"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
He’s never been a wanderer. Perhaps only in his youth, in the fragmented years between leaving Silver Cove and that brief period with Isnofret and finding Scorch in the Meadow, could he ever claim the title of a wanderer. Each day has always needed a purpose for him. His life has consisted of reaching for goals, of enjoying the daily rhythm, of finding meaning. His family has always answered those desires for him, even when it had just been the pair of them (russet-strength and fire-passion) tangled under the shade of the Jungle. Hestoni’s life has always been guided by a motive to serve with a purpose. It had been serving the Jungle, serving his wife, serving Nerine — and now he finds himself thrown into a world entirely blackened with chaos.
The russet had spent too much time lingering between borders. Although it hadn’t taken Hestoni long to take what was left of his shredded heart and leave Nerine, it has taken him much longer to settle away from his ragged, scarred wife. She has always been home to him. The sounds of the Jungle’s melodies echo in the rough drag of her voice; the warmth of a sacred place of protection found in the caress of her lips; the scents of familiarity and brisk rainforest waterfalls dancing and twining along her neck. The winter months drag on without her warmth to hold him.
Even when spring finally comes, he waits. He spends his days caught in the messiness of his mind, wondering about the child she has surely birthed that is not his own. The deep gash in his knee has healed and left a fresh, puckered scar across the deep chestnut of his flesh. Yet Hestoni wanders (a fraud of a wanderer, for it has never been his way) until spring is beginning to melt into summer. On a warm morning, he finds himself at the border of Tephra, unprepared about politics or plague. He is heart-heavy and slowly healing, but the weight of Scorch’s betrayal still presses against his broad shoulders.
Hestoni is silent as he settles just outside the border, resting a hip against the security of a tree trunk. His face is a reflection of that serious man so many years ago (a face Isnofret used to tease him for, dancing and laughing and jumping until he finally cracked a smile), but the colors of deep sadness linger in his brown eyes. A bird caws above his head just as Hestoni wearily decides that if no one greets him by afternoon, he will enter the kingdom regardless.
although this world is made of fearsome beasts that bark and bite we were born to put these creatures through one hell of a fight
Magnus has never been a wanderer either. He was born and raised by a King and Queen of old; taught and trained from a young age about the importance of kingdoms and the responsibilities that come with a crown. He was reared in the way of princes and that regal training was still apparent in his traditional approach to running a kingdom, to interacting with other lands, to introducing himself. It was a formality in the way he holds himself, something that whispers of the old world in the gleam of his golden eyes.
If only he knew the way that his path and Hestoni’s have run parallel and overlapped over the years. How they are both men of the jungle. How Magnus’ daughter Brunhild both gave Hestoni’s greatest love her crown and then her latest challenge—how the latter was the source of such pain in the red man’s life.
But he doesn’t know such things.
He just knows that there is a stallion resting on the edge of his home, and he finds that he is grateful for the stallion’s decorum, even though Tephra has always been a land with open borders. Still, he respects it and he doesn’t take his time in making his way toward the stallion. His face is friendly although relatively neutral, the scars peeking out beneath the gold of his coat. “Hello there,” he greets, the ash and the smoke deepening his whiskey voice. He drops his head into a nod and gives the other stallion a hint of a smile.
“Welcome to Tephra.”
The land around them is vibrant in the summer heat, the flowers still blooming and the leaves glossy.
02-06-2019, 06:09 PM (This post was last modified: 02-06-2019, 06:11 PM by Hestoni.)
you’re miles away but i still feel you
The silence before Magnus’ arrival gives the chestnut too much time to think. His mind aches from the weight of his thoughts, just as his heart is weary from the effort of mending itself. Hestoni’s thoughts dance toward his wife for a brief moment, perhaps to wonder about her day or what the child looks like. Just as her rugged face is beginning to materialize in his mind’s eye, his heart gives a vicious twist that sends a pang throughout his chest.
The force of that pain drags his brown eyes up toward the sight of the volcano’s mouth and the plumes of ash that drift from it. There is something peacefully upsetting about Tephra, he decides, but he isn’t sure whether the source is its people or the scenery. The Jungle held that same dangerous beauty: lines of a gentle face etched with battle-scars and warrior-paint. The thought is familiar and comforting against his time of turmoil and chaos.
The sound of someone approaching tips Hestoni’s russet head down and toward the source. He watches the stranger easily, unwilling to cross the border unless he was welcomed. Although his parents were wild, lusty creatures full of darkened thoughts and selfish desires, the Jungle and its Daughters taught him much about politics and the ways of the Old. He takes comfort in those teachings now, certain that he can rely upon them in the absence of Scorch.
“Hello, Magnus.” Hestoni’s voice is deep and smooth, the echo of a low thunder’s rumble in the near distance. He pauses for a moment and uncertainty flashes across the red of his bold face. There are many things he might need help with, Hestoni supposes. Help with his marriage, help with his relationships with his children, help with finding his own path in life. All these thoughts press into his weary mind in a matter of milliseconds, but he says instead, “I’m looking for a worthy place to serve.” Despite the chaos he is enduring now, Hestoni does not hold evil in his heart and he will not work within a kingdom that is evil. His impression of Magnus does not suggest that Tephra is a place like that, and so he lingers on the border still. “My name is Hestoni.”
Something within Hestoni’s gaze is weighty, something that is more than just a casual visitor or someone looking for a temporary respite. There’s something heavy that catches Magnus’ attention—snags it on the edge of a thorn—and he frowns in concentration, giving him the full weight of his thoughts.
He doesn’t need the ability to read minds to feel the turmoil within Hestoni and although he doesn’t comment on it directly, he can feel it imprint itself upon the meeting. “I am an extremely biased source but I can imagine few places more worthy to serve than Tephra.” His smile is crooked and warm, but the heat of it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which remain concerned, shifting and observing quietly.
After another moment, Magnus takes a step back and beckons him forward.
“Why don’t you come further in and I can talk to you more about it?” It wouldn’t do to have Hestoni linger on the border and Magnus chooses instead to welcome him in like a brother, nodding toward the heart of the volcanic island. “I would be happy to show you around or answer any questions you may have.” There was a tinge of desperation in Hestoni’s request—something that hinted of the need to lose himself in work, to find a task to focus on, which was a reaction that Magnus resonated with deeply.
There had been more than once in his life where he’d sought the same.
And if he could provide it for this man then he’d do what he could.
He doesn’t push for more though. Doesn’t ask questions or dig for information. He simply walks side by side with him in companionable silence, content to lead him through the lush beauty of Tephra and willing to offer whatever information he could without any weight of expectations to go alongside it.
MAGNUS | I don't belong to anyone, but everybody knows my name
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