she chirps, speaking with broken words and an accent that seemed more ancient than Beqanna’s nowadays inhabitants. “Oh, like me! Briella… play?”
It’s a question, but not really- more of an expected thing or perhaps a hope. “Please?” she asks, blinking and waiting- curious and watching him.
He was finally in a place where there were more his age. Making friends with adults was fun, but he needed someone like him, someone who could share his excitement with every little thing, someone that could keep up with his pace and wouldn’t tell him what to do. It wasn’t as if his mother was too strict with him or anything, but sometimes her maturity dampened the mood.
He had his mother’s permission to come here, and he was thrilled. Eyes admired the Playground, looking for another face to talk to. He had been expecting to find one himself; he wasn’t expecting one to find him. Thorgal was approached by a fully who looked to be his age, or close to it. Her speech is fragmented, with an accent he’s never heard before heavy with each word. He couldn’t help a brow raising a little as his head slowly tilted. Out of all the horses he’d seen throughout his life so far, she was one of the few that looked as normal as him and his mother.
But he knew better than to be deceived by looks. Just because someone looks normal, it doesn’t mean they didn’t have magic. Either way, he was interested in her.
A smiled formed. “I’m Thorgal,” he replied cheerily. “I’ll play. What game interests you?” Finally, there was someone his age.
your eyes are lined in pain, black tears don't hide in rain
Hers is a sort of unadulterated curiosity, an innocence and naivety that many children possessed; but where others had experience- she existed without, with eyes newly returned and a mind that roved and roamed freely and boldly. Thorgal provokes this, makes her eyes widen and her small mind begin to turn in such a way that she cannot stop the smile from happening: cannot prevent the lips and their cheshire curling. Laughter blossoms, and careless as she is in the moment she considers what he asks.
“Mhm..” she mulls over it, considering her words and ways- all the things she knows and yet does not: speech, for example, is a thing she is wholly relearning and her time in the void, the beyond… it has inhibited the manner in which she developed. Still she knows enough to continue, gesture with her nose towards the vast area around them. “Tag? Run?” questions of comfort, his comfort more than her own.
If she seconds she hesitates, it is because there is a rattling in the trees as squirrels run through the branches above them and her attention is drawn to them. Narrowing her eyes she flits an ear and her legs stretch as the weight shifts and Briella glances back to Thorgal with some pondering: speaking a bit more at length and with some fluidity to her words.
“Where did you come from?” she blinks- realizing that he wasn’t here before, not in the meadow nor a place she knew
